Chapter 11 - Separate Lives #2
She slid down in the chair and rested her head against the back of it, closing her eyes.
“I’ve been on my feet for the last eight hours, bartending.
I was hoping the casino would stay open.
I lost my job in the cities when the whole Covid mess started.
” She opened her eyes and turned her head toward Robby, giving him a long look.
He could tell where this was headed. “There’re more jobs for singers down there, but you still need a regular job.
I’m gonna see your sister at the daycare when the casino shuts down.
Maybe they’re staying open. Not everybody can work remotely, right?
Eventually, I’ll get outta here. This thing can’t last forever. I love to sing, and I’m good at it.”
Just then George and the other guitar player came back.
George had a tray of beer, Schell’s, which made Robby inwardly wince.
“Enough for everybody! Soft drinks and water bottles in the kitchen.” Everyone opted for beer.
Robby got two and went back and handed one to Rennie.
Her fingers touched his, and he noticed her fingernails matched her toenails, red.
Grace never painted her fingernails at all.
She said it was pointless — she couldn’t be that careful with her hands.
She liked her toenails painted, but half the time more polish was off than on.
Robby and Rennie chatted about his song, he complimented her on her vocal style, and they moved on to how long Robby thought he’d be out of work.
When everyone seemed ready, Robby wanted to try out one more vocal arrangement on the first song, then play through another he was working on.
It was about 10:00. Everyone was game. It was the most positive session they’d had.
By 11:00 though, most everyone was starting to fade. Some had work in the morning.
But Robby wasn’t ready to quit. This was proof he could still make progress in spite of the pandemic.
And he wasn’t thinking about Grace, much.
George had been right to suggest something new.
The other guitar player agreed to stay another thirty minutes to work on a part for the new song.
He got a beer and brought Robby one. Windy apologized, saying she couldn’t stay — she had to work tomorrow.
Rennie had tomorrow off but had come with Windy.
Robby said if she’d stay and try the harmonies, he’d give her a ride home, so she stayed.
As George was leaving, he leaned over to Robby and said, “You’re in for a wild ride with Rennie. She likes it rough.”
“Rough is how I feel.”
So the three of them played and sang through the song numerous times changing the harmonies till Robby was satisfied the idea could work.
The other guitar player left. Robby packed up.
He turned out the last inside lights and held the door for Rennie to go out.
She stood waiting while he leaned his guitar case against the door and locked it.
He put the key in the pocket of his jeans and picked up the case with his left hand.
When he turned, Rennie had moved closer.
It was easy to put his right hand behind her back and pull her into a kiss, a hard kiss.
She didn’t resist. He pulled back and said, “We should go somewhere. But tell me, now, have you been tested recently? I got tested when I first got back.” He remembered the reason he’d done that and pushed it away.
“Yes, right after my last paycheck. I’m careful and I’m clean. But I’m still crashing with friends.”
“We can go to my place, but it’s up the shore.”
“What about the lockdown?”
“I haven’t gotten caught yet. I’ll take the risk. You?”
“Risks turn me on.”
“Then we’re a good match. Come on.”
The drive went fine, except Robby had to keep telling Rennie he didn’t want to get pulled over for driving erratically.
Eventually, he realized she didn’t have a seat belt on and insisted she move over and buckle up.
When they got to the driveway, he managed to open the gate but forgot to close it, then he couldn’t get the garage door remote to work, so he parked in front, and they went up the deck steps.
“Oh, look! You got a package.”
A long box was laying on the mat, blocking the way in. Robby leaned over. He never got packages here. When he ordered stuff — mostly gifts — he had them sent to the recipient. But this was addressed to him. He looked at the return address. Shit. He pushed it out of the way with his foot.
“Wrong address?”
“Right address, but I don’t need it now.
” He looked at Rennie. “What I need now is standing right in front of me.” He kissed her hard, moved his hands down, and pulled her against him.
They eventually made their way to the bedroom where Robby reached into the top of his closet and brought down some ropes. He looked at Rennie.
She nodded, smiling slightly. “But no marks and not around my neck.”
************
When Marie turned off 61 about 7:30 a.m. and saw the open gate, she knew Robby had arrived in bad shape.
At least, he’d gotten home. She wished he would sleep somewhere on the rez when he played down there.
She knew he was drinking more than usual since the breakup with Grace.
Maybe doing other stuff too. She saw the big box off to the side of the door, looked at it, and shook her head.
Poor Little Brother. The return label had a South Carolina address.
A hammock company? But when she got inside, she saw a trail of clothing, ending in a white silk blouse in front of Robby’s door.
She turned around and got back in her car.
Robby woke up to Rennie, on her side, looking at him.
The sheet was draped across her hips. George had been right, and when he lifted up on his elbow and moved closer to her, she smiled and pushed him hard in the chest onto his back and slid her thigh roughly across his lower body.
He pushed her off and onto her back, equally hard, and got both her wrists in his left hand and pinned them over her head.
Later, they showered, and he drove her back to her apartment.
He came back, got his guitar, and went to the basement.
*******
On Tuesday, he emailed Grace. He wasn’t clear on how long it’d been since he’d seen her.
Will you meet me in Grand Marais Thursday morning to talk? Wherever you want.
Robby
He’d started eating. A little. He was sleeping.
A little. He was playing guitar in the basement and at the studio with whoever showed up.
When no one did, he still played. He wasn’t talking much, not to family, not to friends, but he did ask George for Rennie’s number.
He called. The call went about like he expected.
Rennie was quiet. He’d guessed from the start she was hoping to further her career with him.
He’d taken advantage of that. He’d done the same thing countless times before and hadn’t given it a thought.
But this was different. He realized that.
Rennie was Ojibwe. And there was Grace. He was still thinking about Grace.
He’d written songs. Some the band could do.
Two for a solo project. Marie didn’t pressure him, and somehow, she kept everyone else at bay.
She did tell him she had come from the hospital one morning, seen the clothes on the floor, and left.
He looked at her but didn’t respond. He told her he’d thought about his goals as she suggested and knew what they were now.
He’d written an email to Grace and was waiting for an answer.
******
Grace buried herself in work. For the BWCA, she researched every source and angle she could think of to raise awareness and action, from metallurgical journals to the EPA to newspapers.
She set up an interview with Sen. Klobuchar, but it was postponed after her husband was hospitalized with Covid.
For the little newspaper at home, she offered to do proofreading and editing, and she set up an interview with a member of the Dutch firm that was advising the mayor and city council on how to cope with flooding from rising sea levels.
After the lockdown began and the tourists were mostly gone, Billy appeared one morning to start replacing the curtains with walls.
Grace was sure he had picked up on the fact something had happened between her and Robby.
Everyone must’ve. How could they not? She didn’t want to talk about it, and they didn’t ask.
As Billy brought in a piece of sheetrock, he said, “Grace, can I ask you something?”
“Sure . . .”
“Would you be interested in meeting other guys? Someone asked me about you, and I have a feeling it won’t be the last time. There were other guys there.”
“Who asked?”
“Bart. He’s a year-round employee of one of the big lodges. He guides in the summer, helps with all the winter sports, and has sled dogs at home. I don’t know how he’d get in touch. I can tell you Jim would not like guys just showing up here, driving down unannounced.”
“He could leave a message at the lodge with contact info. Or . . . wait.” Grace walked over to the table and picked up a business card. “The cell phone number won’t do any good, but I check my email twice a day for work. Thanks.”
“No problem.”