Page 86 of Plentywood
I lost track of the many kind words and who’d spoken them as asides to me as we roamed around the bar.
“Did you know he sold his Mercedes to fund the theater? Can you believe that?”
“He wants to pay for more training for Agnes. He gave her a big raise. She hasn’t had a raise in ten years.”
“He told Mary Lichty that he’d pay for her daughter’s cheerleader outfit because she couldn’t afford it.”
“He really listens to people, Hunt. We thought he might be stuck up, but he’s not. He is so sweet to folks.”
“I’ll just die if he ever moves away. We are so lucky to have him in Plentywood.”
These conversations happened the entire evening. People would gather around us and the moment Ben was distracted, they’d pull me aside and share another personal story. I had no idea what Ben was up to at the clinic every day, but apparently, he’d been charming the pants off our town.
Suddenly, the music died, and the lights came up. “Okay, folks. It’s your favorite time of the night,” Smitty yelled from the stage.
“Hunt! Hunt! Hunt!” the crowd chanted.
Ben turned fire-engine red and grinned at me, laying his head against my shoulder. I kissed the top of his head and the bar went nuts.
“Ben! Ben! Ben!” they yelled.
I kissed Ben on the lips, raising my arm in acknowledgment, and headed for the stage. Jill and Ben stood closer together while I made my way.
My guitar, as usual, was already next to the stool on stage. I sat down and pulled the mic toward me. “How about some Billy Joel?” I asked.
The crowd cheered and clapped as I tuned the guitar, checking the height of the mic again and searching the crowd for Ben. The bright lights in my face made it hard to find him, but once I did, I calmed myself and grinned like a madman in love.
I began a slow acoustic version of “Just The Way You Are.’ The hit song by Billy Joel was from 1977 and was older than I was, but I loved seventies classic rock and this particular one spoke to my feelings of late.
“Don’t go changing,”I began, focusing on Ben.
Suddenly a figure to my right jumped on stage, knocking the mic stand over. Charlie tore the mic out of my hand and faced the crowd. The place went dead silent.
“Don’t, Charlie,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Not now,” I insisted.
“Fuck that!” he raged, slapping my hand away. “These people need to know the truth about us.”
He stumbled around the stage, tears streaking down his face. Several patrons came stage side, looking for my permission to intervene, but I hesitated. “Wait a second,” I mouthed, eyeing Charlie carefully.
Charlie and I had a history in this town. Most of it was not good. From high school till now, we’d shared a difficult path. Most of it concerned him losing out on love to Mark. He never forgave Mark for stealing me away, even when that wasn’t what happened.
Eighteen months ago, he lost complete control of his faculties when I refused to continue using him sexually. We had the talkone night at my house. He had slowly been moving items to my house, thinking he could live with me full time. We needed to set boundaries where he could accept that we weren’t anything more than sex.
The conversation did not go well. Charlie lost control of his emotions because he had had his heart set on an us. Especially when, following six months of loneliness after Mark died, I brought him to my bed, knowing I was making a mistake. But selfishly, I had needs. Charlie was there for me and I used him.
During my attempt at a gentle letdown, hoping I could salvage a friendship out of respect for him, he totally freaked out. Charlie ran to my bedroom and grabbed my handgun, waving and pointing it at me. He’d said he’d rather me dead than him not have me. He raged about how I owed him this because I’d selfishly loved Mark more.
Just as I thought I had him calmed down, he locked himself inside my bedroom and then threatened to kill himself. It took the entire sheriff’s department to get him out of my house. Agnes had him committed on a psychiatric hold in Missoula and that was the end.
After his return, and with him on medication, he found his equilibrium again. He and I slowly worked on repairing our friendship. There were occasional slips on his part where he’d try to seduce me, but I’d been frightened by what had happened, so I was patient.
I tough-loved him through hard times with friendship whenever he fought old demons about wanting to be with me. We eventually could good-naturedly joke and tease each other with rude sexual comments, even if that was probably poor judgment on both our parts.
But tonight, right in front of me and a lot of the population, that same destroyed man reappeared, about to reveal his uglyside. Charlie was also drunk. Not a good recipe for his already erratic behavior.
“He doesn’t love you,” he spat, pointing toward Ben. “He loves me. He fucked me so good, doc. Did you know that? And long before you ever showed up.”
I witnessed Ben flinch as all eyes turned toward him. I stood and reached out to Charlie. “Okay, buddy. That’s enough. How about we get you home?”
