Off Course (4 page)

Owning the lodge made Jakey the undisputed king of the mountain. He talked to the most people. He saw who came in and out; he knew who was up for the weekend, whose house was empty, who'd gone down the hill for the day. He held keys to the most cabins, he hired the most housecleaners and snow shovelers, brokered the most rentals. He was consulted about local history, the weather, hunting, fishing, snow conditions, property values, and high-altitude baking.

For all his stature in the community, Jakey could be beautifully unself-conscious. He sported cheap cotton-poly shirts from Sears and wore his hound's-tooth polyester cook's pants out on dates. He cut his own hair indifferently when it fell into his eyes. In a community where men were vain about the beauty and structure of their fires—Abe Johnson was the one to beat: he sawed logs to a uniform twenty-four inches and stacked them so flames licked up six tiers just so—Jakey tossed logs atop barely crumpled newspaper, squirted everything with barbecue starter fluid, and threw on a lit match.
Fahwumph!

The only book in his living room was a Bible with a crocheted cover on a swirly wrought-iron stand.

 

Three

Cress awoke to men talking outside her bedroom window. Trucks filled the driveway behind the A-frame. Stacks of lumber were off-loaded. Strings demarcated the new cabin's foundation. In the next week, wood replaced the string, plumbing was stubbed in, and a cement truck churned steadily for two days, leaving a powdery gray platform in the pines. Cress finally spoke to wan Rick Garsh, shook his bony hand, met the crew.

“So far so good,” she reported to her parents. “Moving right along.”

“Talented man, that Rick,” her father said. “Keen mind. I like how he's determined to make a life up there. Reminds me of myself when I was young.”

“You were never so scrawny,” said Cress.

“Hear the mornings are cool,” her father said. “How low's it going?”

“I don't know, Dad. The fifties? The forties?”

*   *   *

“Julie Garsh wants us for dinner tomorrow,” Jakey said. “You free?”

“I'll check my calendar.” They were in Cress's bed. “You want to go?”

“She's a helluva cook.”

“They just don't seem like anyone my parents would be friends with,” Cress said. “How Rick talked my dad into building this cabin is a mystery. My dad's always built everything himself, on the cheap cheap cheap.”

“Rick has big plans for all of us up here,” said Jakey. “He's going to build a hundred homes. Spend all our money. She's got her eye on my little real estate office in the lodge. Who knows, maybe I'll let her have it. Good to see some ambition on the mountain. I hope they get something out of it.”

*   *   *

Jakey picked her up; together they drove the quarter mile to a line of vehicles parked along the road: two pickups, a battered Bobcat, a Subaru station wagon. The large circular house had thick concrete pilings and wraparound windows tinted dark, which gave it the look of a spaceship or a ski slope bar.

Rick led them inside. The sunken living room was built around a jagged stone fireplace in whose enormous black hearth burned a tidy, tiered, triangular stack of logs—possibly the most photogenic fire Cress had ever seen.

Julie, in braids and full fringe, waved a knife from the kitchen. “Come in! Come in!” She stepped forward to hug. Silver earrings in the shape of feathers clanked against Cress's glasses.

“The boys want Scotch.” Julie's tone was low and confidential. “Join me in white wine?”

“Please,” Cress said, wanting the Scotch.

The living room had spoked beams, a semicircular sectional. A yellowing philodendron ran laps along the walls. “Did you build this?” said Cress.

“God, no,” said Rick. “We just needed a base when construction season started. This was a repo, we got it for a song. If I ever have time, I'll knock it down to a nub, start over from the ground up.”

“Here's to that day!” Julie handed drinks all around.

The men drank in front of the fire; Cress caught scraps of Meadows politics: whom they wanted on the community council, who wouldn't pay half for repaving a shared driveway. Julie had Cress tear romaine for the salad, then sprinkle on croutons, dried cranberries, sunflower seeds, alfalfa sprouts. Thick blue cheese dressing held the scoop's shape like ice cream.

“I'm so glad you're here,” said Julie. “The weeks get long and awfully short on intellect, if you know what I mean.” She came closer, bowed her head. “I hear you need a job—and Rick needs a gofer.” She pronounced it like the rodent. “You'd run to Sparkville once or twice a week.”

“I'd love that,” Cress said, thinking with dread of the road.

“I've heard such marvelous things about you,” Julie murmured into Cress's shoulder. “From your folks. And him.”

How could that be true? Her parents didn't think she was so marvelous. And what did Jakey know? “Yeah, but I've only been seeing him a few weeks.”

“You two click. I can tell. Rick and I clicked like that, too.” Julie kept her voice low. “From the moment we laid eyes on one another.”

They'd only been married for a year, Julie went on, and together for a year before that. This was the second marriage for both. They'd met at a seminar on creative entrepreneurship. Both knew instantly. “Rick was still married. But he was emotionally and spiritually disconnected from his wife. By our first official date, he had a divorce lawyer. That was my condition.” Julie pressed her arm into Cress's. “I'm so glad Jakey found you. You're just what he needs.”

Julie knew nothing about her. But it was hard not to be flattered.

Dinner was oxtails braised in bourbon and scalloped potatoes. That multitudinous salad. Rick, Cress noticed, took small portions that didn't touch on the plate—he was like a character she remembered in a children's book: a slow eater, tiny bite taker. He systematically cut off and left all bits of fat.

“Tell you what,” Jakey said to Rick. “We should build a chapel by the pond—some nondenominational interfaith wee-kirk-of-the-woods sort of thing. Get some retired preacher in there on Sundays.”

“I could build a beautiful little church,” said Rick. “A jewel box.”

“You could,” said Julie. “But who needs a church up here? Nature is the greatest cathedral. Just to walk in the tall trees is a sacrament…”

“I'm thinking of the after-church brunch crowd,” said Jakey. “And weddings, anniversaries, christenings, funerals—with catered receptions.”

“Bar mitzvahs,” Cress said.

“Hell, why not?” said Jakey. “I could do kosher.”

“When my parents bought their lot in '65, there were plans for an ice-skating rink and tennis courts,” said Cress. “A swimming pool and clubhouse.”

“All pending,” said Jakey. “Still in the works.”

For hot fudge sundaes, they moved to the living room, around the fire.

A signal flickered between Julie and Rick. “Cress, may we be frank with you?” Julie said. “We're crazy about your folks, but we could use some advice about how best to work with them.”

“Your father has his own ideas about building,” said Rick. “Sometimes we don't see eye to eye.”

“I'm amazed my dad hired you,” said Cress. “He's built all his homes himself. The house in Pasadena. The A-frame. The new place in Oxnard.”

“Your mom I adore,” said Rick. “She's open to everything. But your dad—I adore him, too—but he … he finds it hard to give himself the better things in life.”

“My dad? He's as tight as the skin on an apple!” Cress cried, using her father's own phrase. “A child of the Great Depression!”

“It's so good Rick's building him a house,” Julie said. “Some people need help forging an enjoyable relationship with their wealth. We can help with that.”

The room was very warm. Beside her, Jakey breathed through his mouth, his lids fluttering. “I wouldn't say my folks have
wealth
,” Cress said.

“What your dad doesn't understand,” said Rick, “is that even slightly higher construction values make for a sturdier, more comfortable home—to say nothing of higher resale values.”

“Is he cheaping out on you?” said Cress.

“That's what I don't understand!” cried Julie. “Why deprive himself of the better things in life if he can afford them! It's spiritual starvation! Everybody says we should give generously to the poor—and we should. But we need to give generously to ourselves first. Because if we come from abundance we don't begrudge anyone anything—we give freely from the overflow.”

“Not sure my dad thinks that way,” said Cress, wishing Jakey would rally and rescue her. And he did. He startled himself awake with a big snore, then bustled them out.

Julie called from the door, proposing a hike the next day. “Just us girls.”

“Sure, great,” Cress called back, not knowing how to refuse.

*   *   *

“
Overflow?
” Cress said to Jakey as they crawled into her bed. “
Abundance?
They sound like televangelists. Or Republicans. I have a terrible feeling they voted for Reagan.”

“What's wrong with voting for Reagan?”

She sat up. “Oh my God.” She snatched at the sheets. “You?” She scooted away from him, wailed. “I can't believe I've had sex with a Republican.”

“I'm not a Republican,” said Jakey. “I just hated Carter. So lily-livered and ineffectual. And at least we got the hostages back.”

“You can't seriously believe Reagan had a single thing to do with that.” Cress swung her feet out of bed. “I need water.”

What have I done? she asked the pressboard walls as she thudded downstairs. A Reagan Democrat—the worst! How had politics never come up before? She drank a long cold cup of water, nabbed the bourbon bottle.

“I'm a small businessman,” Jakey said. They were sitting up now, facing forward, passing the bottle. “You can't believe the permits and fees and inspections I pay for. The disability, the unemployment, the social security. I'd probably still be married if I hadn't had to work thousands of extra hours just to keep the government off my back.”

She didn't know where to start. How could he object to such basic entitlements? “Careful, sweetie pie,” she said. “You're in bed with a Keynesian.”

He laughed and reached for her.

“And furthermore”—she squirmed away—“maybe a lodge at the top of the world with a seasonal clientele is not the most economically viable business. And that, more than governmental policy, may be the real issue.”

“I'm remote, yes, but that's not taken into consideration. Tulare County told me this week I need a new grease trap. That's five, eight thousand bucks, easy, and for what? I'm not on a sewer line. And all you have to do is watch the Forestry Service up here to know that government shouldn't manage these lands. They have no idea what they're doing.”

“Oh yeah, turn the forests over to private interests. Great idea, Jakey. They'll shave this mountain bald as a boulder. Not a tree left standing. That'll give your business a big boost.”

Jakey took a long swig of whiskey and handed her the bottle. “How 'bout this? How 'bout you be my personal economics advisor?” He poked her thigh. “You can give me a full economic evaluation. Seriously. I'd pay you for that.”

He slid down, kissed the side of her breast.

In fact, she'd already ascertained that Jakey had his own private economy. At the register, he ignored the price list stored under the counter and charged whatever he felt the customer could bear; a bag of marshmallows for her (or some kid) would be a dime; for Dr. Peterson of Thousand Oaks, a buck and a dime. Jakey ran his restaurant, bar, and market by self-interest, but not the kind that fit any rational model. There was no maximizing of any profits. God knows what his books looked like—fiction of some ilk, no doubt. Often, she noticed, he didn't even ring something up, just opened the cash drawer and made change. If someone squawked over a high price, Jakey would say, “Fine, fine, go buy it at the bodega across the street.”

Of course, the nearest competition was the Hapsaw Lodge, sixteen twisting miles down the hill.

*   *   *

Julie arrived ten minutes early with a wooden walking stick. Having feared a slow pious trek through the woods, Cress was disappointed to be led down the familiar looping asphalt roads to the lodge. Tap tap tap, they went, Julie keeping close, often brushing against her. Cress had never been nudged and brushed against as much as she had here in the Meadows. But she'd never spent as much time so close to older people, who might be hard of hearing.

“You should know,” Julie said, “Jakey went a little nuts after his wife left. A little frantic for company. Terrified of being alone. But he's been looking for a special someone for a while now. And you”—here, her arm collided with Cress's—“you're so different from all the women up here. I have to give him credit. He's surprised us by making an exceptional choice.”

“We'll see how it goes,” Cress said. “It's only been a few weeks.”

Tap tap tap. “I'd love to give you a little advice,” Julie said. “May I?”

Julie knew an equation that applied to divorced men: Take how many years they were married and divide it by two: that's how many years before they're actually ready for another relationship—how long before they're out from under their old marriage and can be fully present for a new one.

Cress did the math: if Jakey was married for twenty-four years, he'd need twelve years of recovery time, two of which had elapsed. “Ten more years!” she yelped. “He'll be really old then.”

“But you should snag him now,” said Julie. “Men don't wait around. Ready or not, they find someone new right away. Rick wasn't over his marriage when we got together. But he's worth all the Sturm und Drang.”