Not here, though. You still need to work. “How about the bar?”
“The place from last night?”
“I get off at 11:00 p.m.”
When you get there around 11:30 p.m., the bar is busy but you recognize White Wolf immediately. A skinny white guy stands out at the Hey U.S.A. It’s funny. Under this light, in this crowd, White Wolf could pass for Native of some kind. One of those 1/64th guys, at least. Maybe he really is a little Cherokee from way back when.
White Wolf waves you over to an empty booth. A Coors Light waits for you. You slide into the booth and wrap a hand around the cool damp skin of the bottle, pleasantly surprised.
“A lucky guess, did I get it right?”
You nod and take a sip. That first sip is always magic. Like how you imagine Golden, Colorado must feel like on a winter morning.
“So,” White Wolf says, “tell me about yourself.”
You look around the bar for familiar faces. Are you really going to do this? Tell a Tourist about your life? Your real life? A little voice in your head whispers that maybe this isn’t so smart. Boss could find out and get mad. DarAnne could make fun of you. Besides, White Wolf will want a cool story, something real authentic, and all you have is an aging three-bedroom ranch and a student loan.
But he’s looking at you, friendly interest, and nobody looks at you like that much anymore, not even Theresa. So you talk.
Not everything.
But some. Enough.
Enough that when the bartender calls last call you realize you’ve been talking for two hours.
When you stand up to go, White Wolf stands up, too. You shake hands, Indian-style, which makes you smile. You didn’t expect it, but you’ve got a good, good feeling.
“So, same time tomorrow?” White Wolf asks.
You’re tempted, but, “No, Theresa will kill me if I stay out this late two nights in a row.” And then, “But how about Friday?”
“Friday it is.” White Wolf touches your shoulder. “See you then, Jesse.”
You feel a warm flutter of anticipation for Friday. “See you.”
Friday you are there by 11:05 p.m. White Wolf laughs when he sees your face, and you grin back, only a little embarrassed. This time you pay for the drinks, and the two of you pick up right where you left off. It’s so easy. White Wolf never seems to tire of your stories and it’s been so long since you had a new friend to tell them to, that you can’t seem to quit. It turns out White Wolf loves Kevin Costner, too, and you take turns quoting lines at each other until White Wolf stumps you with a Wind in His Hair quote.
“Are you sure that’s in the movie?”
“It’s Lakota!”
You won’t admit it, but you’re impressed with how good White Wolf’s Lakota sounds.
White Wolf smiles. “Looks like I know something you don’t.”
You wave it away good-naturedly, but vow to watch the movie again.
Time flies and once again, after last call, you both stand outside under the Big Chief. You happily agree to meet again next Tuesday. And the following Friday. Until it becomes your new routine.
The month passes quickly. The next month, too.
“You seem too happy,” Theresa says one night, sounding suspicious.
You grin and wrap your arms around your wife, pulling her close until her rose-scented shampoo fills your nose. “Just made a friend, is all. A guy from work.” You decide to keep it vague. Hanging with White Wolf, who you’ve long stopped thinking of as just a Tourist, would be hard to explain.
“You’re not stepping out on me, Jesse Turnblatt? Because I will—”
You cut her off with a kiss. “Are you jealous?”
“Should I be?”
“Never.”
She sniffs, but lets you kiss her again, her soft body tight against yours.
“I love you,” you murmur as your hands dip under her shirt.
“You better.”
Tuesday morning and you can’t breathe. Your nose is a deluge of snot and your joints ache. Theresa calls in sick for you and bundles you in bed with a bowl of stew. You’re supposed to meet White Wolf for your usual drink, but you’re much too sick. You consider sending Theresa with a note, but decided against it. It’s only one night. White Wolf will understand.
But by Friday the coughing has become a deep rough bellow that shakes your whole chest. When Theresa calls in sick for you again, you make sure your cough is loud enough for Boss to hear it. Pray he doesn’t dock you for the days you’re missing. But what you’re most worried about is standing up White Wolf again.
“Do you think you could go for me?” you ask Theresa.
“What, down to the bar? I don’t drink.”
“I’m not asking you to drink. Just to meet him, let him know I’m sick. He’s probably thinking I forgot about him.”
“Can’t you call him?”
“I don’t have his number.”
“Fine, then. What’s his name?”
You hesitate. Realize you don’t know. The only name you know is the one you gave him. “White Wolf.”
“Okay, then. Get some rest.”
Theresa doesn’t get back until almost 1 a.m. “Where were you?” you ask, alarmed. Is that a rosy flush in her cheeks, the scent of Cherry Coke on her breath?
“At the bar like you asked me to.”
“What took so long?”
She huffs. “Did you want me to go or not?”
“Yes, but… well, did you see him?”
She nods, smiles a little smile that you’ve never seen on her before.
“What is it?” Something inside you shrinks.
“A nice man. Real nice. You didn’t tell me he was Cherokee.”
By Monday you’re able to drag yourself back to work. There’s a note taped to your locker to go see Boss. You find him in his office, looking through the reports that he sends to Management every week.
“I hired a new guy.”
You swallow the excuses you’ve prepared to explain how sick you were, your promises to get your numbers up. They become a hard ball in your throat.
“Sorry, Jesse.” Boss actually does look a little sorry. “This guy is good, a real rez guy. Last name’s ‘Wolf.’ I mean, shit, you can’t get more Indian than that. The Tourists are going to eat it up.”
“The Tourists love me, too.” You sound whiny, but you can’t help it. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut that tells you this is bad, bad, bad.
“You’re good, Jesse. But nobody knows anything about Pueblo Indians, so all you’ve got is that TV shit. This guy, he’s…” Boss snaps his fingers, trying to conjure the word.
“Authentic?” A whisper.
Boss points his finger like a gun. “Bingo. Look, if another pod opens up, I’ll call you.”
“You gave him my pod?”
Boss’s head snaps up, wary. You must have yelled that. He reaches over to tap a button on his phone and call security.
“Wait!” you protest.
But the men in uniforms are already there to escort you out.
You can’t go home to Teresa. You just can’t. So you head to the Hey U.S.A. It’s a different crowd than you’re used to. An afternoon crowd. Heavy boozers and people without jobs. You laugh because you fit right in.
The guys next to you are doing shots. Tiny glasses of rheumy dark liquor lined up in a row. You haven’t done shots since college but when one of the men offers you one, you take it. Choke on the cheap whiskey that burns down your throat. Two more and the edges of your panic start to blur soft and tolerable. You can’t remember what time it is when you get up to leave, but the Big Chief is bright in the night sky.
You stumble through the door and run smack into DarAnne. She growls at you, and you try to stutter out an apology but a heavy hand comes down on your shoulder before you get the words out.