(no subject)
KISS, CHAPTER 4
Summer 1974
By most people's standards - most Wyoming people, that is - Aileen Ferrer was on the odd side of normal. She kept herself to herself, and with the help of a few family acres and a good water supply, she provided most of her simple needs. Rental paid to her on the rest of her property in the hills outside of Lander took care of the rest. On the rare occasions she ventured into town, her conversations were limited to the bare essentials. Once, many years ago, she'd travelled west for several years, which only confirmed local opinion that no good ever came of leaving Wyoming. She'd never had a boyfriend that anyone could remember, but sometimes what appears to be a choice is just a lack of opportunity.
At forty, Aileen had a good ten years on Ellis Waters when he blew into town that summer, seeking work. Itinerant cowboys were common enough in Lander and a few people already agisted their horses on Aileen's land, so no-one paid much attention when Ellis did the same. After a few weeks, however, it became clear that his horses weren't the only creatures being stabled on the Ferrer property. Eventually, he found steady work at a ranch further up the valley and shifted out there, but not before Aileen began showing a little baby bump. Then the locals started paying serious attention to this out-of-towner. His face had already settled into the half-frown which was his default expression, his nose followed a slightly wavering path down his face, and his knuckles bore a fine pattern of scars. Like Aileen, he kept himself to himself, no doubt imagining that the town's few thousand residents were plentiful enough to render a solitary cowboy invisible, but someone talked to their cousin who knew a woman who lived near the Colorado border, and she said there'd been talk about this Waters character from his time on a property in the Red Desert. It appeared that, when in drink, he talked with his fists a little too often for comfort. And there was something else about him, something that didn't quite sit right.
With no fuss, Caitlyn Ferrer slipped into the world the following spring, and for the next decade she and her daddy were a regular feature around the place. On his days off, he'd be carrying his shopping in one arm and the red-haired baby in the other, and as she got older his broad shoulders were hers to ride on, dipping under advertising signs and doorways, pulling off her Dad's Stetson and wearing it on her own corkscrew-curled head, regarding the world with a shy enjoyment from her lofty position. He taught her to ride, bargained a good price on a pony for her, and together they roamed the Wind River Valley, out in all weathers, part of the landscape. The town's collective opinion was that, whatever his past and regardless of his lack of an ongoing relationship with his child's mother, Ellis Waters had turned out to be a devoted father and a dependable worker.
Young Caitlyn was ten when the “incident” happened. The bush telegraph never quite got to the bottom of it, and Aileen Ferrer wasn't about to enlighten them, but a screaming match at the Ferrer ranch was involved, plus a smashed truck, a broken leg sustained by the child, and the rapid disappearance of Ellis from the area. Well, that proves it, the gossips nodded wisely, he always was an untrustworthy type. And it wasn't much later that he proved them absolutely correct.
* * *
“Pawn to King four,” Jesse muttered to himself. His cyber opponent had already pushed its own pawn before he'd let go of the piece on the chessboard on his desk. “Yeah, yeah, not so fast, smartass.” He moved the black piece in real life so it matched the set-up on his screen, then tentatively advanced another of his white pawns, both the virtual and the real. The increasingly one-sided battle continued for a few more moves until the program smugly declared itself the winner and offered a chance to replay the game, this time with helpful hints. Jesse reset his own board and hit “Enter”. In his years with Russell they'd played barely a handful of games, and the chess set had languished in the spare room cupboard for a long time, but Jesse had seen a chance to move in closer to Ellis and goddamnit if he wouldn't conquer at least the basics of this stupid game. “Pawn to King four,” he tried again, and second time around, those helpful hints enabled him to stave off defeat for several more moves.
The night in the calving shed had left him puzzled, but it was a positive sort of puzzlement. That Ellis hadn't pushed him away seemed like an achievement, although for the life of him Jesse couldn't figure out what might have brought about even that tiny change for the better. Maybe he'd just chosen the line of least resistence. Whatever the reason, Jesse wasn't about to let the opportunity slip by.
And then? What then? What was Ellis to him anyway? A former friend? An old lover? A means of salving a guilty conscience? Did they have anything in common besides a shared summer? The man wasn't even attractive unless you had a fondness for weatherbeaten old codgers. If Jesse needed sex he had the resources to find it easily enough; there was even a gay bar in Austin, from what he'd heard. His recent trip had proved to him that there were plenty of handsome young men with toned bodies who were prepared to put an old guy through his paces for the right price, whereas Ellis - the idea was laughable. His style had been primitive way back on that mountain, and Jesse had a heavy feeling that he probably hadn't improved much over the years. Was the man even gay? Maybe 1963 had been just teenage play, the slaking of uncontrollable lust. Best for Jesse to just let him be, pay him his wages, and feel the satisfaction of giving a steady job and a secure future to a man less fortunate than himself. But whenever he saw Ellis swing up into a saddle, or run his hands over an animal, or simply stretch in the sun and get that distant look in his eyes for a brief second, Jesse's body thrilled and the yearning for something else, something more, surged through him.
For a week he left Ellis alone, noted his progress to and from the calving shed each day but saw little else of him. When Jesse had an excuse to be down with the men Ellis was usually asleep. And he did find excuses. Suddenly, hands-off Jesse was getting his hands dirty quite often, much to the ill-concealed but good-natured amusement of his workforce. A few more entries were made in his writing in the calving records during that week, and he even managed to assist here and there. Eventually, he couldn't take the waiting any longer, and strolled down to the shed one evening, just on the cusp of night, knowing Ellis was supposed to be there. Although several stalls were already occupied, Jesse didn't find his man in the shed - Ellis was out among the cows in the holding yard, humming softly as he did the rounds, a flashlight beam bobbing through the dark herd. Abruptly, the humming ceased, the light dipped down, and Jesse lost sight of the shadowy figure. He waited a minute or two then whistled low and clear across the yard.
“Hey, Ellis, that you?”
“Who the fuck else would it be?” Ellis paused for an impolite beat then added, “boss?”
Jesse bristled slightly. “Coulda been anyone. It's dark, if you ain't already noticed.”
“Yeah, and you know damn well I'm rostered on night calvin duties.” Jesse heard some quiet cursing, an unhappy, short bellow, then Ellis's voice again, sounding worried. “Help me get this one up and inside, wouldya? Somethin not right goin on here.” When Jesse located the two of them, the animal was lying down already. Ellis's hands cast huge shadows as he felt her distended belly. “Calf's wrong way up, I reckon,” he said, “shoulda been picked up and brought in before dusk. Lucky I found her.”
Jesse made a mental note to look up who'd been responsible for checking the drop that day, as he and Ellis got the cow to her feet and into the shed. “Thought I might catch you for a chess game this evening. Guess not, hey?”
As he examined the cow, Ellis mumbled something, then, “Don't play with others. It just passes the time on nights like these. Yep, them hooves're pointin skywards.” He scrubbed up then started the serious business of turning the calf upright.
“You want I should call for help?” asked Jesse, inclining his head towards the phone on the wall, with the local veterinarian's number pinned beside it.
“Nope. You'll do. Go check on them other girls.”
Like the good herdsman he was, Ellis eventually persuaded the calf into the right position, only for it to get jammed on the way out. He attached pulling chains to its front feet, and showed Jesse what to do. “See, we gotta walk it out, little bit at a time till them shoulders free up. Like this.” And gradually they coaxed the calf free. When Ellis nodded his satisfaction, Jesse felt like a kid who'd been praised by his favorite teacher.
In the quiet of midnight, he finally left the shed, pausing in the doorway. “Maybe I could come down to the bunkhouse next time you got a day off, see if I can persuade you to play a game or two.” No response. “Could play up in the rec room.”
“Ain't proper for the boss to be down with the hands.”
“Fuck proper. I don't stand on ceremony. When the calvin's done, okay?” He risked taking the further silence as assent. “You don't think it's proper, maybe you could come up to the house. Anyway, see ya later. Thanks for the lesson in calf-birthin.”
“You really ain't played much, have you.”
“Huh?”
“Look what you just done there.”
Jesse inspected the chessboard. It looked okay to him. He'd moved out his Queen's Bishop's pawn, eager to get his Queen into play at last. Them damn females had to be good for something.
“I take your Queen with my bishop,” Ellis pointed out helpfully.
“And I grab your bishop--”
“--and I come in with my Queen, see here? And even if you capture her, I pin you with my Rooks, and you lose - again.”
Against the odds, Ellis had taken up his boss's offer, had quietly tapped on the sliding door of the verandah on his first free evening, and slipped inside, ensuring the drapes were fully closed behind him. Coffee had sustained them through the first couple of games - both short, both won by Ellis - then Jesse asked, not without some trepidation, “Wanta beer?”
“Sure,” said Ellis, setting up the board again. He glanced up. “Lemme set your mind at rest - I don't have a drinkin problem, okay? I choose ta drink, I don't need ta drink. You gimme a beer now, I won't be askin for another one.” And true to his word, he nursed the longneck through the rest of the evening. They started another game but Jesse's mind was too busy working out his own conversational moves to pay much attention to the moves of a bunch of glass chessmen. His hand wavered over the pieces.
“I'm crap at this. Use ta play with my old manager. He was good, tried ta learn me some strategy but ...” He shrugged. From under his eyelashes he'd spotted the slight twitch that mention of Russell had caused. Couldn't keep a secret on a ranch, that was for sure. He settled on pushing a pawn and waiting for the inevitable defeat but instead of moving in for the kill Ellis leaned back in his chair.
“Why're you so hands-off? Around the ranch. Why'd ya stay up here like some fuckin Roman emperor?”
“You make it sound like I never leave the house. I know what's goin on all over this ranch, even if I ain't out there every day.”
“Sure, but you kinda descend, in yer fancy clothes and shiny boots, like it's an honor for the men ta see you. They all like workin here, like you well enough too, but they still make jokes.”
“But it ain't ... it's not like I ...” Jesse struggled to marshall his thoughts. “Tell the truth, I don't know much. Came in knowin nothin 'cept the business side. After them damn sheep, the only livestock I handled before I bought this place was the kind you clamp between your thighs. Rodeoing, I mean.” He flushed a little. “Was a friend a mine talked me into buyin this place. I put up the money but we ran it together. Don't get me wrong, I helped out, but mostly he was the one out with the men while I wrangled the figures. After he died ...” His voice trailed away.
“But you got a good pair a hands there. Them nights you helped me out ...”
“Helped out, what, shiftin straw? Shoveling shit?”
“You sell yerself short, boss. I checked up on you afore decidin ta come down here. You got a good reputation. I know it's you what decides the breedin program. You're good.”
“Thanks,” Jesse murmured, more moved than he cared to show, “but it's all facts and figures, all head stuff. I'm no good out in the field.”
“Bullshit,” said Ellis briskly, “Yer just too chickenshit ta trust them instincts.” He returned his attention to the board and removed a Knight. “Now, get a move on and lose this game. I got work in the mornin.”
Trust my instincts, thought Jesse contentedly as he spun out his last defeat of the evening for as long as his limited skills would allow, maybe that's what that damn film was tellin me to do.
A week later, Ellis tapped at the door again, and this time he didn't wait to be invited in. The two of them had maintained a casual but distant working relationship during the intervening time, but in the confines of Jesse's home a new atmosphere was being created.
“Set up the board, I'll get the beers, and quit callin me 'boss', okay?”
When the evening had reached a mellow stage, the empties were mounting up on the kitchen bench, and the chess had been abandoned in favor of amiable but safe talk about beef and cows and ranches and calves and bulls and weather, Jesse cautiously dipped his toe in the water and figured it was warm enough for a paddle. “Been thinkin,” he said, “about what you said last week, about checkin up on me before you came down here. It set me to wonderin why you did come down.”
“Been a while since you lived through a Wyomin winter?”
“A while, yeah. So that was it? Warmth?”
“Didn't do no harm. These bones ain't getting any younger.” Ellis stared into space a while. “First time in a long time I got given a real choice.” He fell silent again, and this time it seemed he wasn't about to continue.
“About the weather?”
“About anythin.”
“I guess I was lucky. Things kinda came to my hand the right way.” Jesse sneaked a sideways look at his companion. There but for the grace of god ...
“Oh yeah, rich wife.”
“More than that. What you said when I came up to see you? About me likin it that summer? That was right. I never had no problem with likin it, but I've seen lotsa guys who did. It screwed 'em up real bad, the wantin somethin they figured was wrong, dirty. Knew one or two who settled the matter with a bullet to the brain. Me, I just figured this was how I am, can't do nothin about it so why try?”
“You got married.”
“I did, and I ain't proud about toein the line that way, but that's how it worked back then. You know the score. You won't find me standin up and protestin about discrimination, or wearin pink shorts in some parade with a bunch a guys in wigs and false tits or dancin in assless chaps. That ain't my style. Me and Russell - that's my old manager, but I guess you already know about him - we pretended, we dated women for a while but we never tried ta fool ourselves.”
“You cheated on your wife with him?”
“With him, with more guys than I care to recall. So shoot me for bein weak.”
Ellis stood up, grabbed another beer, and downed it with unnerving speed. “Ain't right,” he said at last, setting down the empty bottle.
“You tellin me you never cheated on your wife?” Jesse asked softly.
“What wife?” Too late Jesse detected the edge in Ellis's voice. “I said, what wife?”
“I thought - well, I thought you was plannin on getting married. After we left the mountain.”
“Jesus, are you outta yer mind? After what we done that summer? You think I could just go home and get married? Couldn't even bring myself ta look that girl in the face. Left a note for her, never spoke ta her again. Then I waited for you. I fuckin waited for you and you never showed. You fuckin ruined my life and you never showed."
"Didn't know you wanted me,” Jesse whispered.
"Wanted you? I didn't want you. But after you I weren't good for nothin else. It's cause a you I'm like this."
“But you did marry! Least, I figured ... You mentioned your daughter.”
“And you know how fuckin shit-faced drunk I hadta get to make her? And I wish ta god I never did. Most precious thing I ever had, and I wish she'd never existed.”
He clutched his head as if he would rip the memory from him, yet no tears cracked that granite face. Jesse eased over and laid a gentling hand on his arm. “Hey--”
“Get the fuck offa me!” And shoving Jesse out of his path, Ellis headed for the door.
After a troubled night's sleep, Jesse woke up to the news that a couple of his employees had just worked out a difference of opinion on each other. Lou Wallander had taken the first hits, two straight to his face, the punches thrown with the weight of bitter years behind them, but when surprise and shock had got out of the way he'd paid Ellis back with interest, his strength and relative youth proving too much for the older man. Ramon was apologetic about what had happened. “Wouldn't trouble you, boss, handle it myself, just that you did ask how things were going. Plus he's refusing to get medical attention.” Jesse set his foreman's mind at rest, said he'd take it from there. By the time he'd walked down to the bunkhouse, Lou had already disappeared with his girlfriend, blustering and threatening a return bout if Ellis so much as breathed too loud.
Jesse found his friend sitting morosely on the walkway outside his room, cradling a cigarette in painfully swollen hands, each intake of smoky breath causing his battered face to pinch up with pain. The smell of alcohol clung to him.
“Jesus H., you look a fuckin mess. So what the fuck happened here?”
Ellis answered with a stream of smoke, then a coughing fit mingled with barely-suppressed moans.
“Listen,” Jesse continued, “I don't run a Sunday School picnic here, and if a coupla hands want to get overly close, that's okay so long as they're fit for work next day. But you ain't fit, and neither's Wallander, by the sounds of it, so what happened?”
“Nothin.” Speaking set off another spasm of coughing. Once it subsided, Jesse tried again, this time gentle and concerned.
“What happened, Ellis? Tell me.”
“Why'd you care what happened?”
“Cause Lou does his job, gets paid, end of story, while you ... you're a friend. Okay, later. Now, get up - if you can. I'm takin you into town. Shut your mouth and do as you're told! Second thoughts, stay there and I'll bring the truck round.”
Four hours later, the pair emerged from the Staple Medical Center, Ellis under strict instructions not to work until his fractured ribs and broken fingers had healed sufficiently. His blackened eyes looked worse than they felt, but he ached from head to toe.
“Saw Lou in there,” said Jesse as they got in the truck. “You broke his jaw. He's none too happy about it. Won't be eatin pussy for a while. His skank of a girlfriend ain't too happy neither. Bitch.”
“I coulda killed him,” Ellis said quietly.
“Twenty years ago I'd a put my money on you for sure. You're a tough old bastard, I'll give you that. So, you goin a tell me what happened now?”
“He come in off night duty,” said Ellis in a flat and distant tone, “and said how he seen me leavin yer house last night. Made it sound real dirty.”
“So you hit him?”
“So I hit him.”
“I'm guessin you didn't sleep much last night, right? Just kept drinkin?” Ellis nodded in response. “How the fuck did he see you? I'm payin him ta be riding fences, not stickin his nose where it don't belong.”
“Give a man them high-power night vision binos and nothin ta do all night but look for rustlers, and if he's halfway curious he's goin a be looking to see what else he can see. I'm sorry, Jesse, I let you down. You put yer trust in me and I let you down.”
“Can't help but think I mighta had some input.”
“Might be best all round if I just pack up and go back home. You don't need a mad dog around.”
“You're home now!” The emotion cracking his own voice surprised even Jesse. He hadn't known the words were there until they rushed from his mouth. If he had known, he might have found some way of not saying them. Too late now. “You're home now. You can stay in the spare room while you heal up. No sense in stirrin up the bunkhouse. And one more thing, Ellis. You and me, we gotta talk.”
