Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 36 ≈

Mary slept 'til early afternoon and woke feeling edgy and strange. She still didn't feel hungry, but forced herself to eat an orange and some yogurt. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be at Krista's to work on songs for the band. She put on a turtleneck and Slim's old cowboy shirt, with jeans that needed washing, and he Chaco sandals. She could stop at Ginger's condo on the way down and toss a load in, then dry them when she got back, while she took a shower. She looked at herself in the mirror: total banshee, she thought. Oh, well. Krista wouldn't care.

The back yard was fenced and she could leave Gris as long as she cleaned up his poop. Krista had some things written down and had recorded rhythm section tracks on her Mac. Mary listened over and and over, until words popped into her head. She scribbled them down. Then she sang them, listening through a headset to Krista's backup, but didn't record any vocals yet. Krista copied the backing tracks to a cassette so Mary could work on them at the yurt. Then she said she was starving. Did Mary want to go to the Park Café and eat in the kitchen? They always had soup and bread and stuff.

That sounded good. She left Gris in the back yard and jetted down in the Saab. Krista rode her bike and they met by the door on the alley. There was a staff dining room. Krista told Mary to wait there while she loaded a tray and got plates and things. She returned with a feast: French baguette, grainy crackers, several kinds of cheese, a fruit platter, and a little tray with tapenades and mustards. Then she went back for the soup, and came back with steaming bowls of white bean soup, in a rich broth with herbs.

"Want a glass of wine?" Krista asked. "Mom's cool with it, as long as I don't abuse the privilege."

"Nope. Had some last week. Vac-something. That'll have to last me for awhile."

They were eating and talking about band stuff when Emilia, one of the servers, popped her head through the door. "Your boyfriend's out there," she said, jerking her head towards the dining room.

"Seriously?" She followed Emilia to the double swing doors and peered through the glass. Slim was two tables away, with his hair combed, in a nice shirt and the tweed vest she'd bought him for Christmas. And opposite, a total knockout: sleek as a seal, and a sculpted face like a model in the Macy's catalog.

Red flames lanced through Mary's vision, and she pushed at the door, but Emilia grabbed her: "Hey! Can't have a scene or I might get fired."

"Right. Sorry. I'll just have to strangle him later."

"Nobody you know?" she asked.

"Never saw her before," Mary said, and realized that she'd bitten her lip and was bleeding. She rushed past Krista and ran out to the Saab and took off for the Village, then remembered about Gris. Dammit!

Dog recovered, she drove to the Village in a towering rage and almost hit a car in the parking lot. She and Gris were halfway up the path to the yurt when she remembered she had wash done at Gin's place and was going to shower.

"Fuck that!" she yelled, and started her lip bleeding again. "Asshole!"

She'd never felt the least bit jealous over Slim, and it hit her like a whirlwind, grabbed her and spun her and flung her around.

It was the sight of him, smiling, head bent towards that glossy, ski-whore bitch.

BITCH! Mary screamed and it echoed off the slopes. Men! They took your money and screwed you and got drunk and wrecked your car, then lied and left you behind, for some goddam little fluffy wagtail bitch.

Jesus! Get out of my head, Mom! I don't want you there. She was shaken by how completely her mother's rant had taken her over.

I've got to get a grip, she thought. This is not who I am. Not!

Gris was staring at her and keeping his distance. Smart dog. He hopped up on the deck of the yurt and waited. She unlocked the door. Went in. Didn't light the lantern. Fell on the bed. And kept falling.

Gris barked.

"I know you're in there," Slim said. "The server at the cafe said you saw me with Venice and you left in a huff."

"Fuck you. Go away."

"I'm not gonna leave until you come out and hear what I have to say."

Get up. Yell. Kick his sorry ass. Her mom was screaming in her inner ear.

"Okay. But make it quick."

"Right. I told you there was a Fish and Wildlife Service agent coming to work on the poison case."

"Yeah. You did."

"That's her—the agent. Venice Harper."

Mary stammered: "Wh-wh-wh-what?"

"She's the agent they assigned. The guy I worked with before is in the hospital. He tried to bust a big-time smuggler and the bastard shot him."

"Wait. She's a federal agent?"

"Yep. Her usual beat is the luxury traffic: fur, ivory, snakeskins. She spends a lot of time in Texas, but she was in Jackson a couple years ago. Some Village bimbos were prancing around with snow leopard ruffs on their ski parkas. She just flew in. She likes the Park Café so she said we should meet there."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay nothing. Shut up!"

She sat in the dark, staring out at Slim sitting on the edge of the deck. She heard his explanation, loud and clear. She believed him. But she was still boiling mad.

"Look. I'm sorry I got so angry. I believe you, but I'm all twisted up inside. I think I need to be alone for a couple days, to get my balance back."

"You don't think I can help with that?"

"Not right now."

He looked hurt. "I'll call you tomorrow," she said, "from Gin's condo."

"I'll be out of the office 'til four or so."

"Okay. I'll call then."

"I love you." He waited. Waited. "Bye."