Part Two, Chapter 1

Almost two years later

It had stormed hard that night, thunder and snow. Peter got up from bed to check, only about a foot had fallen so far. It was quiet now, the snow was not falling so heavily. The cats were napping in their spots. He went back to bed, turned out his light, shut his eyes.

He did not know how long he had been sleeping when his eyes opened. Someone was pounding at the door. He waited a moment, he was not dreaming. He glanced at his clock, it was unlit. He looked out the window, streetlights did not shine. The power was off. He fumbled around, found the flashlight, and turned it on. He got out of the bed. The person was still pounding on his door. He found his pants and slipped them on, put on his shirt as he went downstairs. The power must have been off for some time; the house was chilly. He reached to flick on the porch light, shook his head, opened the door. He held the flashlight so it would not shine in knocker's eyes.

"It's cold out here, aren't you going to invite me in?" She pushed past him.

"Bring." Peter let the flashlight beam fall to the floor. He stood back as she passed him and shut the door behind her.

"That's not my name, but call me that." She took off her coat and tossed it against the door. "Nice place."

"Bring."

She walked into the first room on the right, the sitting room, and sat on a couch against a wall with a large window without curtains. She started to take off her boots. "Jan here?"

"No." Peter sat down on a chair facing the couch, the flashlight still limp in his fingers. "Bring."

"Too bad. I wanted to tell her what a shit you are." She tossed the second boot to the side, started to remove her socks.

Peter shook his head. "Bring." He paused. "Larry called."

"I dropped out. Yeah." She tossed her socks onto her boots. She unbuttoned her shirt. "I'm a bad girl."

"He was worried."

"He's a shit, too." She laid her plaid flannel shirt on the couch. She stood and began to remove her jeans. "They are all shits there." She stepped out of one leg, stopped, glared up at him. "I expected at least a kiss or something. Aren't you happy to see me?" She removed the other leg. She tossed the jeans at him. "Aren't you?" She stood naked, her skin was silver and shadow.

Peter laid the jeans on the floor.

She picked up one end of the coffee table and slid everything onto the floor. "There."

"Bring?"

"You can fuck me here, first." She lay down on the coffee table, her feet rested on the edge, her knees were bent. The light was silver on her skin. "You can fuck me now."

"Bring, what . . ."

"I was open and then you and Alice closed me. I need you to unlock me." She started to finger herself. "Unlock me." She laughed. "If you need to get high first there's some jays in my shirt pocket." She turned her face away from him and stared at the ceiling. "Cupcake wants to fuck."

"Bring, don't."

She was silent a moment. "You were never good for anything, were you, are you?" She sat facing him. "Can't get it up?"

"Bring. I'm sorry. I . . ."

"Sorry is not enough." She gave him a sharp look. "Sorry is not near enough." She stood. "Got anything to eat? I'm hungry." She came over to him, picked up her jeans and slapped him. Peter shook his head, watched her warily. She went back to the couch. She began to put her clothes back on. "Get me something to eat." She stopped and glanced at him. "Master." She smiled. "Master, please."

Peter shook his head. He sat a moment staring at her, got up and went into the kitchen. She followed, her boots, socks, and shirt in her hands.

"Where's Jan?" She quickly looked around the kitchen. "You have a nice place here, I can see her touch everywhere." She pointed to a set of tin canisters on the counter. She sat at the table in the adjoining dining room and bent over to put on her socks.

"Jan left me six months ago." He leaned against the refrigerator. "We broke up."

"That's too bad." Bring smiled at him. "I can be your girlfriend now, your real girlfriend." She got up out of her chair and walked to him. She took his chin in her hand and kissed him. She went over to the sink. "Sandwiches are all right." She picked up a plate and looked at it. "Nice." She snapped it against the sink edge, breaking it. "Too bad about Jan."

Peter shook his head, turned from her and started to get sandwich materials together. "Any preference?" He jerked when she broke a second plate. "Peanut butter and jelly, cheese and lettuce and tomato?" He glanced quickly at her; she was smiling at him.

"All your food tastes like crap, anything is all right." She came over to him. "Here, I'll do that. You're shaking." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the fanny. "How do you say it here? A woman's place is in the kitchen."

Peter sat down on the chair by the telephone, watching her.

She hummed as she made several sandwiches. She found beers in the refrigerator and placed two on the table, side by side. She went back into the kitchen, picked two large pieces of broken plate out of the sink and placed sandwiches on each, carried them into the dining room. She leaned over and blew a kiss at him as she walked by. She laid the plates down, came back to him, took the flashlight from his hand, left the room, came back with her coat, she fished something out of the pocket, tossed the coat aside. She picked up her shirt, took several jays out of the pocket, and laid them onto the table. She gave him a wide smile. She undid her jeans, stepped out of them. She grinned at him. "All ready, boyfriend?" She sat down, she patted the seat beside her.

Peter got up and sat down. He looked at the sandwich on the broken plate.

Bring turned out the flashlight. "Dinner by snow light." She picked up his hand and laid it onto her bare leg. "How romantic." She picked up her sandwich and began to eat. She never took her eyes off him. After a minute, she said, "Let me open your beer for you." She winked at him, gave a quick smile. She twisted off the top. "There." She leaned close to him, kissed him on the nose, kissed him on the lips. "I love you." She laughed and picked up her sandwich.

Peter watched her eat. After she finished her sandwich she picked up his and glanced at him. He nodded. She ate that one also. She finished her beer and peered at him. "Not having any?"

"It's too chilly in here for beer."

"We need to get you back under the covers, don't we?" She started his beer. "Why did Jan leave you?"

"Because I'm a shit."

"I found that out after only a couple of days. How long were you together?" She drew his hand along her thigh.

"Almost five years. Look, I don't want to . . ."

"This beer tastes like crap, also." She set the bottle down. "We often find ourselves doing things we don't want to do here, don't we?"

"Bring, I . . ."

"I'm too tired for a discussion tonight. How about tomorrow?" She yawned. She laughed. "That's a hint, lover." She stood. "Where's your bedroom?"

Peter looked at her. "Bring . . ."

"We're not going to have our first fight, are we?" Bring placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Are we?"

Peter shook his head.

"That's a good boy." She laughed. "I think I need your bathroom first."

Peter lay in bed with Bring. She lay on one side, he on the other. She was naked. He still had his clothes on. The sky slowly became lighter. He got up, after lying awake for hours, to feed the cats. They were normally shy around strangers, last night they were remarkably absent. He found a sweater, put on shoes and socks and went downstairs. He paused for only a moment to look at Bring's blonde hair peeking from the edge of the covers.

The cats were, as always, happy with their breakfast. The power was still off, Peter checked the thermostat. It was a little under sixty degrees inside. He picked up his telephone, that was dead, too. It looked like it had snowed about two feet. Peter went into the room he used as a study and began to lay a fire in the wood stove. He placed a log to one side of the grate, crumpled up papers and stuffed them alongside. He placed a handful of small kindling on top of the paper, larger pieces on top of that. The kindling was mostly scrap from his shop, bits of maple and oak, never pine. He lit the fire and sat down in front of the stove as it started. In a few minutes the fire was ready for larger, split pieces of firewood. Once the fire was going well, and the damper was shut down, he went into the kitchen and brought back two pans of water which he set on the stove. Asparagus and Sleepy came to sit by the fire, bathing and looking contented. Peter did not see Grail anywhere after her breakfast; he thought she was back in hiding. Peter picked out a picture book on Romanesque architecture from a shelf and sat down. He was unable to read it; the pictures and type seemed to dissolve and jump before his eyes.

Peter sat back in his chair. Bookcases were on all four walls, except where the two doors were, to the sitting room and to the dining room, and where the large window and table that he used as his desk were. He called this room the book room. Furnishings were sparse, the table, two chairs and Peter's easy chair, its green upholstery worn in spots. The bookshelves were filled with books, some were placed in sideways on top of shorter volumes. A small woodstove stood out from the walls, it rested on a brick base. Split oak nestled on end in a large wood box nearby.

Water was boiling in a half-hour or so; he got up and took a pan into the kitchen. He made hot chocolate and instant oatmeal. After putting another pan of water on the stove, he carried his bowl and his cup back into the book room on his second trip.

Breakfast was quiet. The cats napped on the hearth around the stove. Peter sat thinking about things he needed to do. He was not sure how long power would be out. He still had water, which was a blessing. He had the woodstove and they could live in the room and stay toasty. The stove was too small to heat the house. He had enough wood for a day inside; he would have to go out and bring in more. That would be a chore with two feet of snow. He had a trashcan filled with water in the basement. That would do if the water went out. He needed to round up the kerosene lamps, flashlights and batteries, dig out the battery radio. He would do that after a bit. He sat and watched the stove. He added more wood two hours later. He was comfortable without his sweater now. He was beginning to doze when he heard footsteps overhead. He stood, left the room and stood by the stairs. He called up, "I have a fire going down here." He left the door open.

She came in a few minutes later wrapped in the bed covers. She smiled at him. The cats saw her and darted from the room. The smile left her face. "They don't like me either." She sat down.

"There's hot water. Coffee, tea or hot chocolate? I can make you some oatmeal." Peter stood.

Bring nodded. "Coffee, please." She looked quickly at him. "Oatmeal." She turned her face away from him. "I wish you at least would like me." She pulled the covers up close. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

"I'm sorry about everything." Peter sat back down. "But sorry is not enough, is it?"

Bring shook her head. "I need you to unlock me, not be sorry for me." She looked shyly at him. "I'm unsuited for your crappy world. I hate back there." She looked down, her toes poked from under the pale blue wool blanket. "I'm stuck in between hell and folly." She wiggled her toes and smiled mischievously at him.

Peter stood. "Coffee and oatmeal." He went to the stove and lifted a pan, turning he said to her, "I'm glad to see you. You can't imagine how glad I am to see you." He carried the pan past her. "The kids are shy. Once they know you, they'll like you."

"Knowing and liking haven't worked out for me." Bring turned to Peter. "Would you be a dear and bring my clothes in here so I can dress in the warm?"

Peter nodded, he left the room.

Bring was fascinated with the coffee press, she had never seen one before. She said the oatmeal tasted like crap, but it was nice because he did it for her. She briefly smiled at him, turned back to her view out the window to the yard.

Peter left her, still wrapped in her blanket, to do his chores. He got the kerosene lamps ready first, put matches in the book room and kitchen, and left a lamp in each. He gathered the flashlights, batteries and radio and left them on the couch, where they would be easy to find, even in the dark. He went down into the basement, checked the water. The barrel was full. It seemed to him last time he used the sink that the pressure was less. They had water. He came back up and prepared to go outside to bring in wood. He put on his boots, vest and coat. He carried his gloves into the back room, his clutter room where things seemed to be dropped going in and out from the house. He made a space for firewood, found the snow shovel, went outside.

Peter was carrying back his first load of firewood when he looked in the book room window and saw Bring standing naked, her arms outstretched, facing the woodstove. Her back was to him. There was no tattoo on her rear like before. She was beautiful. He remembered how he felt watching her when she left the van the last time two years ago to go into Screwy Louie's. He resumed walking, dumped his load of wood in the clutter room, and went back out.

The second time he came back with a load of wood, she had turned. Her arms were still outstretched, her hands hung limply now. Her head bent forward, so her hair covered her face. Peter shook his head, dumped his second load. He could not see her through the window when he brought more loads of wood.

When Peter was done with the wood, he carried the snow shovel through the house to the front. He cleared snow from the walk to the van parked on the street. He cleared the sidewalk in front of his house. He stood and stretched his back. The sky was white. Everything was white and still. It did not seem to be so cold working out here, but he heard no birds. He could not hear the noise of traffic or planes overhead. It was a cold and quiet world.

It took longest to clear snow from the van, from the street in front and behind it, and alongside. He knew when the snowplow made it to his street he would have most of that work to do over again.

Peter came inside; it felt warm. He hung up his coat and vest. He took off his boots and carried them into the book room to sit by the stove so they would dry. He laid the gloves beside them, stood, and heard Bring come into the room. He turned around.

"Sandwiches and hot chocolate." She held the tray out in front of her. "I didn't break any of your dishes this time." She set the tray on the table. She turned and said to him, "I couldn't figure out if I'd look sexiest to you naked, with just my jeans on, or just my shirt on." She smiled brightly. "I thought you'd like the shirt."

Peter gave a brief nod, he took off his sweater.

"Boy, you really do like this."

Peter shook his head. "Too hot in here."

"Admit it, you like it a little bit." She sat down at the pine table in front of the window; she patted the chair beside her. "Is that your shop across the yard there?"

Peter nodded, he sat down. She took his hand and placed it on her leg.

"You'll have to show it to me." Bring picked up a sandwich and cup and placed them in front of him. She picked up another sandwich and cup and placed them in front of her. "This is a nice house."

"It was my parents'; I grew up here." He paused. "My dad died years ago, my mom passed away four years ago. I moved back in to take care of her."

Bring nodded slowly. She took a bite of her sandwich.

"Jan and I took care of her."

"I'm sorry about Jan."

"We're still friends. She just found me impossible to live with." Peter picked up his sandwich; he started to lift his right hand from her leg, she held it down.

"My quote boyfriends unquote say the same thing about me." Bring laughed. "Too bad the power is off," she pointed the computer at the end of the table, "I could show their pictures of me they posted on the web. I'm notoriously impossible to be around." She laughed. "Except as a great fuck." She laughed softly, squeezed his hand on her leg, "Though hardly worth even that." She still faced the computer. "I can hardly blame you for refusing last night." She turned to him.

"Bring, I . . ."

"Please don't say anything. You didn't want to fuck. That's all right." She studied him, she looked quickly away and returned to her sandwich. She was quiet.

Peter finished his sandwich, he took a sip of his hot chocolate. His fingers tapped her leg, she turned to look at him. "It's good. Thanks," he said.

She smiled. "You're cute. You can't even taste that it's crappy like everything else here." She kissed his nose. "Or maybe you're just too nice to say it." She squeezed his hand.

Peter pressed her leg. He smiled and took another sip.

Peter, after eating, got up and sat in his chair in front of the stove. Bring sat on the floor beside the chair, her arms resting on his arm. Peter sat quietly, he started to doze, and he woke hearing Bring talk.

". . . just like in the old magazines. At the college library I would sit and look at old Life magazines. This is just like that." She pressed his arm. "Excruciatingly patriarchal -- I enjoyed women's studies -- strangely comforting." She stood. "Why don't we bring the couch in here?"

Peter glanced at her, nodded. He stood and started to move his chair.

Bring took the other half of the chair. "Sluts like their horn dogs to share." She grinned at him. "Everything, Mr. Dog. Share everything." They moved the chair to a corner. "That's one reason why I'm notoriously impossible; another you saw last night."

They went into the living room, carried the couch, flashlights and all to the book room door. Bring and Peter put the lights, batteries and radio on the floor away from the door. Then they tipped the couch on its side and with effort squeezed it through into the book room. They set it in front of the stove, not too close or it would be too warm to be comfortable. Peter checked the stove and added more wood while Bring carried the batteries, flashlights and radio and laid them in his chair in the corner.

They sat side by side on the couch. Bring had her legs drawn up under her. Somehow her shirt had become unbuttoned and Peter still had not noticed. He faced the stove, his hands on his lap, his legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed.

"Peter," Bring said.

Peter glanced at her.

"Peter, I want you to do something for me." She laughed, "You needn't look frightened."

Peter slowly nodded his head.

"I want you to take me to Alice." She was silent for a moment. "I want a reunion for old time's sake. The three of us."

Peter studied her.

"You remember Alice, don't you?"

Peter nodded slowly.

"She's working in a club off the highway . . ." She looked at him. "You haven't heard?"

Peter shook his head.

"Alice finished college, got her BA." Bring reached out her hand. "Alice did this and that, was never happy. One day, about six months ago, she left Car with her family and took off." Peter took her hand, watched her closely. "She just left." Bring let go of him. "Damn this shirt, it's too hot in here." She stood, tossed the shirt to the table, left the room. She came back a few seconds later with a paper in her hand. She sat down on the couch, against Peter.

"Alice wrote me a note then, has been writing since then every few weeks or so." Bring waved the piece of paper in her hand. Bring took Peter's hand and placed it on her leg. "She's been working in strip clubs." Bring glanced at Peter. "Just dancing she says, not the other stuff." She paused. "Being a whore. Can you believe it?" Bring laughed, her voice fell. "I can't believe it." She looked closely at Peter. "Everything is so crappy here, but doing that, I don't know how she could do that."

"Alice is . . ."

"She's working in a club, or was, near Clarksburg, West Virginia, wherever that is. She moves around a lot." Bring watched Peter's face. "I want you to take me there." Bring held out the paper to Peter.

The note said: "Belinda. I'm at Diamonds now, near Clarksburg, WV. Almost heaven, or so they say. Alice."

Peter raised his eyes to Bring.

Bring gave a quick smile. "If you don't fuck me soon I think I'll explode." She squeezed his hand. "Then take me there." She looked away. "You don't have to fuck me."

(I've held back the rest of this part because I'm not satisfied with it yet. Bring and Peter do eventually resolve their difficulties, become lovers, and find Alice.)

Go to first chapter of Bring
Part One
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12
Part Two
Chapter 1

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