nicer to be an Alpha than an Epsilon.
The bar was cool, high-ceilinged and large-beamed, and full of dark corners. Jim led us to a table in the darkest corner of all, but one from which, I soon realized, we had the best view of, not the other patrons, but of the staff moving back and forth from the bar and the kitchens. As we moved among the tourists, to our table in our jeans and denim jackets and boots, I wished I could emulate the unconscious swagger of my two buddies, but, being only four days out of Cambridge, Massachusetts, and new to the mountains, I was not confident I could pull it off. I also wished I had a pair of real boots and a big hat, like Jim.
“Hi, what can I get for you.” Her silly little name tag said, ‘Sarah, Pocatello, Idaho.’ She had hair the color of October cornstalks, and eyes that matched Jackson Lake. All the rest of her, under the striped apron and above the black flat Capezio shoes, looked equally nice to me. I tried to smile back, and said,”Martini, no olive, just a twist.” I have no damn idea why I said that, as I had never before in my life ordered a Martini, but it seemed to go down okay, and she smiled back.
“Bourbon, straight up, with water on the side,” said Jim, and Dick said, “I’ll have an iced tea.”
Well, we had a drink or three, and a couple of hamburgers, and Sarah spent plenty of time around our table. We were about out of both pocket money and time when Dick, who had said the least, but looked around the most, asked Sarah, “Who is that tall girl working those tables over on the other side?” Sarah looked through the dim light, and replied, “That’s Kitty.”
Dick Robbins said not another word, pushed back his chair, walked across the room, and whispered something quietly in Kitty’s ear. She turned absolutely white, then red, then pink. I thought she was going to hit him, but she just took two deep breaths, looked into his eyes, and smiled. Dick smiled back, turned around, came back to the table, and told us, “C’mon, it’s time to go. I have to start back up Cascade Canyon to camp before it gets dark, and I won’t be back down until Wednesday. We can come up here again Wednesday night. I’ve arranged it with Kitty.”
Sarah, who had watched the byplay, said, looking straight at me, “Sure, why don’t you all come back up to the rec hall Wednesday, sometime after six-thirty.” She deftly executed a pretty little turn thing, and walked away, slower than slow and twice as sweet.
We got back in the car, noting that John and Jedediah had gone off somewhere, and started south, taking the Inner Loop road that goes by Jenny Lake and the Jenny Lake Lodge, from which Dick would have the easiest access to the Cascade Canyon Trail.
The light was fading now; those glimpses of the lakes that we could get showed surfaces of blackening purple. The meadows around Jenny Lake had hidden their blankets of wildflowers. A few deer stood feeding in a dusky meadow; the buck raised his head as we slowed the car in passing, then bent again to graze, unafraid.
The peaks, beyond the lakes and forest, were also darkening rapidly, losing detail of their outlines. But at their summits, especially where one could make out their southern flanks across the canyons, a glistening, shining pink light of alpenglow flared up for a few minutes, and then vanished.
We dropped Dick off, watching him stride into the twilight, his flashlight still in his hip pocket, and continued on south toward Park Headquarters.
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