39
The candles burned down as Vince spoke, their hot wax flowing down the sides and hardening into new shapes. The martinis kept coming, and the lights seemed to dim.
“In our community,” he started, “women are welcomed with open arms.”
He went on to explain, in depth, the community of which he spoke. It was a cooperative living effort—not under the same roof, but spread out over many apartments and homes, all owned by Vince and one of his business partners, from the sound of it. The idea was that anyone who worked for them—or “with” them, as he said—in any capacity would be provided shelter, food, and amenities.
“We didn’t just want to build a business, but a community,” Vince said. “Where like-minded people can live together, work together, and help one another out when needed.
“There are all sorts of responsibilities assigned to individuals. Cooking, cleaning, small construction projects. Simple things like harvesting firewood in the winter. Most jobs vary by season, and often rotate. The majority are simple, straightforward tasks to keep our community going.”
“And the other thing,” I said.
“Yes,” he said, “and the other thing. Probably twenty percent of the community members help out with my transportation business. Drivers and processers.”
“So those guys that always gave me a ride back to my apartment after runs?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “On my payroll. Some of the few people in the community that know the specifics of what we’re hauling.”
“What do you tell everyone else?” I asked.
“Most don’t ask. They have no interest in what I’m actually moving. They go about their business and live comfortably, and never once have to see heroin.”
I looked around the restaurant, caught off guard by him mentioning the drugs so freely.
“Don’t worry,” he said, motioning around the room, “these guys are legit.”
I looked at Adeline. She sat quietly.
“Why didn’t you tell me this up front?” I asked. “The community. No one told me. Is it some kind of secret?”
“We generally don’t like to explain the community to outsiders right away,” he said. “They can get the wrong impression.”
“Like it sounds like a cult?” I asked.
“Cult is one we’ve heard. Or simply oddball hippie commune.” He took a drink. “We’ve found when we can bring people into the community gradually, introduce them slowly, those sorts of preconceived stereotypes are broken down by the time they’re fully involved. It allows them to see us for what we are, rather than some cartoonish assumption.”
“So that’s what you were doing with me?”
“In a way. Though you made it quite more difficult than most.”
He laughed. She laughed. I laughed, because it felt right.
“I recognized your curiosity early on,” he said. “Putting you as a driver was an error on my part.”
They each took a bite of food, and new drinks appeared. My head was getting cloudy, and I reminded myself to stay sharp. I was driving, and I needed to process what was happening. I stopped drinking.
“Okay, so how does this explain Suzanne?” I asked after a lull.
Vince looked at Adeline.
“Suzanne and I came to Otter Ridge together,” she said, patting her face with a napkin, “as friends. We went to school together in Oregon.”
I nodded. She continued.
“It was years ago. At that time, we were very close. Like sisters. Attached at the hip in school, did everything together. We came out here looking for seasonal work, just trying to avoid getting a nine to five and falling into a boring life.
“We shared a tiny apartment we couldn’t afford and got crappy jobs. She was a bartender—that’s how she started singing in bars around here—and I worked at a ski resort. It was winter then. Before long, we met Vince and his people, and started working for them.”
“Define ‘working,’” I said.
Vince chuckled. “Nothing shady. At first, they both did a little of everything—odd jobs, keeping places clean—then they became our de facto chefs.”
“We essentially cooked for everyone in the community,” she said. “Suzanne and I, we were a team. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It was fun. We were good at it.”
“The boys loved it,” Vince said, now recounting the time with nostalgia. “We’d never had a dedicated chef before. I understand how this might come off to some—two women doing the cooking for a company of mostly men. I understand how it might sound, if you were of the closed-minded ilk. It wouldn’t surprise me if your east coast roots were tugging on your brain right now, screaming sexism or chauvinism. Not by any fault of your own, of course, but because of how you’ve been conditioned. Because of how we’ve all been conditioned, over time.”
He was right.
“Maybe a little,” I said.
“The thing you have to understand,” Adeline said, “is that in our community, sexism isn’t an issue. We strive for—and come very close to—total equality. Everyone’s equal, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s the same. Suzanne and I had a gift for preparing food, so it only made sense that that gift was utilized. We could have rejected that notion, under the guise of feminism, but in the community, we were unthreatened by our male counterparts. Feminism isn’t necessary, because we’re already equal.”
“And of course,” Vince said, “it wasn’t only women.”
“Of course,” Adeline said. “The men would routinely help us with preparing meals, given the time. And we would help with outdoor and shop projects from time to time. In fact, there were women who did those jobs full time. Not a lot, but a few.”
“It’s how the community works,” Vince said. “We’re looking forward to you learning more about it, and expanding your role.”
They both looked at me. I nodded my head. This felt like a recruitment, but I was already in. One of Vince’s mind games, maybe, or maybe he really was just trying to build trust. The more and more we talked, the more and more it seemed he really did just want me to buy in.
“Okay,” I said.
“But Suzanne,” Adeline said. “You’re wondering about Suzanne. After being in the community for a while, Vince and I began our relationship. This of course changed things, and Suzanne never dealt with it very well.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“My role changed,” she said, “I had different responsibilities as Vince’s companion.”
“And she didn’t like that?” I asked.
“It was hard for her, I think. She and I had been together for so long, the move kind of took us apart. We still saw each other plenty, of course, but not in the same capacity. I moved on, and she stayed as a chef for a while, before bouncing around to other, similar tasks.
“Part of it was jealousy, I think. She’ll never admit it, but she’s never completely gotten over it.”
“Which brings us to today,” Vince said. “Suzanne’s been unstable for a long time now. Between her inability to cope with Adeline’s changing role, and her general disposition, things have gone the wrong direction. She was able to mask it for a while, and be a productive and positive member of our community. But lately this has not been the case. She’s been angry, distant, borderline violent.”
“She bounced around between a number of men,” Adeline said. “I apologize for bringing that up, but it’s important.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“We were hoping you would be the stabilizing force she needed,” Vince said. “For whatever reason, that has not happened. It’s unfortunate, but not surprising. No one’s to blame.
“For obvious reasons,” he continued, “someone in such a destructive state of mind cannot operate in our community. It’s bad for everyone. The negative energy coming from one person is enough to slowly erode everything we’ve worked for. So when it comes to this, generally the community member in question is asked to leave. It’s happened a few times, and it’s always for the best. Suzanne has been with us for a long time. She’s generally beloved, and for those reasons we’ve given her much more leeway in this regard. But it comes to a point when you have to do what’s necessary.”