She laughed and said, “You can’t even get your glass to your mouth. I’m not standing in the same room as you with a dart in your hand.”
“Come on.” I got up, a little unsteady, and said, “This is like a saloon triathlon-poker, pool, and darts.”
I found the darts, stepped back about ten feet from the board, and let them fly. One hit the board, and the others, unfortunately, went astray, the last one pinning a window drape to the wall.
Kate thought that was funny, and I said, “Let’s see how
She informed me, “I don’t play darts. But you can go again.” She laughed.
Amy returned with a cloth-covered tray, which she set on the bar. “Here we are. He had apple-smoked turkey sausage.”
Before I could tell her what Pierre could do with his turkey sausage, Kate said, “Thank you.”
Amy was looking at the darts in the wall but didn’t comment, except to ask, “Have you decided on breakfast?”
We perused the menu and ordered breakfast, which even a French chef can’t screw up.
I wanted to watch the evening news, and I asked Amy, “Where’s the TV?”
She replied, “There are no televisions at The Point.”
“What if the world came to an end? We couldn’t see it on television.”
She smiled, the way people do who know they’re dealing with an inebriated person. She addressed Kate, whom she probably thought was sober. “Yeah, like, we had that problem on 9/11. You know? So, they set up a TV here in the bar. So everyone could watch it.” She added, “It was really horrible.”
Neither Kate nor I commented, and Amy wished us a pleasant evening, stole another glance at the darts, and left.
I uncovered the tray and examined the turkey sausage wrapped in some kind of phyllo dough. “What is this crap?”
Kate said, “We’re checking out of here tomorrow.”
“I like it here.”
“Then stop complaining and eat those fucking sausages.”
“Where’s the mustard? There’s no mustard.”
“Time for bed, John.” She handed me my leather jacket, put on her coat, gathered up her handbag and briefcase, then led me out the door.
I shoved my Glock in my waistband in case we ran into any bears, and suggested that Kate do the same, but she ignored my good advice.
The air was cold, and I could see my breath, and in the sky were thousands of bright stars against a black sky. I could smell the pines, and the wood smoke coming from the chimneys of the Main Lodge, and everything was very quiet.
I like the noise of the city, and concrete below my feet, and I don’t miss seeing the stars at night because the lights of Manhattan create their own universe, and eight million people are more interesting than eight million trees.
And yet, this was undeniably beautiful, and under other circumstances, I might relax here and surrender to the wilderness and be at peace with myself while eating French food with twenty strangers who probably made their money screwing the American public.
Kate said, “It’s so serene. Can’t you feel the tension and stress just leaving your body?”
“I’m kind of going back and forth on that.”
“You need to let go and let nature take over.”
“Right. Actually, I’m starting to get in touch with my primitive self.”
“John, this may come as a surprise to you, but you’re already very in touch with your primitive self. In fact, I haven’t yet met the other side of you.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or a criticism, so I didn’t reply.
We went around the Main Lodge and on to a stone terrace. We could see through the big windows into the Great Hall, and I watched the guests around the two tables, working hard at the game of civilized dinner behavior. None of them were local, of course, and wherever they’d come from, they’d arrived.
I thought of Bain Madox sitting in his great hall-fireplace, dog, hunting trophies, old scotch, a manservant, and probably a girlfriend or two somewhere. For 99 percent of humanity, this would be more than enough. But Mr. Bain Madox, though he should have been very content with his accomplishments and wealth, was being directed by some inner voice into a dark place.
I mean, thinking back on that meeting, I could see something in his eyes and in his demeanor that made me believe he was on a mission, a man of destiny, far above the rest of humanity.
I’m sure he had reasons for whatever he was up to, reasons that he thought were good and which he’d actually hinted at over scotch and coffee. But I didn’t care about his reasons, or his inner demons, or his divine voices, or his obvious megalomania; what I cared about was that he was apparently engaged in a criminal enterprise, and that he’d most likely killed a friend of mine on his way toward his larger goal, which itself was undoubtedly beyond criminal.
Kate asked me, “What are you thinking about?”
“Madox. Harry. Nukes. Radio signals. Stuff like that.”
“I know we’ll figure it all out.”
“Well, Kate, the nice thing about this mystery is that even if we don’t figure it out, we’ll know soon enough what it was that we couldn’t figure out.”
“I think it would be better if we figured it out before it happens.”
We reached the rear of the Main Lodge without encountering any carnivorous wildlife, and I saw a door with a wooden sign that said: MOHAWK.
We entered the unlocked door, and I bolted it, not sure if the door would keep a bear out. Maybe I should move the dresser in front of it.
Kate said, “Oh, this is beautiful.”
“What?”
“The
“Okay.” I looked. It was a big cathedral-ceilinged room, paneled in stained pine. There was a king bed that looked like it could be comfortable, but it was so high off the floor, you wouldn’t want to fall out of it. On the bed was a wicker basket full of toiletries.
There was a lot of furniture in the room, and lots of throw pillows and blankets lying around, which I know women like.
As Kate went around feeling up the fabrics and smelling the flowers, I checked out the bathroom. I’m a bathroom freak, and this one was okay. I like a good toilet bowl. I washed my face in the sink, then returned to the main room.
Along the far wall was a big stone fireplace, and in the hearth were logs and kindling, to which Kate was holding a match. The fire caught, and she stood and said, “This is so romantic.”
Above the fireplace was a huge set of antlers, which reminded me that I was horny. I said, “I’m horny.”
“Can’t we just enjoy the room?”
“You said it was romantic. So?”
“Romance and sex are not the same thing.”
I knew if I argued that point, I wasn’t going to get any, so I said, “I’m very sensitive to that. Here, let me put some music on.” There was a CD player on the desk and a stack of disks.
I quickly found an Etta James CD, which I knew she liked, and popped it in. Etta began crooning “At Last.”
Kate found a bottle of red wine on a dining table, which she opened. Then she poured two glasses and gave one to me. “To us.”
We touched glasses, sipped, and kissed lightly on the lips. I’m not a big wine drinker, but I’ve discovered that wine equals romance, and romance leads to… whatever.
Kate went around and shut off the lamps. We took off our shoes and sat in comfortable upholstered chairs that faced each other in front of the roaring fire.
Kate said, “This was a good idea, except it’s too expensive.”
“Hey, I got an oil tip from Bain. We’re buying oil futures tomorrow as soon as the market opens. Then, I’m
