The Man Game (59 page)

While RH enjoyed a private, sudsy bath in Peggy's suite, a gang of men smoked hashish and tobacco down in Wood's parlour on the first floor, easing into a splendid night. Most of the men wanted to talk with Campbell, whose reputation had improved significantly since winning the game against Hoss. This evening he held court like a king, and if not a king then a prince, for what it was worth
here
. Campbell, by all accounts, felt himself a success. He worked for the toughest logging concern on the coast. He held his own in the forests as well as he held his liquor. And he was a player in the man game. He wiggled his foot balanced on his kneecap and talked as if to himself in a mirror. The basic questions about the man game that Campbell had answered countless times over the last few months received big long speechifying answers tonight, answers full of bad advice, in bad breath; Campbell was the kind of expert who made a man want to learn how to play the game just to shut him up.

An adjoining circle of skunky men, among them the leaders of the Knights of Labour and the cowboy RD Pitt, stubbornly discussed other, more pertinent issues.

You can't assimilate them.

Can't
trust
them.

Occasionally the two conversations collided.

Why don't you shut your mouths? said Campbell from across the room. 'The fuck you know aboot assimilate?

Fuck you, said RD Pitt, his shirt unbuttoned to the belly. I'll knock you flat if you so much as—(realizing he was again
being led into a trap to play the man game)—all's I'm saying is mind your business.

I am, said Campbell. It's you who ain't. I found myself a way to make some chickamin without your problems. I even get paid by the Chinamens you say stole your job, eh.

You're all so eager to do this man game, said Pitt. Me, I'd rather just shoot you dead. None a this fancy-footing. And didn't I hear Moe Dee called
you
out, too? Now he wants to play. You're all as smart as a bag a nails. Instead a recruiting more bohunks to share in your distraction you should be out here with us trying to save this city from the Yellow Peril.

You saw him? Where's Moe Dee? said Campbell.

By now the argument had set off other, smaller arguments throughout the parlour and it was clear to all that the Knights of Labour were outnumbered. What the men wanted, now that cigars were plentiful, opiates and medicinals available, women affordable, and drinks came on demand, was something that gave meaning to these distractions. Because, as Campbell saw things, as did so many others at the time, ninety-five percent of life was back-breaking misery.

And RD Pitt saw this, too. He cottoned on to how Vancouver men gravitated towards the man game and not his rightful cause. For the sake of his pride, he found a way to avoid what most of the unshaven men in the parlour seemed to want from him, which was to see him compete.

Well, I seen him. Your Moe Dee. You and all your lumpens.

Is Dee here? Is he with Sugar, Dixie? said Campbell. Who's with Peggy?

Naw, said Pitt, he ain't with
her
. He's with another gal.

Campbell stood and brushed himself off, shoulders to kneecaps. All the bohunks in the room watched him eagerly. I'm gonna go up there and find that boy. He thinks I'm too tired after besting Hoss … got another thing coming.

While the argument downstairs boiled over, Peggy's room on the second floor was locked tight as usual, with client. Campbell rattled her knob first, just in case, then he moved on, not daring to even touch the door to the room occupied by The Whore Without A Face. RH Alexander didn't even hear him. He was lolling in his bath, kissing Peggy's salty arms when he got the chance as she scrubbed him down. The lace curtains were drawn across the window and secured with a clothespin. RH pinched its wood mouth open and slid the curtains apart to stare at the wet blur. She soaped him. Massaged him. Her thumbs worked out the knots between his shoulders. It was quiet enough in her room that he could hear the candle burn. He could hear the bubbles in his bath pop one by one. His eyes were shut, the lashes sticky.

Oh, he said, that's wonderful. Up a little.

Here?

Oh, that's—
O
w,
o
w, ow. Oh, m
y
. Where did you learn this art?

Same place I learned who'd pay for it.

She held his face in her hands, twisted it towards her, smiled, and kissed him. He blinked, and smelled her on his lips. It was the first time she'd ever kissed him.

What was that for?

For all the hard work you do, honey, she said, and threw the sponge in the water, splashed the window.

What a you know aboot it? RH thought to ask her.

I read the papers. I see your name and make sure to read the story. You don't think I'm interested in my man, but I am.

I don't know what you like, said RH. Well, this city is still so young. There are men with a superior vision for the future and those who see only today's dinner plate.

And what do you picture these future superiors will do for relaxation? Same as always?

Indeed, said RH, as it always has been, and nothing new. In terms a relaxation, a madam for a mistress, a ball a opium in a pipe, and a bubble bath, I don't see any reason to change a
thing. Some economic spheres are perfect globes while others are lopsided, oblong, or completely flat. The issue a labour and capital in my field is still lumped and jagged, not at all in sustainable shape, for it continues to be moulded by innovation. Your home is a perfect sphere. It has been for millennia. No intelligent man would damage your world.

Good, she said, suppressing a yawn, because believe me, darling, I surely hope you're finished stepping on the nice mayor's toes.

What aboot him? RH splashed around in the tub to look her in the painted face.
Nice
mayor's toes? Don't tell me—we had a p
ro
mise.

She rolled her eyes. No, I'm not talking aboot that.
Men
, she said, groping down under the suds to jerk him a little, it all comes down to what your prick wants, eh?

To what are you referring then,
Stepping on his toes
? I don't follow.

Alls I see is one thing leading to another. It happens like dominoes. First you cry obscenity, then your morals catch up, and soon enough the po-lice are knocking on my—

This city lacks discipline. Its men are vagrants. You don't know the work I do trying to keep them in line. You don't know. And you see this and wonder why I require Chinamen.

You old fogey, she kidded, slapping his white-haired chest, come now, it's the generations, darling. It's entirely harmless. You mustn't become so upset over things that don't interest you.

Yes, a course, he said, you must a heard quite a bit aboot the man game.

Her massage showed no hesitation. I only meant to warn you that if you get a reputation for puritanism, you risk separating us.

Don't be sentimental, dear. Nothing is going to happen to us. Be sure a that. Now tell me, I'm very curious to know what you've heard. Have you seen one?

Me, no. Far too much distraction from the main attraction, hm.

Indeed. I'm glad to hear it. Well, who made this up? What dipsomaniac invented this? Is it Clough? I heard it was.

Bah, certainly not Clough, although … well, never mind.

So, you know more than you say. Hm, well, I'm surprised we haven't talked aboot this before. You kept this from me because you knew I'd be offended, didn't you?

Yes, she said.

Well, look, do I seem offended to you? Tell me what else you know. What was that noise?

W-what noise?

Did it come from … the room connected to yours?

Darling, said Peggy, climbing aboard his pelvis. She spends her days in complete solitude. Won't you allow her to conversate with her own self if no one else?

Why'm I not allowed a look, a quick peek …, said RH.

I already explained all the reasons, said Peggy, her lips brushing against his.

More, he said, tell me more aboot the man game.

Really, darling, not much. Nothing more than I've told you. I stay aw
a
y from that element.

Don't be facetious. It hardens my sympathies for you. You must know a great deal. You've already shown me that you do.

She stopped massaging his chest. She raised a hand out of the tub and rubbed her forehead with the flat of her arm, dripping suds on the Persian rug. Darling, she said. Sometimes, let me tell you, you can be such a bore. Do I look like I care aboot what goes on outside my doors? Alls I hear is what the men come in talking aboot, and yes, lately, it's been nothing but.

How long?

I forget, maybe the last few months. That's the only reason why I got concerned. Seems to me the men in this city enjoy the game. Men in this city like Wood's and some a those same men won't admit it in public. You seem to see a difference between what I do, but … You begin to see how I get concerned.

Bah, said RH, imitating her. You're being unreasonable,
you gorgeous thing. I see no cause for concern. There's not a man in this city who would vote to see you gone, least a all me.

Wives. When the wives start coming.

Wives can't vote, Peggy. He was going to continue his harangue, but something in the way she held herself at that moment gave him pause. He realized at once that she knew far more than he, and that probing her for answers was merely providing her with more ammunition. Peggy wasn't a young woman. She was twice his age and then some. She was older than everyone combined.

Suddenly, RH heard at least five wooden clotheshangers in her giant mahogany wardrobe fall to the floor. An avalanche of rumpled dresses pushed open one wing.

What the—arrgh, said RH, splashing her off him to get a better look.

And then just as suddenly—RH wasn't sure where to look, it all happened so fast—the front door of Wood's slammed shut and rattled all the walls, tinkling a whisky-soaked tumbler on a silverware tray next to Peggy's bed, and it might have been the cause of the wardrobe popping open if it weren't for Litz on his hands and knees in among the shifts and gowns, whom RH didn't see, because he turned in the other direction to spy through the window lace where he witnessed Campbell storm out to the end of the yard and stop there, looking back up.

What's all this, Peggy? he said. Who is that there, why, it's Campbell, that fool.

Worried that he'd be seen, RH ducked low at the window when Campbell yelled up: Hey, you, Moe Dee? Hey, how's aboot you get off your whore. I know you're in there. Get off your mink and come outside.

Under pretense of addressing the fallen clothes, Peggy ran to the armoire, closed one door to quickly conceal Litz, then gathered the dresses and hung them again. RH remained preoccupied with the scene outside while Litz was in plain view, scrabbling to hide himself with any garment he could find while the doors gaped open. Peggy shut the second door panel.

There was a satisfying noise when the oakley's two doors connected at their brass clasp and Litz was once again out of sight.

Peggy, said RH, finally turning to see what she was doing. You should really come see.

What is it, dear?

He looked down once more. On the path to the gate, Campbell stood and unbuttoned his collar, undid his tie, took them off, and hung them on a fence peg along with his hat. Piece by piece the clothing came off until he was naked.

Through the wainscotting RH heard the crunk of feet in the room next door, the murmur of a man's voice saying: 'The fuck? The next-door window's hinge squeaked and a flustered head poked out and looked in all directions. 'The fuck? said Moe Dee.

RH splashed down in his tub to get completely out of view when Peggy opened the window and, wearing only her black gauze, remained standing there, smoking a cigarette, watching Campbell in her yard.

What's going on, Peggy? said Moe Dee from the next window.

Hell's bells, said Peggy. Campbell, what a you think you're doing in my front lawn?

Campbell said: Get down here, you bohunk. I heard you're speaking lies saying I can't play the man game, is that right?

Yeah, that's right. And I never seen you prove me wrong.

You cheat, you liar, you poltroon, said Campbell, fists clenched. Get the fuck down here and say that. Let's see if you got anything to back up your words. Play me or get the fuck out a town, because you ain't got a friend around here otherwise.

You're on.

The red lantern hanging from the front door swayed as the crowd ran out and others huddled at the windows and on the porch. The sign NO
MINERS ALLOWED
fell off the gate and was crumpled under boots. If you were a young peeler who wanted
to gain respect from your fellows, you got as close to the action as possible to see Campbell versus Moe Dee. It was early enough in history that every sighting was worth seven stories.

Moe Dee didn't even dress to go downstairs. His only comforts in life followed him to the banister and, holding her towel against her with one hand, cheered him on with the other.