"Look I don't know. Annatesa Orr might want me to become something more permanent if I pay her too much attention. Look at Clara, Klutz paid too much attention to her and now they're getting married. I'm too young to get married. I don't even have enough money saved for a trip to Helena."
“Oh, Helena’s a dump!” said Crabbe quickly, dismissing that matter. ”And who cares if the Orr girl falls head over heels in love with you, that’s her problem. Just cut her loose once she’s served her purpose, tell her it’s ‘you not her’ or some mushy shit. Main thing is to get ol’ Clara jealous.”
After taking a good slug of his drink, he sighed, "If I had the money, I could go to Clara and tell her that she can have a place of her own here in town or anywhere else she wanted. Women want a place of their own more than anything. With money, I could buy her all the poetry books she wants. Heck, with a few extra bucks, I can even buy her dinner at my brother's hotel."
Crabbe shook his head sadly at Charlie’s innocence. It always beat him how a feller could be in love with a girl and understand her so little. Maybe not understanding someone was an actual precondition of falling in love with them? Now, he’d met Clara just the once and reckoned he could read her like a book. She’d be a leather bound, self-consciously respectable, ostensibly erudite but easy-to-read book, too, like an abridged and bowdlerized translation of Voltaire’s La Pucelle d’OrleĢans.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Crabbe tutted, nursing his drink until Charlie bought another bottle. “That gal don’t want stuff handed on a plate to her like that, she’s a natural Matryr. She likes the romance of the struggle. Right now she’s getting that struggle from walking out with a two-bit dirt farmer with a face a mother couldn’t love. We gotta swap that out with the struggle of you an’ her having ‘a secret and heart rendin’ connection whilst both being committed to another’, that sorta bull-shit. Now let's get the low-down on this Orr piece.” he instructed.
Arabella came back in then carrying some newly emptied spittoons and gave the two of them a baleful glance.
“Hey, Fort Sumter, c‘mere.” shouted Crabbe. She wanted to ignore them, but she had a weird and irresistible penchant for customers calling her nicknames. It was odd really, but whereas ‘Arabella’ might just get her attention, ‘Muddy’, ‘Reb’, or ‘Virginia’ brought her running. In fact, Caroline once informed her that she’d made a loud and involuntary, almost orgasmic grunt of satisfaction when one old gent summoned her with “Hey you, Bonny Blue Flag! Gimme two fingers o’ redeye!”
“Yes? What you two talkin’ about?” she asked them grumpily, sensing Charlie’s already inebriated condition.
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
Charlie looked at Arabella for a moment before waving her off, "What we're talking about doesn't concern you. Go away."
Since his brain and his emotions were all in a muddle, Charlie immediately regretting shooing Arabella way. Maybe she could help in some way, "Hey, Arabella tell the truth, how serious is this thing between Klutz and Clara?"
Before Arabella, could answer, Charlie turned to Crabbe, "Now about this Anteesha. I don't think it's a good idea pretend that I like her when I don't know her."
He finished off his glass and poured the remaining contents of the bottle into it. "Besides my pa always told me never to...never to..."
Scrunching his face in a vain attempt to try and remember what his father had told, he found that he couldn't or that he had no idea what he was going to say. "Well, my father said something about something to do with girls. Come to think of it so did my brothers."
After taking a sip of his drink, "Even if I decide to do what you say, she's rich and I'll still need some money to buy her gifts and whatnot."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Charlie looked at Arabella for a moment before waving her off, "What we're talking about doesn't concern you. Go away."
“Don’t mind him” Crabbe assured her “He’s feeling all ‘emotional’.”
Since his brain and his emotions were all in a muddle, Charlie immediately regretting shooing Arabella way. Maybe she could help in some way, "Hey, Arabella tell the truth, how serious is this thing between Klutz and Clara?"
Arabella rolled her eyes, Clara again. She herself had recently had to come to terms with the fact that sometimes the one you fall in love with just doesn’t love you back, or at least not in the way you want them to. Just friends. Time Charlie realised that, too, and moved on.
Before Arabella, could answer, Charlie turned to Crabbe, "Now about this Anteesha. I don't think it's a good idea pretend that I like her when I don't know her."
“Oooh, you mean Anaesthesia!” corrected the pot cleaner, before chanting in an admiring voice “Anaesthesia. Ether. Orr. Ain’t that a pretty name?” she asked in a dreamy haze.
He finished off his glass and poured the remaining contents of the bottle into it. "Besides my pa always told me never to...never to..."
Both Crabbe and Arabella leaned in to hear this gem of wisdom from Charles Senior.
Scrunching his face in a vain attempt to try and remember what his father had told, he found that he couldn't or that he had no idea what he was going to say. "Well, my father said something about something to do with girls. Come to think of it so did my brothers."
They both leaned out again, disappointed.
“They probably said to ‘gather your roses while ye may’ or ‘make hay while the sun shines’!” suggested Crabbe.
“Yeah, or ‘you can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be led’” added Arabella, helpfully.
“No, no, no. Listen Muddy, tell us what you know about this Miss Anaesthesia Ether Orr. My friend and I are interested in her as a possible romantic proposition.” asked Lorenzo in a business-like way.
“Ohh, why she’s the most wonderful person: as pretty as an Angel, with hair like spun gold and eyes as blue as the sky! Just turned 18 years old; a prefect figure; intelligent, but in a ladylike way, not some big know-all dried up bluestocking; demure, charming and sweet. Of good stock and respectable family. Her favourite colour’s lilac and she counts Hiawatha and Grey’s Elegy amongst her favourite poems and has all her teeth, limbs and hair. Of, and of course, is heiress to a good deal of money when her great uncle dies.”
Although the term ‘stalker’ in its modern sense had yet to be coined, you had to wonder about Arabella.
“Jesus, I think I’ll marry her myself!” muttered Crabbe. Charlie, however was still looking for excuses:
After taking a sip of his drink, “Even if I decide to do what you say, she’s rich and I’ll still need some money to buy her gifts and whatnot.”
“Weren’t you listening?” sighed an exasperated Crabbe “She’s another one o’ these accursed poetical types, why you can use Klutz’s own poetry game against him. Butter old blondie up with a few lines of verse, she won’t want no presents. Now, who can write us a poem?”
Arabella’s eyes narrowed, what were these two up to? The way to find out was to get in on the game.
“It so happens I’m a lady poetess!” she announced “In fact, one critic has called me the Sappho of Kalispell!” Ironically, that critic had been the perceptive ancient history nut, Jacob Lutz, and he hadn’t been entirely talking about the terrible verses Arabella had showed him.
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
“Ohh, why she’s the most wonderful person: as pretty as an Angel, with hair like spun gold and eyes as blue as the sky! Just turned 18 years old; a prefect figure; intelligent, but in a ladylike way, not some big know-all dried up bluestocking; demure, charming and sweet. Of good stock and respectable family. Her favourite colour’s lilac and she counts Hiawatha and Grey’s Elegy amongst her favourite poems and has all her teeth, limbs and hair. Of, and of course, is heiress to a good deal of money when her great uncle dies.”
Charlie rolled his eyes at the mention of poetry. What was it about poetry that made girls like it? He had studied poetry at school and didn't find it that exciting. What interested him was more the stories of Charles Dickens, especially A Tale of Two Cities. Poetry was more brother Mike's thing...maybe he should he send the Orr girl packing off to him?
“It so happens I’m a lady poetess!” she announced “In fact, one critic has called me the Sappho of Kalispell!”
"The what of Kalispell," Charlie said in a loud voice, not really caring what anybody thought now. Even though he was well and truly drunk, he couldn't help feeling that something was wrong but the problem was he couldn't tell what it was it. Another drink was what he needed right now.
Looking at the empty bottle, he frowned. He didn't have enough to buy another, so he looked over at Crabbe and picked up the bottle, "Your turn, I bought the last one."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"The what of Kalispell," Charlie said in a loud voice, not really caring what anybody thought now. Even though he was well and truly drunk, he couldn't help feeling that something was wrong but the problem was he couldn't tell what it was it. Another drink was what he needed right now.
“Sappho. ESS-AY-PEE-HO. She was a poetry lady in olden times, this friend of mine told me all about her…” she was careful not to mention that the friend was Hayseed Lutz “An’ she was even better ‘n all them men poets in them days!” Arabella said proudly.
Looking at the empty bottle, he frowned. He didn't have enough to buy another, so he looked over at Crabbe and picked up the bottle, "Your turn, I bought the last one."
Lorenzo was at a loose end and curious to see how his plan to fix Charlie up with the rich girl would pan out, so bit the bullet and got up to go to the bar and fetch a bottle. He knew better than to tell Arabella to fetch it, she’d made it clear she was unwilling to feed Charlie’s addiction.
When he was gone, Arabella sidled into a chair next to Charlie and whispered to him surreptitiously.
“Listen, that person who said I was like ol’ Saphho, he said that when I read him a poem what I writ about Miss Orr, so it must’ve been one of my bestest ones! I just had a thought, we could change it a little bit so it sounds like you writ it, if you like.” She, for different reasons, agreed with Crabbe – maybe an interest in a different girl from Clara whom, to Arabella’s knowledge, hadn’t the slightest interest in the youngest Wentworth boy as a romantic prospect, might do him good and save him from the false comfort of the demon drink.
“We could send her the poem and some flowers and you could invite her out for a slice of pie.” She suggested “Flowers is cheap, you just have to pick ‘em. Or there’s dozens just going to waste up at the graveyard.”
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
Charlie shook her his head a little in an effort to try and clear it. Crabbe and Arabella were still going on about the Orr girl. Hadn't he already told them that he wasn't interested? It was getting hard to remember what he said and what he hadn't said.
"Look, I still don't see what this poetry nonsense has got to do with anything. I just want to...I just want to..." he frowned again. What was it that he wanted to do and where was that bottle?
Standing up to see where Crabbe had gone, he immediately regretted it. He started to sway a little and then promptly collapsed back down into his chair. All he wanted to do now was forget about Clara. Why couldn't she had shown more sense and waited until she was older before running off to get married to some no account farm boy with no prospects.
The thought that he had lost Clara for good started to consume him. He turned to Arabella and sighed, "You know that I loved her. What am I going to do now that she's gone."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
"Look, I still don't see what this poetry nonsense has got to do with anything. I just want to...I just want to..." he frowned again. What was it that he wanted to do and where was that bottle?
Arabella sighed, perhaps it was too soon for Charlie to think of someone else. Also, he was drunk, this was no time to discuss anything. But one thing was for sure, he needed protecting from Mr. Crabbe who thankfully and bizarrely, considering he was officially banned from this place, was deep in conversation with Ralph at the bar.
Arabella liked Lorenzo, but there was no doubt that he had the knack of getting you to do things for him that you wouldn’t normally do for anyone. To be fair, she got paid for helping him in his odd schemes, but that was because she kept her wits about her and never, ever, touched the demon booze!
Standing up to see where Crabbe had gone, he immediately regretted it. He started to sway a little and then promptly collapsed back down into his chair. All he wanted to do now was forget about Clara. Why couldn’t she had shown more sense and waited until she was older before running off to get married to some no account farm boy with no prospects.
“Listen Charlie, why don’t we go into the back, sit down in the kitchen away from all this noise and have a proper talk about this?” Arabella asked, seriously. She’d seen him drunk like this before, but always in a good humor with his fellow rounders, never with the blue devils like this.
The thought that he had lost Clara for good started to consume him. He turned to Arabella and sighed, "You know that I loved her. What am I going to do now that she's gone."
She couldn't help think about how lonely she felt, not being able to talk to anyone about the one who she loved and could not have.
“Why don’t we go somewhere quiet, real quiet, like when we were at the Lake, remember Charlie? It was so peaceful there. I won’t start prayin’ again, I promise. And we can just … talk about her.” She offered. She might look a mess in her frayed and faded smock and her beer stained apron, her black hair all over the place and a pimple on her nose that showed signs of recent attention, but the impact of her honest and sympathetic blue eyes and her sad but encouraging little smile, were more important.
I took an oath for this job. The oath says bring him in. That's what I'll do.
Consumed with his own thoughts, Charlie barely heard a word that Arabella was saying. He glanced over at her face and the look she was giving him, startled him. She looked like some lovesick puppy. What was it she had suggested...something about going into the kitchen where it was quiet. What kind of girl was she to take advantage of man that just had his heart broken? Was her being nice to him part of some plan to seduce him?"
Vehemently, he shook his head. "Oh no, you've got the wrong fella. I ain't Mike, I'm Charlie. You know the one that loves Clara."
Getting up, he clumsily scrambled to the chair that was on the opposite side of the table. "Why do you go and find someone else cause whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'."
He made a shooing motion, "Go...scat...don't want no unsalted whelp."
"Everybody can feather their nest, but it's not just anybody that can lay an egg!"
Vehemently, he shook his head. "Oh no, you've got the wrong fella. I ain't Mike, I'm Charlie. You know the one that loves Clara."
“Uh?!” Arabella went from caring to perplexed in one fell swoop. And Mike? Her infatuation with him and other older men was a phase that she was well and truly over. What was he talking about? Oh! With his next sentence, the scales fell from her eyes.
Getting up, he clumsily scrambled to the chair that was on the opposite side of the table. "Why do you go and find someone else cause whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'."
“Oh, Charlie, I ain’t…” she began, but he didn’t give her a chance to explain. Explain that she wasn’t interested in him or Mike or Billy or, well, any other feller he knew. Come to think of it, maybe that was for the best. Still, his harsh tone shook her as did the injustice of his accusations.
He made a shooing motion, "Go...scat...don't want no unsalted whelp."
It was a hard slap in the face.
Well, hadn’t someone once said ‘no good deed shall go unpunished’
She stood up, a little shaky legged and holding back the tears in a way she wasn’t used to; she usually let herself burst into tears at the drop of a hat, drama queen that she was, but now she forced a smile and a laugh “Oh well, you can’t blame a girl for tryin’.”
She stumbled back and away from the table.
“I’m sorry, Charlie.”
At that point Crabbe made his appearance, whisky bottle in hand.
“What’s eatin’ you two?” he asked happily, perceiving that some kind of ‘scene’ had taken place. Probably Arabella sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. “Now, you run along Muddy, me and Charlie got business to talk on.” He directed. She look one last look as Charlie, shook her head and fell away from them.
Crabbe hardly noticed her go.
“Now listen, I been thinking about what you said. You’re right. You should show that Clara what a mistake she’s made with that poor, weak-lookin' Klutz character, and what a much better proposition you are, my fine boy!” he grinned, pouring Charlie a generous refill from the fresh whiskey bottle.