Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unfit to Practice

“We’re not likely to find any vacancies for miles around here and it’s actually a really nice campground. Let’s see if we can find something. I’m sick of driving around and we still have to put the tent up.”

They amused themselves surfing the radio until they got to the campground at the corner of Rufus Allen Boulevard and Highway 50, finding it also full. “Let’s take a look anyway,” Angel said.

“Oh, forget it. It’s getting so late. Let’s just go back to your place and try again in the morning. Shoot. Sam’s going to hate it if we come back tonight. Did you see what he did when we drove away?”

“He has got a silly way of waving good-bye.”

“That was his victory salute, Angel.”

“He’s just kidding. He loves me madly,” Angel said. “I’m so hot he couldn’t do anything else. Watch this.” She leaned out the car window and gave the ranger on duty at the entrance a sexy smile and a long look down the front of her tank top and they were through the gate without paying the day-use fee in about a second, giggling like when they were kids.

Sure enough, around a bend toward the back, they found a family of five pulling up stakes on a large dome tent. “Ze miracle she is arrived,” Angel told Brandy, then, out the car window, “You leaving?”

“Sure are,” said the wife, tossing a picnic blanket and cooler into the back of an old blue minivan. The kids were stuffing bags of chips and cookies into brown bags, handing them off like a bucket brigade toward the car.

“Any chance we could grab your spot?”

The wife laughed. “Believe me, you don’t want it.”

Angel put the car into park. She and Brandy both got out of the car and approached. “Why not? Is it haunted or something?”

“You could say that.” She jogged her head in the direction of the next camp over. “Coupla lowlife rowdies.”

“They come over here and cause you any trouble?” Brandy asked.

“No. Nothing like that. Drinking, carousing. Using foul language. People like that are trouble, just being alive.”

Brandy reached into her purse. “Here,” she said. “Here’s thirty bucks for your campsite. You already paid, right?”

The woman’s face brightened. “Yes, we did. Only for the one night. But not this much.”

“We’d be so grateful if you’d just let us camp here tonight.”

“Just so you know what you’re getting into. You’ve been warned.”

While setting up the tent and bags, they had a good laugh over old farts who couldn’t take a joke or a little profanity now and then. Luckily, setting up the tent turned out to be a snap. They saw no sign of the so-called troublesome neighbors and decided the people in the orange tent next to them must have zoned out early.

By ten o’clock, they had a fire crackling, had stuffed themselves full of sweet goodies, and started in on the wine. So fun! Trees and stars surrounding them like comforters, and all of it totally safe, just like summers at camp.

“I hate drinking wine after I eat. You waste the full effect,” Brandy said. “Harder to get to that pleasantly blurry, sentimental stage.”

“Hasn’t stopped you. You have definitely reached that place.”

Brandy leaned back against a log and twisted her hair into a bun in back. “What a relief to be somewhere quiet. You know I love your kids,” she said, taking a swig from the bottle, “but it’s nice to get away.”

Angel took the bottle. “I’ll drink any chance I get, mainly because I never get any. Two kids put a crimp in your style. You have to be a grown-up all the time.”

“Hey, next week’s sign for the salon! Don’t put a crimp in your style!”

“I like it. Maybe you should try to get a job with that advertising agency you worked at while you were at college-”

“Out of business. I called before I left Bruce.”

“Ah, and so we arrive at the night’s topic,” Angel said. “Why you left. What happened? He’s got another girl?”

“Nope.”

“You’ve got another guy?”

“I never!”

“He works too much?”

“I don’t mind that. He’s trying to gather a nest egg for both our sakes.”

“Mom’s driving you nuts with wedding plans?”

“Yes, but no.”

“So tell, before I slap you silly out of frustration.”

“I went off sex.”

“What?”

“I can’t make love with him anymore,” Brandy said. “So how can I marry him?”

“Criminy, Bran. This is serious. Is he kinky? Does he want you to wear rubber strappies and a head thing with studs or something?”

“No. He’s a little-old-fashioned. That’s one big reason I fell in love with him, you know? It’s simple with him. Roses, candles, naked bodies, beautiful music. All the love you want when you want it. You know, Angel, he’s my real love. That’s why this is so hard.”

“Well?”

“Let’s just say it’s me.”

“Did you see a doctor?” Angel asked, really concerned. “Maybe you could take testosterone shots or something. I’ve heard they make you horny.”

“You’re the geezer. You’re closer to running out of hormones than me.”

The flap over the door to the tent came loose in the wind and Angel got up to tie it back down. “Here I come out in the night and I’m forced to drink wine and eat chocolate and listen to insults from my punk sister. Life so sucks.” She walked back over to throw a log on the fire just as two faces peered out from inside the orange tent about fifty feet away-a yawning girl with long black hair and a man, unshaven and ragged-haired but a muscular hunk nevertheless. He said, “Get a fire going, woman,” but in an affectionate, relaxed voice.

Brandy and Angel broke chunks of chocolate off their Ghirardelli bar as they watched the girl next door pile sticks haphazardly into the fire pit. She saw them watching and gave them a wave. They waved back. She started to sing. “She sounds like a sick cat,” Angel decided after they had a chance to listen for a few seconds.

“I did see a doctor a few weeks ago,” Brandy said a few minutes later. “A head doctor. He was such a dork. I felt like he didn’t take me seriously.”

“Bran, don’t you love Bruce anymore?”

The wine hit, or something, because Brandy started crying then, big jagged sobs. “That’s what really stinks. I love him as much as ever. I just don’t want him to, like, touch me.”

“Have you told him?”

“Are you kidding! I can’t hurt him like that!”

“Aw, Bran, go on, cry awhile. Here, have some more wine.” And that was about it, Brandy polishing off the rest of the bottle and crying and saying she loved Bruce, who must be a quickie Dickie, that was Angel’s instant speculation, but she was going to wait awhile to tell Brandy.

They went to bed shortly after, just as the fire next door got hot. After another half hour or so, loud music started up at the next site over. They peeked out, seeing a boom box and two floppy figures dancing by the fire.

“How nice for them,” Brandy groused, “but isn’t the routine you dance first, then crawl into a sleeping bag together?”

“Oh, ease up. It’s amore.”

Campers from across the way got involved at this point, telling the couple to please turn the music down. They did, and a temporary hush descended upon the campground. Then a motorcycle with an engine like a 747 pulled up. The biker joined the couple. The music went up again, as did, after some time, the voices. Back and forth, something about money paid out, money owed, money not paid out, love and sex and other personal realms. Angel and Brandy listened avidly. Other campers complained again, but gave up when the boisterous campers ignored them. After a good half hour of arguing, a fistfight started between the biker and the camper guy.