Spencerville

"Yes, it's my old church. Why are you meeting outside of town?"

"People don't want to be seen at this meeting, Keith. You understand that."

"Indeed I do. But you may be overdoing the revolutionary melodrama. This is America. Use the damned town hall. That's your right."

"Can't. Not yet."

Keith wondered how much of this was the Porters trying to recapture the romance of revolution and how much was real anxiety and fear. Keith said, "I'll think about being there."

"Good. More pie? Tea?"

"No, thanks. Time to hit the road."

"It's early," Gail said. "None of us has shit to do tomorrow." She stood, and Keith thought she was going to clear the table, so he stood, too, and picked up his plate and glass.

Gail said, "Leave that. We're still pigs." She took his arm and led him into the living room.

Jeffrey followed, carrying a potpourri jar. He said, "The dinner was superb, the conversation stimulating, and now we retire into the drawing room for a postprandial smoke."

Gail lit two incense lamps and two scented candles in the dark room. Jeffrey sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table, and, by the light of one of the candles, he transferred the contents of the potpourri jar into rolling papers that he'd spread out on the low table.

Keith watched him in the candlelight, quick fingers and a flicking tongue, producing five nicely packed joints faster than an old farmer could roll a single cigarette.

Gail put a tape in the deck, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, then sat on the floor with her back to an armchair.

Jeffrey lit a joint, took a toke, and passed it to Keith. Keith hesitated a moment, took a drag, then passed it across the coffee table to Gail.

The Beatles played, the candles flickered, the smell of incense and pot filled the air. It was 1968, sort of.

The first joint was now held with a pair of tweezers, then snuffed out, and the roach was put carefully in an ashtray for future use in the pipe that Keith noticed on the table. The second joint was lit and passed.

Keith recalled the protocols and rituals as if it were yesterday. No one said much, and what was said didn't make a whole lot of sense.

Gail, however, did say in the low, hushed tone associated with cannabis and candlelight, "She needs help."

Keith ignored this.

Gail added, as if to herself, "I understand how and why a woman stays in that kind of situation... I don't think he abuses her physically... but he's fucking with her head..."

Keith passed the joint to her. "Enough."

"Enough what?" She took a toke and said, "You, Mr. Landry, could solve your problem and our problem at the same time..." she exhaled. "...right?"

Keith had trouble forming his thoughts, but after a few seconds, or a few minutes, he heard his voice say, "Gail Porter... I've butted heads with the best in the world... I've had enough experience with women to write the book on the subject... don't try to fuck with my head..." He thought this was what he wanted to say. It was close enough.

Gail seemed to ignore him and said, "I always liked her... I mean, we weren't big buddies, but I... she was kind of like... always had a smile, always doing some good deed... I mean, I could puke, you know... but deep down inside, I envied her... completely at peace with her man and her... like, uninvolvement with anything..."

"She became an antiwar something or other at Columbus."

"Really? Wow. That piss you off?"

Keith didn't reply, or thought he didn't. He couldn't tell any longer if he was thinking or speaking things.

The room seemed to be silent for a long time, then Gail said, "I mean, if you do nothing else here, Keith, if you do nothing else with your life after conquering the fucking world... get that woman away from him."

Keith tried to stand. "I think I'm leaving."

Jeffrey said, "No way, buddy. You're sleeping here. You can't even find the front door."

"No, I have to..."

Gail said, "Subject closed. All subjects closed. No more heavy shit. Get mellow, folks." She handed the joint to Jeffrey, then stood and changed the tape and began dancing to "Honky Tonk Woman."

Keith watched her in the flickering light. She was graceful, he thought, her thin body moving in good time to the music. The dance was not particularly erotic in and of itself, but it had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and he felt a familiar stirring in his pants.

Jeffrey seemed indifferent to his wife's fugue and concentrated on the candle flame.

Keith turned away from Gail and helped Jeffrey look at the flame. He didn't know how much time passed, but he was aware that the tape had changed again and was now playing "Sounds of Silence," and Jeffrey was declaring that this was the ultimate musical accompaniment to pot, then Keith was aware that Gail was sitting opposite him again, drawing on a joint.