Adirondack Audacity Page 6

  That’s it, I’m done here. I turn to place the bucket on a hook, and as luck would have it, in doing so I step on the rake propped against the wall. The rake handle springs forward, whacking me on the head, and with the heavy bucket in my arms, I lose my balance…and fall sideways……. into the loaded wheelbarrow… full of “you know what”……followed by the bucket of water crashing over my head. Splat!

  I’m sitting in manure, wet smelly disgusting horse poop seeping into my new jeans with a bucket over my head… Please God, let me die now, if you love me you’d grant me this one wish. I cannot face Scott and Vic Rienz covered with horse shit. Howls of hysterical laughter echo in the tin bucket. Well, there is nothing to be done for it; God refuses to grant my death wish. I can’t sit in a pile of horse shit for eternity. And obviously, there will be no help from the two of them. I pull the bucket off my head; wipe the hair out of my eyes only to smear manure down the side of my face….sending the two of them into further bouts of laughter. Slumped on the stall floor, Vic rocks back and forth laughing, “Oh my God; I’ve never seen anything so funny in my entire life. She’s covered with horse shit.”

  “Wet shit, no less!” Scott says in a fit of laughter. “Here, let me help you get out.” Scott wipes the tears from his eyes as he sees me struggling to my feet, trying not to bury myself further in the muck. “I’m sorry, we shouldn’t laugh but you look so damn funny! Like a little heifer that slipped coming into the barnyard.” This only sends Vic into another bout of laughter as he staggers to his feet, leaning against the wall, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. I hope he chokes to death…

  As much as I’d love to be a good sport…some things are beyond humor. Lying in a pool of filth in front of the man that fills my fantasy dreams….and the jackass who has become my new nightmare, I just want to cry. So help me if I cry, I will personally hang myself.

  Taking Scott’s hand to pull myself out of the black fetid muck, I turn on them, my voice dripping in venom, “If either of you…..so much as breathes a word of this to anyone…….and I mean anyone, I will haunt you every day for the rest of your miserable lives and the lives of your children and grandchildren.” Pointing my finger at them with a vengeance, I intone, “Do you understand me.” The two of them nod, biting their lips to keep from laughing. Jerks! I turn with as much dignity as I can muster to stalk out of the barn, but not before I see Scott trying to wipe his manure covered hands on something other than his clothing, thus sending them into further hysterics.

  Ughhhhhhh…there aren’t enough Twinkies in the world to make this feel better.

  …

  Later that evening as the sun nestles down behind the mountain range, and all the little campers are snug asleep in their bunks with visions of swimming, archery and nature hikes dancing in their heads. It’s time for the counselors to gather at the dining hall for some needed rest and relaxation. The camp cooks, Frank and Marsha, started a tradition they called “Night Owls.” A few times a week they put out an assortment of leftovers from the day’s meals, adding homemade cookies and batches of hot buttered popcorn. A time to gather, kick back and relax at the end of the day. And everyone loves Frank and Marsha, not just for their culinary talents, but their generous nature. And Frank is the king of knock-knock jokes.

  “Knock, knock.”

  “Who's there?”

  “Owl”

  “Owl who?”

  “Owl you know unless you open the door?”

  One joke every meal, the camp is overrun with knock-knock jokes, there is so much knock-knocking going on, the woodpeckers can’t hear themselves think.

  As with everything at camp, there is a clean-up schedule after the Night Owl sessions. Tonight it’s Mac and I. It doesn’t take long to cover, refrigerate or toss out food no longer servable. Mac rinses, placing plates and cups in the dish machine, while I wipe down the counters tops and buffet table. After turning off the lights, we stand on the porch, gazing at the stars. Millions of stars pepper the horizon. I sigh, enjoying the beautiful night sky even though my wounded pride over the barn incident still smarts. In fact, it stings; it will take some time to get over the humiliation.

  “The stars seem so much brighter up here, away from the city lights.”

  “They are beautiful.” Mac says coming to join me at the porch railing.

  “Star light, Star bright, first star I see tonight, wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” I laugh, quoting an old nursery rhyme.

  “What do you wish for tonight, Ellen?” He asks, leaning in close to me.

  “At this moment, nothing, I’m just happy to be here.” With the words barely out of my mouth, he takes my arm and pulls me against him, and presses his lips against mine. Holy cow! I should be shocked and horrified… but he tastes like Twinkies, with a little overtone of brownie. As my experience is limited … I’ve never had a real boyfriend, not even a crappy one. Curiosity wins out over reason and I think why not….so I let him kiss me in the moonlight. It wasn’t a bad kiss, in fact rather pleasant, when he raises his head, I don’t protest, so he starts kissing again. Only his time with his tongue. Holy double cow, a French kiss. I’ve never been French kissed before. I surrender to the warm deep probing in my mouth as he lightly flicks his tongue over my teeth… a totally new experience. But I’m not sure I like this experience, his tongue reminds me of a wet sloppy frog flopping around in my mouth. And the kiss wasn’t that great once the taste of the brownie and Twinkie wore off. I don’t even like Mac. And to my astonishment the image of Vic Rienz in the barn creeps into my mind, his broad shoulders filling the stall door, dark hair gleaming in the sunlight and those eyes….oh boy. I push away from Mac’s chest saying, “I have to go.”

  “Let me walk you back.” He says eager to continue our “French” lesson.

  “No thank you,” I gulp. “I prefer to walk back alone, but thanks for the offer.”

  “Fine then,” He says in a withering voice.

  “Whatever.” Turning on his heel, his boots clatter down the steps and he stalks off into night. Standing alone on the porch, I can’t help but wonder … if Mac tasted like Twinkies… what would Vic taste like.........hmmmmm….the unbidden thought of velvety, rich deep, dark chocolate swirled with warm caramel over soft, silky peaks of vanilla-coffee ice cream, covered in shaved curls of toasted coconut, and a sprinkle of toasted

  pecans…….damn it. He is such an arrogant asshole, why do I keep thinking about him!

  Chapter 8 On Second Thought…. Returning to the barn after the “wheelbarrow” incident is out of the question, and besides, my ardor for Scott has cooled. Extinguished….doused…smothered…. not a spark left. Nothing like landing in a pile of horseshit to bring a girl to her senses.

  I ’ve spent the last week pleading with Emi Jo to switch with me so Vic and I don’t have the same day off. Her sweet nature wants to say yes but her crush on Ben says no. I offered Scott as bait, but she wrinkled her nose and said horses stink. Apparently Ben takes her out in the canoe and practices his latest love songs as they paddle across the lake. She says it’s all very romantic. Fine then…….

  Upon consideration, spending my afternoon off in the woods, beside a quiet, peaceful lake, reading, sketching in my journal and swimming…sounds like a good thing...I like it.

  The day dawned with no wind, the blue sky overhead broken only by the occasional puffy cloud scuttling across the horizon like a slow lumbering turtle. Two miles down the trail from camp a large rock juts into the lake, a perfect spot for a leisurely afternoon. Spreading my beach towel in a pool of sunshine, I stretch and breathe in the fresh mountain air, peace at last. Opening my pack…I wonder what to do first, swim, read my book, sketch, nap or eat my lunch.

  Decisions……decisions……decisions. I see a chipmunk scurry across the rock and stop, his nose twitches in anticipation of sharing my lunch. “Oh, no you don’t.” I laugh, wagging a finger at him. “That’s my lunch and I have no intention of sharing it with
you.” I put the lunch back into my pack, away from his greedy little eyes. The chipmunk rubs his paws together, wiping them over his mouth in a vain attempt to make me feel guilty.

  “I don’t care how much you beg,” I admonish the little critter. “It’s not good for you. You need to fend for yourself. Now, shoo!” He chatters angrily at me, scooting off into the woods.

  Walking to the edge of a boulder that stretches into the lake, I dive straight into the freezing water. The first contact numbs my skin as I burst to the surface but it’s wonderful and I feel painfully alive, charged with energy. The swim washes away the heat and cares from the week; my body relaxes floating on the water’s surface, watching the clouds slowly dance across the sky.

  Finally, the g oosebumps on my arms signal it’s time to return to shore. As I doze on the towel, the warming rays of sun gently massage my skin into a state of relaxed languor, interrupted by the quiet movement of something creeping out onto the rock. The chipmunk.

  “Back again, I see . Hungry?” Sitting up I reach into my pack for lunch, the little creature keenly watching my every move. “Me too.” Placing a sandwich and apple on the towel, the chipmunk rubs his paws together in anticipation. “Fine then, just a nibble, don’t tell Burt on me. Feeding wild animals is not a good idea. But your eyes are killing me and it’s nice to have a friend.”

  Pulling a corner off my sandwich; I hold it out to him, quick as a flash he steals the piece and flees into the woods. “Ouch!” He didn’t really bite me but his quick attack on my sandwich startled me. Serves me right.

  “Careful, you can get a nasty bite from those little monsters.” “Aggggh!” I squeak in surprise. Who’s standing at the edge of the woods……. but Vic. Oh goodie, just the company I was hoping for….an arrogant asshole. Terrific. There goes my peace and quiet.

  “ Sorry,” he says, dropping down on the towel next to me, uninvited, I might add. “Did he bite you?” He picks up my hand examining my finger for injury.

  “No ,” I say, snatching my hand back, but not before I feel the glowing heat of his touch travel up my arm. What the hell…..? “He just startled me when he grabbed the sandwich.” I hasten to add.

  “ Does Burt know you are out here feeding the wildlife?” he teases.

  “No, and you’re not going to tell him.” I retort. “Shouldn’t you be at the stables rescuing damsels in distress from manure piles?”

  “Na, did that already, gets boring. See one damsel in a manure pile, they all look the same after a while.” He smiles, leaning back against the rock.

  “You’re not staying are you?” I make a shooing motion with my hand. “I was looking forward to some peace and quiet. The constant laughter and chuckling from this week are not welcome here. Now go.”

  “Sorry about that,” he says. “You have to admit, it was pretty funny. Truce? No more laughing.” He holds out his little finger for a pinky swear.

  “How can I trust you?” I wave my hand dismissively at him. “I let my guard down and next thing I know you throw me in the lake or you’re off tattling to Burt.”

  “I swear and I’m a man of my word,” he says. Against my better judgment, I hook my finger with his; and as our eyes meet, something inside of me melts. shit…. His arms are muscled and brown from the sun, he takes my breath away. I can’t take my eyes off the patch of smooth skin showing through his open shirt collar. Damn it…….

  Still holding my finger, he says, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I wanted to finish this sketch of the lake and didn’t see you until I was on the rock.” He lets go of my finger….. and I feel bereft. “I’ll be less of a bother than that chipmunk. I won’t even mooch your lunch. I brought my own.” He holds up his pack as proof.

  “Umm,” Sitting cross legged, I pull small pieces off my sandwich and chew slowly, ducking my head to hide the blush creeping across my cheeks. My heart whispers, he likes you. My mind screams, I don’t like him.

  He takes his sketch book and begins moving his pencil over a blank sheet of paper with quick sure strokes. I watch, fascinated by the fine articulation of muscle on his arm and shoulders.

  Brushing away the stray crumbs, I stretch out on the towel, head propped up on my hand, aware he’s watching me. His gaze appreciative of the new blue checkered bikini, not one of those shapeless bathing suits we’re forced to wear in gym class. I saved my allowance for a month to buy it, without Helen’s approval. She said it was not modest for a girl my age, and she sure wouldn’t approve of me stretched out in front of Vic Rienz. He was the type of boy mothers warn their daughters about: sensual, magnetic and dangerous. He’s forbidden fruit.

  “Can I ask you something?” I question.

  “Sure, what do you want to know?”

  “How old are you? Morris said you were the youngest counselor. I find that hard to believe. You seem older, maybe not more mature, but older.”

  He shrugs his shoulders in a nonchalant way. “I’ll be seventeen in the fall.”

  “Oh…so why did you take a lifeguard position when you seem to love art and photography?”

  His eyes slide over to me, amused. “Well, Miss Twenty Questions, I like to swim.” His hand makes quick slashes on the paper, occasionally glancing up. “And for me, my art is private. I rarely show my work to anyone.”

  “I can understand that, I keep a journal of nature sketches and whatever strikes my fancy on a particular day. My work isn’t very good, and I live in horror one of my brothers will find it and publish excerpts in the local school paper.” I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest. “So that’s the only reason you took the lifeguarding position?”

  “Oh,” he raises his head from his drawing, a quirk to his mouth, a tightening of his lips. “I got in trouble at school this year. My father thought a summer in the Adirondacks would be a fitting punishment.”

  “Bad trouble?”

  “Bad enough. My father used it as an excuse to keep me away from our ranch. When he heard Morris had a lifeguard position at camp, he signed me up……so here I am.”

  “Can you tell me about your life on the ranch?” Curiosity propels the question out of my mouth. “Do you have horses, brothers, sisters…..or come from a lair of dark demons?” I see him stiffen, knowing I’ve treaded on deep and murky waters. Everyone at camp babbles on and on about their parents, brothers and sisters, what Uncle Fred and Cousin Steven will be doing this summer. On and on to the point you want to blow your ears off. Vic and I contribute very little about our families, apparently like me, there’s very little he wants to share.

  “Well……..” He says with pensive look on his face, dark eyes probe deeply into mine, weighing how much to trust me. “Okay,” he says slowly. “But someday, I’d like to hear your story. One would think a long-legged stork dropped you from the sky, and you grew up in the swamp raised by river otters or something.”

  “I’m not a big talker.” I look at my hands, nervously averting my gaze. I become suddenly embarrassed and blush for the second time today under his steady scrutiny. I came to the mountains to escape my home life. It’s not that bad, I know kids are abused and have all kinds of awful stuff happen to them. I just have Helen, a modern rendition of Cruella DiVille. This summer I vowed to erase her from my thoughts, not only a summer vacation, but a Helen vacation. And I’m not going back, not yet.

  He notices the rising anxiety on my face, not wanting to push; he leans over and gently puts his finger on my lips. “Don’t, I understand. I’m actually a patient guy.” I nod against the pressure of his finger on my lips, and wonder how his lips would feel there.

  He puts the sketch book down, throws the crust of his sandwich to the chipmunk, and gazes out over the lake before he speaks. Without looking at me he begins, “My full name is Vicente Esteban Menendez Rienz. My family is from Mexico, going back many generations, a bit of ruling dynasty in the local area. They own many businesses; foremost is the Rienz Rancho, a huge cattle ranch.” He hesitates, thinking before he continues, “The Rancho has
many buildings and family houses where my aunts and uncles and cousins live. I spent my summers riding with the vaqueros, that’s Spanish for cowboys.” I sit quietly, fascinated by the story of his life. As he talks, I prop my head on my elbows and listen.

  “My cousins and I prefer hanging out in the bunk house rather than the main complex with our families. You see, my father is a stubborn bullhead and so are his brothers. It’s rare they agree upon anything.” He taps the pencil against his sketchpad in a staccato rhythm. “Because my father went to college in the United States he handles the business end of the ranch and exports products to the U.S. In addition, he negotiates business deals for other wealthy families in Mexico. We have an apartment in New York City which he uses as his international base and where I went to high school. And until I screwed up last semester, I was allowed to spend my summers in Mexico. And for further punishment, my father insists I finish high school in Mexico this year.” Vic pauses, looking at me. “Am I boring you?”

  I shake my head hastily. “No, not at all. Mexico. Wow.” God, my life is so lame and boring.

  “Okay, I gave you a chance to save your ears.” he continues, “I grew up fast and learned to be tough.” He pauses. “I have three older brothers. Carlos and Juan finished school and work for the family in Mexico. Manuel is studying at the University of Southern California.”

  “Your mom lives with you in Mexico?”

  “My mother,” he sighs and shakes his head, “No.” He pauses looking over the lake then back at me, his eyes haunted. “My mother lives in New York City, which is why I wanted to go to school there. Best of both worlds.

  She grew up in Chicago; her family money is from the meat packing industry. She became a vegetarian in her teens and then married my father, whose family raises cattle for a living.” He gives a sarcastic chuckle. “How ironic is that? Between her family and mine, she didn’t have a chance.”