Over by the tents, a cluster of three men ceased all gossip as she crossed into their field of view, their lovingly constructed lines of philosophical reasoning falling to tatters as, even in the darkness of the moonless night, they watched her hips clocking side to side like the Devil’s metronome; orange light of their small fire softening edges and hiding more than it revealed. One of these, a man in his forties and eldest of the three, leaned a shoulder against the corner of Olivia Lee’s home office, shook his head woefully, and said, “Well, what the fuck do you know about this? Pretty-Boy Paul lands another admirer.”
“Yeah…” one of the others muttered. He had his back to his friends, but his voice was miserable.
“Easy,” the first said quietly. “If experience is worth anything, mine tells me she won’t be so great a lay. Ones that pretty rarely are; they don’t have to work all that hard for a ‘yes,’ see? Just trust me. The wise man knows that passion is found with the ugly.”
“Speaking from experience, I’d gather,” said the third.
“You’re fucking-A! It’s a goddamned truth; one of our founding fathers even commented on it.”
“Bullshit.”
“It is not. I don’t remember which, though. Jefferson, maybe. The point is, he stated explicitly you should pay more attention to the uglies as they’re so damned grateful. I’ll bet you an even five that I’m right.”
“Some bet,” the second man scoffed. He blew into his cupped hands and said, “How would you prove such a thing?”
He and the older man nodded silently while the third, still watching after Rebecca even as the best of her details were lost to shadow, said, “Christ almighty, but I do miss the internet…”
They all agreed.
Paul saw her coming from far off; knew who was coming as soon as the firelight hit her from the side and gave color to that mane of flowing, curly hair. A few yards later and she’d passed back into the darkness again, but he saw the swaying shape of her all the same; saw a single hand raised in salute as she closed the distance. His arms went slack under the weight of his rifle. He didn’t realize it until she was almost on top of him; he hauled it back up over his chest belatedly before straightening his cap. His hands shook nervously at her approach, which caused him to knock his cap out of alignment, and he cursed. He leaned the rifle against the schoolmarm’s trailer and pulled the cap’s edges back down over his ears.
“Chilly tonight, huh?” Rebecca asked. The sound of her voice teased and tinkled like music like there was a laugh hidden in the depths of her throat behind the tongue. Paul choked softly in a sound that might have indicated agreement in some alien tongue, wracked his brain for something witty to say, and failed utterly to produce anything whatsoever.
“Uh… yeah.”
“Yeah?” she prodded, leaning in closer.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s cold.”
Her scent crept across the narrow distance between them and his breath constricted involuntarily in response. Unbidden thoughts of sweet, forgotten desserts swirled in memory. She continued to stand there, bobbing her head slightly in an awkward nod, and Paul thanked God above that he couldn’t see her eyes. He might be babbling like a moron by now were it otherwise.
“I was just wondering…” she began. Her head cocked slowly before she continued, “…you always seem to be standing guard instead of spending time by the fire with the others…”
“Yeah…” he nodded.
“Yeah,” she repeated. That laughing, chiming voice, Christ Jesus!
He cleared his throat loudly.
“Well, I was wondering,” she said, taking a step closer. She rested a fingertip against his chest, light enough that he couldn’t feel its pressure through his jacket even if his heart hammered a single blow to his rib cage at its contact. “Did those guys over there have something against you, or…?”
“N-no…”
“No?”
“No,” he shook his head. “Guys… uh, guys who stand guard during the night time? They, uh, like, they get the best pick of the morning meal if they’re up early enough. And then if they’re not, a little extra is held over for them at lunchtime.”
“Ohh…” she said. She shifted to the side to lean a shoulder against the camper’s wall on his left. The minimal firelight caught her left cheek, exposing one electric green eye staring directly into his. It seemed to Paul that eye never blinked; that it only hung in the night air suspended in a sea of pearlescent white, growing larger and larger. He began to suspect he was staring; realized he didn’t care. “I thought it might be something else. I guess… and don’t tell anyone else this, okay? You won’t, will you?”
He shook his head in a daze, and she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I was kind of hoping you were keeping apart from those others because you didn’t like them.”
“Didn’t… like…?”
“Yeah. I don’t like them so much… but don’t tell them! They seem to enjoy the way things are right now… a little too much. Not like you…”
“Me…?”
“Yes. I can see you’re different. Younger. You haven’t been made ugly yet.” A ghostly hand rose between them, and before he could register what was happening, her ice-cold knuckles slid against his cheek, barely in contact with the skin. The sensation sent chills along his spine and warmed him through the middle.
“Those guys are okay, I guess…” he muttered.
“See the best in everyone, don’t you?” she teased.
“I… I don’t know…”
He found he was breathing deeper than necessary, trying to hold that scent in his nose, hating to exhale for the interruption such action caused in the experience of her bouquet. He heard a snicker from somewhere far away and glanced off toward the tents. He thought he recognized a few of the guys staring back at him; thought he recognized Carlo’s silhouette. He looked back at Rebecca and shook his head.
“You’re… I thought you were with Tom, weren’t you?”
She hunched her shoulders up close to her ears and made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Shh,” she whispered. Then she leaned even closer and said, “Some of them don’t get it, but I’m starting to see the pattern, Paul. Whatever it was we had up here; it’s over now. I get it. I haven’t made it this far by being a dummy. The rest of them’ll figure it out sooner or later; probably later when we’re all living together out in Jackson. Tom doesn’t see it; he’s too stubborn. But I don’t want to be a second class citizen. I’m all about making friends, Paul. Isn’t it better to be friends?”
She reached out and tugged slowly at the front of his jacket, causing him to rock on his feet.
“Wouldn’t you like a friend?”
He felt any resistance melting away and realized that anything he might have done to stop whatever was happening belonged to a time now expired. He heard more snickers coming from the men at the tents and took these noises for implicit permission and, closing his eyes for one last, failing sally, he said, “So… you’re interested in me because you want, like, an ‘in’ with the rest of the crew?”
He held his breath, opened his eyes, and was struck nearly dead by the glowing green orb shining down on him like an emerald sun. She leaned in, brushing his cheek with hers, and whispered, “Do you really mind?”
He felt the soft caress of her lips as they brushed against the cup of his ear, felt the warm puff of her breath along the side of his neck. His defenses where annihilated entirely. Unwilling to trust his powers of speech any further, he shook his head.