Bedrock by Lisa Alther

Author:Lisa Alther
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2010-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

27 Miss Teenage Roches Ridge

The main room in the town hall was festooned with crepe paper. The basketball goals had been raised to permit a clear view of the stage backdrop, a painting of a marble staircase and railings, which was framed by moth-eaten maroon velvet curtains. A dozen young women in bathing suits were lined up, striking poses and looking terrified.

In the front row sat Astrid Starr, squat and bejeweled, giving her husband, Earl Atkins, hand signals about the sound and lighting systems as he peeked through the curtains from backstage. Jared McQueen in his leather bomber jacket, spikes of golden hair a tawny forest, was scrutinizing each girl’s clip as though judging a dog show. Beside him sat Ida Campbell, briefcase of Avon products in her lap for last-minute touch-ups on contestants.

Across from Clea sat Loretta Gebo, her beehive periodically illuminated by the spotlight so that its tilted shadow appeared on the marble staircase mural. Ray Marsh, in camouflage pants, with a hooded air force parka in his lap, sat beside Loretta. Halfway down that row was Jared’s farmer brother, Gordon McQueen, who’d sold Clea the puppy that morning. Brandy was probably shredding Calvin’s stacks of National Enquirers in Clea’s kitchen at that very moment. The man beside Gordon looked like an identical twin, with closely cropped dark hair, beard and mustache, plaid wool shirt and jeans.

Toward the front Clea spotted surly Dack Marsh, with his dark straight hair, high cheekbones, copper coloring, and Roman nose. Clea pictured that bizarre cross with the crucified rodent skeleton on the wall above his TV. It exhibited a savage artistry that made her want to know who had assembled it and why.

Beside Dack sat several others Clea had seen around the house next door: a rotund older woman with frizzy gray hair, who wore a mauve Chanel suit; the small, dark man with the pencil mustache who drove the van to the back shed the night before (his head was shaped like the rodent skull on that cross, with the same prominent feral teeth); and to his right, a woman with a blond bouffant that resembled a fallen souffle compared to Loretta’s. Diagonally across the gym Clea spotted the lapsed Boudicca from the Karma Café, in an overgrown crew cut, with several tiny hoops and cuffs on her ears. Although she’d lived here only a couple of weeks, Clea already recognized a dozen or more faces in this room. Yet after twenty-five years of New York City, she rarely recognized anyone at public events.

Clea’s eyes returned to Dack Marsh. She pictured him atop his mountain of cars, hacking and ripping with his crowbar, copper chest glistening with sweat. She wondered if he’d keep her awake again that night with the spotlight through her window. She wondered if she’d again be drawn to her window to watch him. Something about all that primitive vitality was compelling.

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