The Lake

THIRTEEN

Quiet knocking aroused Leigh from her sleep. She raised her head as Jenny called through the door. “Time to rise and shine, if you want to go after the big ones.”

“I don’t know,” Leigh told her. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

“That’s fine if you’d rather catch some extra z’s. If you change your mind, though, we won’t be leaving for fifteen or twenty minutes. Either way’s fine.”

“Thanks,” she said, and lowered her face into the pillow.

She felt bad about lying to Jenny. She had slept well. She just didn’t want to go out with them. Not this morning. She didn’t want to do anything.

I should go along, she thought. What’s wrong with me? It’ll be great out on the boat. I don’t really want to stay behind. Once they’ve gone, I’ll probably wish I was with them.

You’d better get a move on, then.

What for? I’m not going.

She rolled onto her back. The window was open, the gauzy curtains billowing inward and flapping. The breeze brought a mild scent that reminded her of Christmas trees. From the feel of it, she guessed the sun hadn’t been out for long. Drawing the sheet aside, she felt it stir over her nightgown and bare skin.

She heard quiet voices beyond her door. Through the open window came birdsongs, the soft sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, the sputtery hum of a motorboat like a power lawn mower far away. After a while, she heard the screen door of the porch slap shut. Climbing from the bed, she stepped to the window. Mike and Jenny, loaded with fishing gear, were heading down the wooded slope. She watched them walk onto the pier. Mike stepped into the Cris Craft and set down his gear. Jenny handed her rod and tackle box to him, then untied the mooring lines while Mike started the twin engines. She hopped aboard. Mike, standing in the cockpit, backed the boat around the arm of the L-shaped pier. The pitch of the engines rose. The bow tipped upward and the boat headed out, churning a frothy wake.

Leigh stood at the window long after the boat was out of sight. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She should have gone with them.

Her eyes lingered on the lounge chairs and table at the end of the pier. A couple of evenings, she had sat out there with Mike and Jenny after supper. It was pleasant then. It would be nice now, while the sun was still low.

At the bureau, she took off her nightgown and opened the drawer where she kept her white bikini. In a corner of the drawer was her necklace, the leather thong with its sea-thing ornament. Her good-luck necklace.

Leigh could use some good luck.

She knotted the rawhide behind her neck. The bonelike ornament felt smooth and cool between her breasts. She hadn’t worn it since the day of her arrival.

The man at Jody’s.

So what makes you think it’s a good-luck charm?

The jet didn’t crash, did it?

The guy didn’t grab me.

Don’t start thinking about him.

His overalls sticking out, his hand inside.

Mary Jo. Maybe he closed up as soon as we left, and… No. She’s only a kid, probably his daughter. In spite of what Mike said.

Stop this.

She put on her bikini.

The girl had walked right in. She must have seen what that guy was doing.

Leigh’s stomach hurt. “There is a house—in New Orleans,” she started to sing. She picked up her sunglasses and a paperback and left the room, still singing to block out the thoughts.

She smelled coffee. She spent a few minutes in the bathroom. With her hair in a ponytail, she pulled her beach towel down from its rod, rolled her suntan oil inside, and went into the kitchen. She poured herself a mug of coffee.

Then she walked down the slope to the pier.

The boat was out of sight, either hidden from view by an island or in one of the many coves around the borders of the lake. The painted slats of the pier felt cool under her bare feet. They creaked as she walked out. The warm breeze felt wonderful on her skin. She set her coffee mug, book, and suntan oil on the wicker table, then spread her towel over one of the lounge chairs.

Turning, she scanned the shore. To the right, three piers up, someone was swimming with slow, balletlike strokes. It had to be a woman. Far beyond the swimmer, a motorboat was chugging out, trailed by wisps of bluish smoke. She guessed that the two men were the same who had passed her yesterday afternoon. To the left, a kid was sitting at the end of the nearest pier, fishing with a cane pole. Beyond him, at Carson’s Camp, a family was loading one of the dozen motorboats available to the guests.

At the pier’s end, a boy and girl, side by side, dove at the same instant. Leigh heard their splashes. They raced out to the diving raft that floated on metal drums about thirty yards beyond the pier. Leigh waited to see who won. The girl did. “That-a-way,” she whispered.

Then she straddled the lounge chair, sat down, and leaned back. Drinking coffee in this position, she realized, would be a neat trick. So she sat up straight and folded her legs. She picked up the mug. Steam still drifted off the coffee. The breeze caught it and twisted it away. She took a sip. The coffee tasted rich and good.

The swimming woman was far out and turning back toward shore. The motorboat with the two fishermen was moving past the point of the nearest island. Far off, near the northern shore, was a rowboat—someone getting his or her morning exercise. Leigh couldn’t tell, at this distance, whether the rower was male or female.

Nearby, a motor sputtered to life. She didn’t bother turning to look. It had to be from the boat of the family at Carson’s Camp.

She took another drink, set the mug on the table, and reached for the plastic bottle of suntan oil. Before touching it, however, she stopped. The stuff was messy. It would cling to her hands no matter how hard she might try rubbing it off, and end up on the pages of her book. So she left the oil alone and picked up the paperback.

It was Boys and Girls Together, a book she’d bought at the City Lights. William Goldman was the author. She’d bought two books by him that day, because she remembered how she’d loved his first one, The Temple of Gold.

Boys and girls together.

Don’t you wish.

At least you’ll be able to read about it.

A fly settled on her leg. She waved it away, and noticed some hair curling out from the edge of her bikini shorts. Real cute, she thought. She fingered it out of sight, and decided she had better give herself a trim the next time she was in the bathroom. Or shave it off entirely.

What if you have to go in for a physical before it grows back?

You already had your annual checkup.

What if you got in an accident?

Just explain you didn’t want it sticking out when… Explain? What’s the doctor going to do, tell on you?

She took another drink of coffee.

The rowboat was closer now. The person at the oars didn’t seem to be wearing a shirt. Probably a guy, she thought.

Finishing the coffee, Leigh set the mug aside. She uncrossed her legs, stretched them out, and leaned back. Through her sunglasses, the cloudless sky was a deep blue-green. A mallard flapped by. She opened her book, raised it high enough to block out the sun, and began to read.

Soon, she was caught up in the story. She was in the story, living it with the characters, though part of her mind was aware of herself enjoying the book, aware of how good she felt with the soft cushion beneath her and the sun hot on her skin, the mild breeze roaming her body. She turned the pages. Her arms, muscles still aching from all the canoeing over the past few days, grew heavy from holding the book high enough to shade her eyes.

Maybe go back up to the cabin and get a hat. Get a refill of coffee while you’re at it.

Wait till the end of the chapter.

She kept on reading.

“Baskets!”

The voice made her heart lurch. She lowered the book.

The rowboat was straight ahead, no more than sixty feet off the pier. It was loaded with baskets, some the size of clothes hampers, others that looked like picnic baskets, fishing creels, bread baskets. The young man in the center seat held the boat broadside, barely moving its oars.

“Selling them?” Leigh asked.

“Sure am.”

He wore a black hat with a high, rounded crown, a wide brim, and a red feather on each side of its headband. The feathers stuck up like horns.

“Handmade,” he said. “Can’t buy no better.”

Leigh sat up straight and took off her sunglasses to see him better. His face, shaded by the hat brim, was lean and handsome. He had a slight cleft on his chin. His bare torso was slim and muscled, his sleek skin glossy with sweat. He wore jeans so old and faded they were almost white. Their knees were in shreds.

“I can show ’em to you,” he said.

Leigh nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll beach her.”

She watched him turn the bow. He leaned far forward to start rowing. His back muscles rippled, gleaming. His jeans were low. She glanced at the shadowy crevice between his buttocks and wondered if he wore underpants.

Come off it, she warned herself.

Her heart continued to pound fast as she watched him bring the boat closer. Her mouth was parched. Standing up, she put her book and sunglasses on the table. She plucked the sweaty seat of her bikini away from her skin. Looked down at herself. Fine. Nothing showing that shouldn’t be.

With glances over his shoulder, the young man guided the boat around the end of the pier. He headed for the beach area where Leigh kept the canoe.

She forced her eyes away from him as she walked down the pier. She didn’t hurry. She strolled along, head up, back arched, keeping her belly muscles tight though she knew she was too slim to bother with that.

For godsake, she thought, calm down.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s a local.

So what?

So plenty. Maybe.

Stepping from the pier onto the sand, she watched him ship the oars. As the boat glided silently toward the beach, he hopped out. He grabbed a gunnel and waded, towing the boat beside him. He dragged it onto the sand. Let go. Straightened up. Turned to face Leigh.

She tried not to let it show. Her shock.

He had three nipples.

She looked quickly to his face and walked closer. “Let’s see what you’ve got,” she said. Her voice trembled a bit.

“Got real fine baskets,” he told her. “All shapes and sizes. Homemade.” Turning away, he lifted out one of the large ones. He set it down in front of her. It held several smaller baskets. Reaching inside, he took out two of them.

It wasn’t a nipple. Thank God. It was a red, heart-shaped tattoo above and slightly to the right of his left nipple. Scrawled inside the heart design, in small, flowing red letters, was the word Mom.

Leigh took a deep breath. “Did you make these baskets yourself?” she asked, feeling her shock subside.

“I just sell ’em,” he said. “Mom makes ’em.”

“They look very nice.”

He handed her one. “Can’t get something this fine in no store. My family’s been making ’em going back a hundred years. Maybe longer.”

The basket in her hands was long and narrow, just the right size for a loaf of sourdough. It was woven of reedlike wooden strips, a deep brown instead of the straw color she was used to seeing. The top edge was neatly rimmed with heavier strips fastened into place by tiny nails. She didn’t know much about baskets, but this one did look a lot nicer than the ones her parents had at home. It would make a nice gift for Mom. “What does something like this cost?”

“Twelve dollars.”

Not exactly cheap.

She had to buy a basket from him, though. At least one.

“Look at the others before you make up your mind. The smaller ones, they don’t cost as much.” Bending over the boat, he lifted out one with a hooped handle. It looked like an Easter basket. “Something like this, it’s good for candy or nuts.” He nodded toward a picnic basket near the stern. It had double handles and the kind of lid that flaps up from hinges in the center. “That’s the most popular, that picnic basket there. It goes for twenty-five.”

It was identical to one owned by Mike and Jenny.

“Have you sold baskets to these people here?” she asked, nodding toward the cabin.

“Sure, I sold ’em some. There’s not much of anybody on the lake I haven’t sold some to.”

He looked into Leigh’s eyes.

She felt a low, pleasant tremor.

“You a relation?” he asked.

“I’m their niece. My name’s Leigh.”

“You were water-skiing Monday.”

She nodded.

“I saw you.”

A blush warmed her face. “I hope you didn’t see me fall down.”

“You had on a white swimming suit.” He looked at what she was wearing. “Not this one, but it was white like this one. There was more to it.”

“Oh.”

“This one here’s better.”

“Thanks.” She swallowed hard. “About these baskets. I’d like to buy this one.”

“I’m Charlie. Charlie Payne. That’s P-a-y-n-e, not like a hurt.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlie.”

“You said your name was Leigh. What’s your last name?”

“West. Like the direction.”

He nodded. He smiled. He had extremely white teeth.

“My money’s up in the cabin. Why don’t you come along and get out of the sun?”

He nodded.

Leigh turned away and started walking. She glanced back. He was following, but staying a distance behind her as if wary of getting too close. “Do you live on the lake?” she asked.

“Over at the other side.”

The eastern shore, where the only homes were those creepy-looking shacks.

And not many of them. Leigh had suspected that he came from there. Still, having it confirmed made him seem even more alien. He was from a different world, a place that seemed both mysterious and somewhat sinister.

She didn’t feel threatened, though. Nervous, excited, but not threatened.

She climbed the shaded path, the breeze cool on her damp skin. Though she didn’t look back again, she was certain that Charlie must be studying her. The feel of the fabric taut across her moving buttocks kept her aware that she was nearly naked.

Maybe he was getting turned on.

Or maybe his people didn’t dress this way and he found it offensive.

No, he’d said that he liked the bikini.

At the top of the slope, she followed an offshoot of the path to the cabin. Charlie’s footfalls stayed behind her. She climbed the wooden stairs, opened the screen door of the porch, and held it wide.

Charlie stopped.

“You coming?”

“I better wait here.”

She thought of her parents’ strict rule about not having boys in the house while they weren’t home. Well, this isn’t their house. Mike and Jenny had imposed no such restriction.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Nobody’s home.”

“Mom, she don’t want me going in folks’ places.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

His eyes narrowed.

He doesn’t trust me, Leigh thought, annoyed. “Suit yourself.” She turned away.

“Guess I can wait on the porch,” Charlie said.

She held the door open for him and watched him approach. He had brown, curly hair starting at his navel and spreading downward like a triangle to the waistband of his low jeans. Leigh stayed in the doorway while he climbed the stairs. He turned sideways to avoid touching her as he stepped by.

He looked around the porch.

Leigh gestured toward the swing suspended by chains from the ceiling. Obediently, he went over to it and sat down. The chains groaned and creaked quietly.

“Back in a second.”

Leigh carried the basket into her bedroom and tossed it onto the bed. With trembling fingers, she opened her shoulder bag and found her billfold. She took out a ten and two ones. Then she hurried into the kitchen. The lower shelves of the refrigerator were loaded with cans of soda and beer. She hesitated, then folded the bills, tucked them under the elastic at her hip, and took out two cans of beer.

She had swung the refrigerator door shut and started out of the kitchen before she changed her mind. Mike and Jenny might not approve of her serving beer to Charlie. On top of that, she didn’t want Charlie getting the wrong idea. So she put the beer away and took out cans of black cherry soda instead.

She opened them and carried them out to the porch. Charlie’s hat was on his lap. His brown hair was plastered to the top of his head and stuck out, unkempt and shaggy, around the ears.

“Would you like a cold drink before you go?” she asked.

“Don’t want to put you out none.”

“You’d better take one,” she said. “They’re already open, and I can’t drink them both.” She handed one of the cans to him.

“Thank you.”

He was sitting near the middle of the swing, an arm draped over its back. Leigh considered asking him to move over, but that seemed a bit too pushy. Besides, if she joined him on the swing, it would make looking at him awkward. So she stepped away and leaned sideways, shoulder against the door frame.

“Your mother makes the baskets, and you sell them to people around the lake?”

He took a drink and nodded.

“Are there enough people around to make it worthwhile?”

“Don’t need much.” His gaze flicked downward, then back up to Leigh’s face. “There’s four lakes. Did you know there’s four of ’em?”

“No.”

“Wahconda, Circle, Goon, and Willow. There’s channels. You can get from one to the other. I sell on all of ’em. There’s places like Carson’s where you’ve got folks coming and going all summer. That’s where I sell the most.

“New folks all the time, and they like Mom’s baskets. They got money, too, a lot of ’em. Made sixty-five dollars off just one lady a couple weeks back.”

While he talked, his eyes kept straying down Leigh’s body. Then he would look elsewhere fast as if he feared being caught.

“It sounds lucrative,” she said.

He lowered his gaze to the top of his soda can. “That lady didn’t want just baskets.”

“What else did she want?”

“Well, she liquored me up.”

Leigh was suddenly very glad she’d decided against the beers.

“Then she went grabbing at me, but I made her quit. Mom, she give me a good switching.”

“How did your mother find out?”

He shrugged. “Smelled the liquor on me. I told her I made the lady quit, but she hided me anyhow. It didn’t count I sold five baskets. See, I went in her place and got a snoutful and put myself in the path of temptation.” He didn’t sound resentful against his mother, more as if he had strayed and deserved the punishment. “She’d likely switch me,” he added, “if she found out I was here.”

“Well, I hope you’re not planning to tell her.”

“I don’t guess I will,” he said, and looked up at Leigh with wary eyes.

“Don’t worry, I won’t liquor you up and grab you.”

The red of a blush showed through his tan.

“Your mother sounds pretty strict.” Sounds like a regular bitch, Leigh thought.

“She just don’t want me doing wrong.”

“Does she let you date?”

Charlie looked confused.

“You know, go around with girls.”

He shook his head, looked back down at his can of soda, and took a drink.

“You mean you never had a girlfriend?”

“Just never mind,” he muttered.

“Okay. Sorry.” She sipped her black cherry soda. As she tilted the can down, a cold drop fell to her breast. It trickled down. She saw Charlie look up in time to watch her brush it away. “What about your father?” she asked.

“He run off with a tramp. I was just a kid. I don’t remember him at all.”

“That’s rough,” Leigh said.

“He was no good.”

“Maybe your mother’s afraid you’ll run off with a tramp.”

“Not me.”

“That would explain why she doesn’t like you seeing girls.”

“You shouldn’t talk that way about her.”

“I’m sure she’s a fine person.”

“That’s right.”

“I just think maybe you’re missing out on a lot, that’s all. Most guys your age—What are you, nineteen or twenty?”

“Eighteen,” he said.

“Okay, eighteen. Guys your age, that’s about all they ever think about, is girls. Don’t you feel like you might be missing out on something?”

“I know what you’re up to.”

“I’m not up to anything,” she protested.

“Oh no? How come you keep talking about me and girls?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“You want me to do things to you.” There was a challenge in his eyes. Leigh felt caught. She wanted to snap out a denial. But Charlie wouldn’t believe her anyway. He knew what he knew. “It’s crossed my mind,” she admitted. “Don’t get any ideas, though. I’m not about to let you try anything with me. It’s not that I don’t like you. I’m glad we met, and I think you and I could be friends if we got to know each other better. The thing is, I’ve already got a boyfriend. He’s back in California, but I’m not the kind of person to fool around behind his back. So we could be friends, you and I, but it would have to be strictly hands off.”

“Well, how come you brought me up here, then?”

“I came up to get the money, remember?” She pressed on, confident now that he seemed to be buying her story. “Just because you had one bad experience, Charlie, you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Everyone isn’t like that woman who tried to grab you. And you shouldn’t go putting all the blame on her, either. If you were looking at her the same way you’ve been looking at me, it’s no wonder she got ideas.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. His mouth fell open.

“She probably thought you were asking for it.”

“I didn’t look at her that way.”

“Well, you’ve sure been looking at me that way.”

“She weren’t near as…” He stopped himself and scowled down at his soda can.

“Near as what, Charlie?” Leigh asked in a soft voice.

“You know.”

“Mean and ugly?”

He shook his head.

“Fat and stinky?”

He smiled, fought it away, and raised his eyes to her.

“She weren’t near as pretty,” he said.

“Probably not near as naked, either.”

The smile broke out again. This time, it stayed. His eyes still had a nervous look. “Not to start out with, anyhow.”

“Oh?”

“But what she had weren’t something I much wanted to see. It put me off my feed for a week.”

Leigh laughed.

Charlie laughed a little, himself, shaking his head. “I seen better-looking tits on a road apple. And she had a hind end…” He stopped. His face was suddenly solemn. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

“You don’t have to beg my pardon.”

“I gotta go now.” He gulped down the rest of his soda, put on his strange hat, and stood up. “Thank you for the drink.”

Leigh nudged herself away from the door frame and stood up straight as he came toward her. “I’m glad you came up here, Charlie. It’s been nice talking with you.” He gave the empty can to her, pulling his hand away quickly as if afraid of being touched. Leigh set both cans on a wicker table. She caught the screen door as it swung shut. “Hold up, okay? I’m going back down.”

He waited for Leigh to join him.

“So you’ll be selling baskets the rest of the day?” she asked as they stared down the slope.

“Yeah. I’ll make a stop at Carson’s and then head on away.”

“Do you go to all the lakes in one day?”

“I guess I’ll just get over to Circle today. It’s a full day trip, making Goon and Willow.”

“So they’re on tomorrow’s agenda? How would you like a helper?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve never been to those other lakes.”

“You can’t come.”

They reached the sand, and Charlie took long, quick strides as if wanting to leave her behind. Leigh quickened her pace. “What are you scared of?”

“I ain’t scared.”

“You just don’t want me with you. That’s real nice. It really makes me feel good.”

At the boat, he faced her. “It’s nothing against you.”

“Oh, sure.”

“It just wouldn’t be right.”

“What would be wrong with it? Oh.” Nodding, she pointed at the heart tattoo on his chest. “Your mother wouldn’t approve,” she said softly. Her fingertip touched the tattoo. Charlie flinched but didn’t move away. “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your mother.”

She put her open hand on his chest, feeling his smooth skin, his quick heartbeat. Sliding it down over the firm slab of his pectoral, she felt his nipple stiff under her palm. “Maybe you’ll come around again sometime,” she said, and took her hand away. She was trembling. “Maybe I’ll buy another basket.”

“I gotta get going.”

Leigh stood on the warm sand until Charlie had pushed off his boat. Then she walked onto the pier and watched him row past.

She raised a hand in farewell.

Charlie looked at her as he worked the oars, but he said nothing.