The Left Behinds

 

Once again, this wasn't all my doing, no matter how I'd love to take credit for the great 
ideas of others! My thanks to my contributors: Uma, Heather, Bou, Clarity, Karen, 
Scarlet, Wildie, Carol, Gaia, Cassie, Esme, Tulip, Angel, Marie and Erycina

 

 

DINO

The thing about letting someone else get close to you is that you make room for them inside your heart and your life. Then when they wander away from you or when you have to leave on a trip, you miss them because the space you made for them is empty.

That's normal.

It's just the way we are.

I would venture an extremely sexist viewpoint here: it's worse for men.

We feel the separation more acutely. Well ... yeah. We're basically big babies without a woman taking care of us. At least that's what women want to think about men. They want with all their cute little hearts to think that once they come in our lives and begin offering us their tender mercies, that when we are without them there to do the laundry, tidy our homes, fix our meals ... that we flounder and cannot function.

Come on.

Get real.

We existed just fine before you. We're men! (Imagine the masculine grunting ritual I'm doing here for the proper sound effect.) We can take care of ourselves.

Some of us can.

I was at the bar that night because I was in town working for a change ... and Heather was off with the other women that hung around the bar. They were gone for one measly week at a spa run by some business associate of Palmer. Normally when I'm home, I'm with Heather and we're filling our precious time together with all sorts of exotic and exciting adventures ... making pizza from scratch (the girl's got the wrists to toss the dough that any pizza crustman would kill for ... but this fixation she's got for Italian sausage worries me sometimes); buying a new fridge when the old one gave up the ghost (I told her that buying a fridge together is a test that couples usually fail in a flaming dash to hell; ours has this really erotic brushed steel finish); picking out seeds from the new Burpee catalog (she's got some odd fetish for Big Boy tomatoes ... says she just likes 'em big and red ... you ask me, I think she's making some kind of sexual innuendo there but that's just me); and other things like that.

But this night, I had been home alone so then I figured I'd go hang out at the bar. In the short time I'd been there, I'd already heard Egan moaning because Tulip had hidden his socks. And John said he had forgotten how to make the microwave work so what good did it do that Clarity had left him frozen meals.

Bud said it wasn't frozen meals a man needed. I tried not to listen. I tried not to laugh. Bud wasn't in the best of moods. I didn't even say the classic, "Dead man walking." I'm smart that way.

Then Andy was telling me that he couldn't figure out where Uma had hidden the ketchup supply. I suggested he give her a call. He liked that idea. He came grumbling back a few minutes later because he'd had to pass his message on through Chili.

"Why Chili?" I asked, getting an odd feeling I wouldn't like the answer.

"He says he's watching over the girls' cell phones. Says the spa people don't let them keep them on during the time they're there," Andy said. He paused, shuffled his feet, scrunched up his mouth before admitting, "I think I sounded like a knob. Told Palmer I needed to know where the ketchup was."

Okay, that was funny. I laughed. So did Jeff. As did Paul, Zack, Bud, John and Cort.

"Why's he even out there?" I said to no one in particular when I stopped laughing and thought about Chili Palmer answering their cell phones. "Is he at the spa with them?"

"Says he's staying at the ranch next door. Ranch belongs to the spa's owner," Andy said.

"Did anyone know he was going out there with them?" Bud asked, looking at me like I'd done something wrong.

He cracks me up. He's trying to act bored with the wedding stuff but the truth is that he'd have been mighty disappointed if Marie hadn't done this up big and fluffy. But, now, give him something tangible to fret over and he's in some version of cops' nirvana. He was so hoping this was something he could kick down, punch out or shoot.

I put in a call to the pilot who'd flown the jet out to Taos. Sure enough, I told the guys, Chili'd been one of the passengers.

"Palmer's at the spa with them?" the old man asked, walking into the middle of the conversation ... late, like always. "The fuck's that about?"

I decided not to tell them the rest of what the pilot told me ... that there'd been two carloads of mobster-types escorting the tour bus that took the ladies from the airfield to the spa. Palmer had told the pilot that they were there at his instructions; security for the ladies while they were at the spa. Maybe that should have made me feel good, that he'd thought about this and gone to that trouble. But I honestly had an odd feeling about that ... and about why he'd made the point to be sure and tell our pilot about his security force. Which is why I said nothing to Terry.

Just one look at Terry, to be sure, and I knew ... he was itching for a fight. This one, I guessed, had to do with Gaia. Whatever's going on, he's taking it tough.

 

 

Other men can be so predictable. I rather pride myself on being unpredictable. Maybe that's why I was the only one in there who didn't do the predictable thing when Andy told us about the women having to give up their cell phones.

You got it.

Every single man in there was sneaking off to call his lady love's cell. And then coming back grumbling when it was Chili who answered.

To John, Chili claimed that Clarity was eager to get his "lard ass" on a real diet. Well, that certainly sounds like her. To Bud, he said Marie was thinking maybe all this sweating over crystal compotes wasn't really worth it to end up married to a guy named Wendell. That sound like her? To Egan, he said Tulip was just glad she was having a break from sleeping with a man and his dog. Okay, well, Egan kind of blushed so maybe that one held some element of truth.

So I had figured out Chili's game. It was no big deal. He was just trying to get to each of us with what he knew would bug us the most.

He was basically taking some kernel of truth, something anyone could have observed about these couples, and he was manipulating it to get a rise, to plant some doubt ... to rub it right in their noses that he was there and they were not. To pretend he had some inside knowledge that things were not hunky-dory from the woman's perspective.

It amused me, it truly did, to watch how predictably they reacted.

They might have tried to laugh it off, be big men and all ... but there was enough truth there to make each one of them see ghosts where there were none. I mean, come on, these women would confide in Palmer?

Still ... he was at the spa, wasn't he? Who knows, maybe he really did just want to be sure they were safe.

Yeah.

Right.

 

 

Zack tried to call Carol's cell but Palmer was probably talking to the old man at the time. He got her voice mail. He said he left her a message about how she should have stayed home where she belonged.

"They all should have," Hando said. "They shoulda done what they were told. I told Scarlet not to go. What's it take for her to know to do what I say?"

"A wedding band?" Bud said, sniggering into his beer.

"So you figure once you and Marie are hitched, she'll do as she's told?" I said.

"Fuck yeah," Bud grunted.

"Think again, my friend," John said, shaking his head. "That's not a partnership."

"Partnership? Who said marriage was a partnership?" Egan said.

"Women deal better with absolutes," Terry said. "You say what's what and they know then."

"Oh yeah. I see. That work well for you? Ever?" I said, smirking at that sour look of his. There's not much I like better than winding him up when he's on about something like this ... the only thing better is egging him on when he's with a group of other men trying to prove that they know how to handle a woman.

Right.

Everyone who knows a man who knows how to handle a woman, raise your hands. (Heather, you're excluded ... we take it as conventional wisdom that you'd have your hand up.)

So ... what followed was more of the usual kind of inane male discourse on women and what was really wrong with them: that they weren't men.

"If they just said what they wanted ..."

"Yeah, but that's much too fucking easy."

"What's so tough about laundry, anyway? They act like they're so burdened. They should try overhauling an engine. That's work."

"Man's work."

"And what's this thing with shoes they have?"

"Fuck yeah. How many pairs of black pumps you need?"

"What's the fascination with shopping? They devote all that time to it when they could be doing something important."

"Like cooking dinner."

"Like making a meal outta me."

"That too."

"What do you suppose they're up to at that spa? You suppose Palmer was telling the truth about all the men there? The ones giving them massages?"

"There better not be some guy putting his hands on her."

"Don't worry about those guys doing the massages. They're all queer anyway."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, mate. Guess you shoulda been out there with 'em to take advantage, right?"

"Too right."

"When you get that bunch of girls together, you're just asking for trouble. The things they'll talk each into."

"All the talking they'll do."

"Bloody hell!"

"Bet not a one of them ever shuts up."

"Maybe they'll get all the yakking out of the way ... then I'll have some peace and quiet when she gets home."

"Don't count on it, mate."

"You know what I hate most? It's that they're probably spending the whole week talking about us, telling secrets, dissecting us ... then when they get back, all we'll hear about is how we don't quite measure up."

"Speak for yourself. I always measure up."

"Fuck yeah. Nothing to complain about with me."

Men. So fucking predictable. It always comes down to who's got the bigger dick, doesn't it?

It's also predictable that men always pile on when one man makes some sexist remark. It's easier to mask your real feelings that way.

So here we were. Left behind while our significant others were out behaving badly. It's not like this was the end of the world; not a one of us felt that way.

But we were a group of normal men who were not just doing without ... we had an empty space that was supposed to be filled with the woman we had it bad for. Lonely beds, lonely breakfast tables, lonely pub. Lonely houses. Lonely time. There's just something about a woman, you know? Of course we missed them. We just had our own way of showing it. That's all I'm saying.

 

 

Max called me the next day. I was at the office, making a serious dent in paperwork and feeling rather smug about that when my cell rang and it was him. He sounded ... business-like. Focused.

He was in Taos. He'd gone there as soon as his business trip was over. Said he'd not liked the tone of a phone message he'd received from Ann and had decided to simply go there to deal with it in person.

Yeah.

But that's Max, isn't it? No half measures. Whatever was bothering him, he wasn't going to just call out there, talk to Chili and fume like others were doing.

He said he'd been unable to enter the spa grounds. Prevented from getting past the front gate. Said there'd been armed guards there. I figured these must have been the muscle my pilot reported.

So Max said he'd left the gate then gone to another stretch of the perimeter fence that he reached on an access road. Everywhere he'd gone, he'd seen evidence that the grounds were patrolled by men with guns.

Now, okay. That definitely got my interest. I told Max that Chili was there; he said he knew, that he'd had a conversation via Ann's cell phone with Chili.

What he most wanted to know was if any of the rest of us had been able to establish contact. He didn't want to assume this meant anyone was in danger. He just didn't like not being able to get in to see her or talk to her. (Oh, sure.)

When I told him what we knew so far, he said since he was there, he was not leaving until he felt comfortable that the women were safe. We agreed on a course of action. He was going to wait for nightfall and then test the security perimeter. He'd call me once he knew more.

I decided to do the only thing I could. I had my staff research the spa owner. Her name was Michelle D'Antonio. She lived at the ranch right next door to her spa. She had ties to some people that Chili had ties to. And then they showed me her picture. Yeah, I think I knew exactly why Chili was staying at her place and it wasn't for the tofu.

Why did it not surprise me that (a) he was friends with someone with those kinds of connections, (b) that he's got what appears to be mob muscle down there ringing the property and (c) that he's the only one getting it on this week?

That evening, I stopped by the pub on my way back from work. I wasn't sure what I'd tell any of the guys ... if at all. Guess it depended on what Max found out. So I sat there at the bar, sipping slowly on a scotch (yeah, the good stuff, honey) and waited for Max to check in.

When the old man finally showed up, I almost told him about the conversation with Max. But Terry was hitting the hard stuff with beer chasers. I figured ... why ruin his night? He was doing a good enough job on his own.

So were a bunch of others.

 

 

Someone suggested we have a bachelor's party for Bud that night. John said it might not be a bad idea ... no women around to complain about us staying up all night, going to nasty places, drinking too much, coming back smelling of all the cigarettes and cigars we'd be smoking.

Now ... that just struck me as sad. I don't think I was the only one. No woman around when you come dragging in at first light? Who wants to go back to that life?

So the drinking lamp was lit. Some half-hearted talk about getting a stripper in. No one seemed to have the real interest to arrange it. Terry suggested we go to strip club. Jack showed up, said perhaps we could first have a men's night in a ritzy restaurant followed by crawling down into the cellar-type bars. Cort said he had never been sure what a bachelor's party was really all about.

I looked around the pub. These men. You know, I liked them. But a night like this? Men already antsy over several days of unease over this shit with Chili and not being able to reach their women ... some of them hearing Chili's tales and taking them to heart when it was obvious to me that Chili was enjoying making them squirm? You couple that with those men thinking their women were telling another man they found them lacking?

This spelled trouble.

One of us, at least, had to remain sober. One of us had to be smart. Let's see ... who'd do it? At the pub that night, we had Andy, Terry, Zack, Bud, John, East, Egan, Johnny, Jeffrey, Paul, Jeff, Cort, Hando, Jack and Lachlan.

Okay, I elected myself to be the lone voice of sanity. That meant I could drink ... but I had to sip, not slurp it down. The rest? They were enjoying slugging it down. So as they got to serious drinking, which means they got increasingly boring ... I found my mind drifting as they began the obligatory conversation about how many, how often and how good.

Home. Family. Forever.

I've thought about it all. You don't love a woman like Heather and not think about it all. You'd be crazy not to. And I'm far too sane.

There was a time in my life when the idea of settling down seemed too much like settling. I was so young and had too much I wanted to do that didn't involve doing it with another person attached to me. But life changes you. That can be good or bad ... but no matter what, no one ever stays the same if they're the kind of person who continues to grow and learn and appreciate.

With Bud and Marie getting married, I think a lot of people that were in our circle of friends had at least wondered if their partner was getting ideas from hearing all about the process of another couple's wedding plans. Were there hopes there that hadn't been there before the wedding plans started?

It isn't a bad thing, is it?

That night, I myself even wondered if Heather had compared, even for a fraction of a second, our relationship's future with what she saw happening with Bud and Marie.

Truthfully, when I thought about this logically, I rather know Heather well enough to know she doesn't really compare and contrast us to others. We are who we are; we both like it that way. But she'd be only human to have given it some thought ... to have thought about her and me ... and wondered if we might some day.

Wouldn't she?

Or was she too young? Was I unfair to want what I wanted when I know that at her age, I might have been too young? She was so much older than I ever was at that age. And the thing was ... I would wait for her. I already had. And I am planning. Well ... yeah.

But when it happens, when I ask her, it will be in the moment that's right for us to consider it. I will not squander the moment. I will make it matter. I will make it just for her ... because that's what she deserves.

Hmmm. I wonder what she did with my blue shirt? That denim one she likes so much. I'd like to be wearing it when she gets home because I love watching her little fingers work those buttons. The buttonholes, you see, are a bit tight ... which means she really has to concentrate to get the buttons out from them. And I like to break her concentration. Yeah, so I'd like to be wearing that shirt because I have an idea for what I'd like to do to make it more of a challenge for her. But what the fuck did she do with it? It drives me crazy that I can't find it. Like she hid it or something. It's not in the dirty clothes basket. Can't find it in my closet. It's not in my dresser. Maybe it's in hers?

 

 

Men are an insecure lot. That's not any big secret I'm giving up, is it?

Course not.

And why do I mention that? Well, young Johnny Ryan decided he'd waited long enough to hear his girl's voice. So, thinking that he and Chili shared some special bond and therefore where the rest of us had struck out, surely Chili would get Erycina on the phone for Johnny. So, he'd sneaked out to the kitchen to put in a call ... when he came back, he slunk over to the card table and got back into the poker game. I wasn't really paying attention to him until I heard a bunch of dirty snickering from the card table.

"So what're you looking for, mate? A book? One with pictures, maybe?" Hando was saying.

"What exactly is she asking for?" Paul asked.

"None of your fucking business, you arse. I was just saying what if, is all," Johnny snapped. His face was flushed. 

I think he must have asked a question about technique ... ah, they'd fry his ass now. Hell, we were all drifting over. We might not admit it, but men kinda live for this sort of thing. Poor Johnny Ryan.

"Every man should have a few of erotic tricks up his sleeve, Johnny. Women come to expect that. Surely you got a few in your arsenal, right? Like ... uh ... how about the Venus Flytrap?" Cort asked, laying down a card and glancing up at Johnny.

Most of us hid a snigger. Johnny shook his head, like he couldn't believe the rest of us knew something he hadn't even had a clue he should have known. Ah, we were circling now ... blood in the water.

"It's an oldie but it works a treat," Lachlan said.

"Or the Manchurian Double Eight," Jeff said. "Esme swears by it."

"The what?" Johnny said.

"Next you'll be saying you've never tried the Brazilian Love Lock, mate," Thorne said, leaning back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling with a contented sigh like he'd invented sex. "I was a bit younger than you when I first learned it. Changed my life. And the life of every woman I've had since."

Okay, well the rest of us saw our cue. We all gave guttural grunts and obscene sighs as we agreed that this was the trick to end all tricks. A woman gets the Brazilian Love Lock and she's yours for life, someone said. Hando did the classic wank-off pantomime. Zack said he wondered about any man who didn't have that in his repertoire. Bud allowed as how that one single trick was the one thing he was planning to spring on Marie for their honeymoon ... just her knowing it was coming her way, Bud said, was the main reason she was acting all flustered about the wedding plans.

I thought Johnny would get the joke. You know, the dead giveaway, of course, was Bud saying anything about Marie ... he'd never say anything approaching revealing when it came to Marie. But when Johnny didn't ever catch on to the joke ... well, we're just men. We get our jollies the old fashioned way.

"Course the first thing you need are handcuffs," John said, rubbing his fingers over his own pair of steel bands. Johnny's eyes got big and he smiled. Oh, yeah, he liked that idea.

"And a pint of chocolate ice cream," I said.

"It must be chocolate," Terry said. "That's critical, mate ... chocolate."

"Don't forget the cucumber," Andy said.

"Yeah. Absolutely. Don't let her nibble on it first, though. They always want to nibble a bit at the beginning," East said. We all nodded sagely.

"The molasses is optional," Cort said. "But try it both ways to see which she prefers."

"I got a cucumber in the fridge ... should we demonstrate?" Andy said.

Bud's shoulders started shaking. Cort was having a hard time keeping it in, too. But Johnny never noticed. He was much too intent on making mental notes.

Just then, my cell rang. It was Max. I took the call in the kitchen.

By the time I got back, they were going on about various uses for cucumbers. I didn't think too much about what Johnny might have learned about some fake kinky sex act. Instead, I caught the old man's eye. The eye might have been overly bright and a bit bleary, but inside that half-drunk man was my partner in crime.

 

 

Max said the recon had shown him one thing clearly: the smart thing for him was not to go in alone. He needed backup. But he was going in. He didn't think the girls were really in danger. He hated the idea they were off-limits. That Chili Palmer's maneuvers were now thwarting Max.

Max wanted me and Terry there to help him teach Palmer a lesson ... and to help Max get inside. He figured the three of us together would have no problem but one man going in alone? That ran counter to our training, didn't it? Besides, Max said, didn't it sound like fun to fuck Palmer over?

I wasn't exactly sure what all was driving Max. Why it was of some immediate importance to him to make it in. But whatever it was, he wasn't taking Chili's no for an answer.

What I didn't like about the scenario, frankly, was that Palmer had caught Terry and me with our pants down. We'd arranged for the flight. We'd never thought beyond that. Palmer had. And he wanted us to know that, didn't he?

This was a game to him.

But all the phone calls? All the provoking of these men's insecurities and concerns? That had to be answered. That couldn't be left.

Terry decided we might as well tell the other men about Max's recon of the spa and of the ranch next door where Palmer was shacked up with the owner. I didn't think it was a good idea. Why get them all hot and bothered when all that would do was make them insist on coming with us? And they'd be no good to us in breaking in.

He gave me his sour face. The one that says he knows what I'm saying is right but he has no intention of doing things my way. I think he saw it as a lark ... and something that would be more satisfying done as a group. Course, he was drinking, so his normal ability to leave the personal agenda behind was compromised.

So while the others sobered up a bit with the news Terry was giving them ... and giving it to them in a way bound to get their blood up ... I was calling our pilot to get the jet ready.

 

 

Okay, so Jack isn't the best spy in the world. He has a tendency to over-play his hand. But of all the men in there, it was Jack who'd bonded best with Chili as an equal. I figured if there was anyone Chili would be straight with, it'd be Jack.

It seemed to Jack, of course, that all Chili was doing was looking out for his best interests, knowing of his concern for Angel.

But I smelled an even bigger rat. So now he was out and out encouraging one of us to go there to Taos? He had to know we were comparing notes, those of us hanging around at the pub.

What was Chili up to?

He wasn't a stupid man.

Why play with us? 

And now we were going out there, weren't we? Why did he now seem to want that? Was there a further trap?

Was there something here I wasn't seeing? 

 

 

During the earlier phone conversation, I'd mentioned to Max that Chili was staying at the ranch next door to the spa. Right next door. Staying with the spa owner.

I called Max when our jet was taking off to head to Taos. Max said he'd grown impatient waiting on me to say when we'd be in. Max said he figured the most important thing he should do as the advance team was to secure a base camp for us.

Guess where he chose to have the base camp?

Everyone who said the owner's ranch, go to the head of the class.

Everyone who realizes that this meant Max had neutralized Chili and the owner, you've passed the course with flying colors.

No, he didn't kill 'em. Though he had some plans in mind for Chili. As for the owner? Max said the fair Michelle ... might be quite useful as a cooperative hostage.

I told the old man on the flight in ... there's something hinky about all this. He just grunted.

The whole flight, I mused on this. Was Chili suddenly sporting a death wish? Had he honestly thought we'd have taken this challenge lying down? Did he not think this would go this far ... but, nah, Chili thinks too far ahead to be surprised by his own reactions. Surely he wasn't really threatening us? What did he hope to gain? Who was this aimed at? Was this some perverse practical joke? If so, what was the punch line going to be?

Just before we landed, I was half-dozing ... when it came to me ... maybe Chili thought of himself as some kind of playful Cupid. Maybe he thought this was an amusing way to bring the men and women together somewhere away from the Pub. Maybe he thought it was funny.

It wasn't.

And then we got there.

Max met us at the airport. He'd arranged for several rental cars. 

As everyone stumbled off the jet, Max had frowned hard at the shape some of them were in. Once we were at the ranch, a few of us went to a lookout point to observe the security in place at the spa. Jack, Terry, Max and I made careful note of the vulnerable spots. We timed patrols. We counted men. We discussed strategy.

And then Terry, looking through his scope, trained it on this upper deck of the spa's main building.

I followed his line of sight when he kept his scope trained in the one area.

As I focused my own scope, I saw most of the women were gathered there. I wasn't surprised to see some of them sunbathing in the altogether.

But I was surprised to see more than a few of them enjoying the attentions of several beefy guys who looked like they were giving new meaning to the term "hands on healing."

"What in damnation are they up to?" Jack said.

"Maybe it's a new kind of massage," I said, hoping this didn't make a tense situation worse.

"What the bloody hell kind of massage you think that is, mate?" Terry said. "What the fuck's he doing to Gaia?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions," I said softly.

"Fuck that," the old man said.

"Angel is with child! What has possessed her?" Jack sputtered.

That's when it dawned on me that Max wasn't saying anything. I searched the group of women ... Annie wasn't there. Guess I was thankful for small favors.

I glanced at Max. His scope was trained in another direction. I followed the trajectory to see what he was looking at. There was this cleared circle ... a small waterfall behind it ... a rock path leading up to a small footbridge over a slow stream led to the circle. And there in the center was a much smaller group of women we knew. Including Annie.

They looked like they were doing nothing so much as meditating. This was a good thing, no?

Max's face was troubled when he put his scope down. Our eyes met. Something was going on inside him that he wasn't telling us.

"That fucking does it. I'll kill Palmer," Terry said. "But one thing's for sure ... the security is a joke. These blokes are amateurs. Who did Palmer think he was dealing with? I am about to show him. We're going in. Tonight. But first, I need a drink."

I closed my eyes as Terry, Max and Jack stalked back to the jeep we'd taken from the ranch to this lookout spot. I could read their body language. Too much emotion.

But you know what?

I was dealing with my own emotion.

Heather. 

Maybe Palmer was hitting a bit too close to home. Had she really said anything that could be interpreted as her not even open to the idea of marriage?

She had been out there on that deck. 

I am unpredictable, sure. But I am not immune. I am not made of wood. 

By the time I made it back to the ranch, I was feeling every minute of my age. And I was disappointed. And vulnerable. I just had never realized how vulnerable I could be where her opinion of me was concerned.

You ask me any other time, when I'm not surrounded by a house full of men worrying over niggling things Palmer had planted in our brains and I would have said there is no way I don't know Heather. No way.

I shouldn't have started drinking. None of us should have.

But there you have it. 

Men left behind do the worst things to themselves in the name of trying to maintain the façade that they're immune to the stuff. You know what I mean?

 

To Part Three

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