III

Cornelius Botham sat at the table with a hand-rolled cigarette lolling from beneath his blond feather mustache, his third beer of the morning set at his elbow, and surveyed the disemboweled Pentax laid out before him.

“What’s wrong with it?” Will wanted to know.

“It’s broken,” Cornelius deadpanned. “I say we hack a hole in the ice, wrap it in a pair of Adrianna’s underpants, and bury it for future generations to discover”

“You can’t fix it?”

“Yes, I can fix it,” Cornelius said. “That is why I’m here. I can fix everything. But I would prefer to hack a hole in the ice, wrap it in a pair of Adrianna’s underpants—”

“It’s given good service, that camera.”

“So have we all. But sooner or later, if we’re lucky, we’ll be wrapped in a pair of Adrianna’s underpants—” Will was at the stove, making himself a ragged omelet.

“You’re obsessing.”

“I am not.”

Will slid his breakfast onto a plate, tossed two slices of stale bread on top of it, and came to sit at the table opposite Cornelius.

“You know what’s wrong with this town?” Cornelius asked.

“Give me an A, B, or C.”

This was a popular guessing game among the trio, the trick being to dream up alternatives more believable than the truth.

“No problem,” Cornelius said. He sipped mouthful of beer and then said: “Okay. A, right? There aren’t any good-looking women in two hundred miles, besides Adrianna, and that’d be like fucking my sister. Okay? So, B. You can’t get any decent acid. And C—”

“It’s B.”

“Wait, I haven’t finished.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Fuck, man. I got a great C.”

“It’s the acid,” Will said. He leaned toward Cornelius.

“Right?”

“Yeah.” He peered at Will’s plate. “What the hell’s that?”

“Omelet.”

“What did you make it with? Penguin eggs?” Will laughed, and was still laughing when Adrianna came in out of the cold. “Hey, we got more bears at the dump,” she said, her Southern drawl perfectly mismatched with every other detail of her appearance and manner, from her badly trimmed bangs to her heavy-booted stomp. “At least four of ’em. Two adolescents, a female, and a huge male.” She looked first at Will, then at Cornelius, then back at Will. “A little enthusiasm, please?”

“Just give me a few minutes,” Will said, “I need a couple of cups of coffee first.”

“You’ve got to see this male. I mean,” she was struggling for the words, “this is the biggest damn bear I ever saw.”

“Maybe the one I saw last night,” Will said. “Actually we saw each other. Outside Guthrie’s place.” Adrianna unzipped her parka and sat down on the beat-up sofa, flinging aside a pillow and: blanket to do so. “He kept you talking for quite a while,” she said. “What was the old fuck like?”

“No more crazy than anybody’d be, living in a shack in the middle of nowhere.”

“On his own?”

“He had a dog. Lucy.”

“Hey,” Cornelius cooed. “Does that sound like a man with a supply or what?” He grinned, his eyes popping. “Only a guy with a habit would name his dog Lucy.”

“Christ!” Adrianna shouted. “I am so thoroughly sick of hearing you talk about getting high.”

Cornelius shrugged. “Whatever,” he said.

“We came here to do a job of work.”

“And we’ve done it,” Cornelius said. “Every damn undignified, pitiful thing a polar bear can do we’ve got on film. Bears playing around the broken sewage pipes. Bears trying fucky-fucky in the middle of the dump.”

“Okay, okay,” Adrianna said, “we did good.” She turned to Will. “I still want you to see my bear,” she said.

“Your bear now, is it?” Cornelius said.

She ignored him. “Just one last shoot,” she implored Will.

“You won’t be disappointed.”

“Jeez,” Cornelius remarked, putting his legs up on the table.

“Leave the man alone. He doesn’t want to see the fucking bear. Haven’t you got the message?”

“Keep out of this,” Adrianna snapped.

“You’re so fucking pushy,” Cornelius replied. “It’s just a bear.”

Adrianna was up from the couch and over to Cornelius in two strides. “I told you: keep out of this,” she said, and shoved Cornelius’s shoulder just hard enough to tip him over. Down he went, clearing half of the doomed Pentax from the table with his boot heel as he went.

“Come on,” Will said, setting down his omelet in case there was an escalation in hostilities. If there was, it wouldn’t be the first time. Nine days out of every ten Cornelius and Adrianna worked side by side like brother and sister. And on the tenth they fought like brother and sister. Today, however, Cornelius wasn’t in the mood for insults or fisticuffs. He got to his feet, brushing his hippie-length hair back out of his eyes, and stumbled to the door, picking up his anorak on his way. “See you later,” he said to Will. “I’m going to go look at the water.”

“Sorry about that,” Adrianna said when he’d gone. “It was my fault. I’ll make peace when he gets back.”

“Whatever.”

Adrianna went to the stove and poured herself a cup of coffee. “So what did Guthrie have to say?”

“Not a lot.”

“Why did you even go see him?”

Will shrugged. “Just . . . some stuff from my childhood . . .” he said.

“Big secret?”

Will offered her a slow smile. “Huge.”

“So you’re not going to tell me?”

“It’s nothing to do with us being here. Well, it is and it isn’t.

I knew Guthrie lived on the bay, so I kind of killed two birds . . .” the words grew soft, “with one stone.”

“Are you going to photograph him?” she said, crossing to the window. The Tegelstrom children, who lived across the street, were out playing in the snow, their laughter loud. She peered out at them.

“No,” Will said. “I already invaded his privacy.”

“Like I’m invading yours?”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“That’s right though, isn’t it?” she said gently. “I never get to hear what life was like for little Willy Rabjohns.”

“That’s because—”

“You don’t want to tell me.” She was warming to her thesis now. “You know . . . this is how you used to be with Patrick”

“Unfair.”

“You used to drive him crazy. He’d call me up sometimes and vent these streams of abuse—”

“He is a melodramatic queen,” Will said, fondly.

“He said you were cryptic. You are. He said you were secretive. You’re that too.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Don’t get intellectual. It pisses me off.”

“Have you spoken to him recently?”

“Now you’re changing the subject.”

“I am not. You were talking about Patrick and now I’m talking about Patrick”

“I was talking about you.”

“I’m bored with me. Have you talked to Patrick recently?”

“Sure.”

“And how is he?”

“Up and down. He tried to sell the apartment but he couldn’t get the price he wanted so he’s staying put. He says it depresses him, living in the middle of the Castro. So many widowers, he says. But I think it’s better he’s there. Especially if he gets sicker. He’s got a strong support group of friends.”

“Is whatsisname still around? The kid with the dyed eyelashes?”

“You know his name, Will,” Adrianna said, turning and narrowing her eyes.

“Carlos,” Will said.

“Rafael.”

“Close enough.”

“Yes, he’s still around. And he doesn’t dye his eyelashes. He’s got beautiful eyes. In fact he’s a wonderful kid. I surely wasn’t as giving or as loving as he is at nineteen. And I’m damn sure you weren’t.”

“I don’t remember nineteen,” Will said. “Or twenty, come to that. I have a very vague recollection of twenty-one—” He laughed. “But you get to a place when you’re so high you’re not high anymore.”

“And that was twenty-one?”

“It was a very fine year for acid tabs.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Je ne regrette rien,” Will slurred, sloe-eyed. “No, that’s a lie. I wasted a lot of time in bars being picked up by men I didn’t like. And who probably wouldn’t have liked me if they’d taken the time to ask”

“What wasn’t to like?”

“I was too needy. I wanted to be loved. No, I deserved to be loved. That’s what I thought, I deserved to be loved. And I wasn’t. So I drank. It hurt less when I drank.” He mused for a moment, staring into middle distance. “You’re right about Rafael. He’s better for Patrick than I ever was.”

“Pat likes having a partner who’s there all the time,” Adrianna said. “But he still calls you the love of his life.” Will squirmed. “I hate that.”

“Well you’re stuck with it,” Adrianna replied. “Be grateful. Most people never have that in their lives.”

“Speaking of love and adoration, how’s Glenn?”

“Glenn doesn’t count. He’s in it for the kids. I’ve got wide hips and big tits and he thinks I’ll be fertile.”

“So when do you start?”

“I’m not going to do it. The planet’s fucked enough without me turning out more hungry mouths.”

“You really feel like that?”

“No, but I think it,” Adrianna said. “I feel very broody, especially when I’m with him. So I keep away when there’s a chance, you know, I might give in.”

“He must love that.”

“It drives him crazy. He’ll leave me eventually. He’ll find some Earth Mother who just wants to make babies.”

“Couldn’t you adopt? Make you both happy?”

“We talked about it, but Glenn’s determined to continue the family line. He says it’s his animal instincts.”

“Ah, the natural man.”

“This from a guy who plays in a string quartet for a living.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Let him go. Get myself a man who doesn’t care if he’s the last of his line, and still wants to fuck like a tiger on Saturday night.”

“You know what?”

“I should have been queer. I know. We would have made a lovely couple. Now, are you going to move your butt? This damn bear’s not going to wait forever.”