How High the Moon
By Robert E. Stahl
In “How High the Moon”, love breaks even the hardest heart. Photo courtesy of Unsplash.
An exclusive, never-before-published story for readers of RobertEStahl.com
John Land wondered what he would miss more once he was safe with the others on the moon base. Would it be getting a good buzz at his favorite watering hole? Or the aeroball games he watched every week on omnivision? That evening he was sitting in a booth at a pub, enjoying both, when he noticed the bruise on the waitress’s face.
He got a better look when she slid him the whiskey. The mark reminded him of a rose petal, except the edges were yellowed and puffy, which meant it had been there a few days. She’d tried to cover it with makeup, but he knew a shiner when he saw one. Lord knows he’d caused enough of them in his life, getting a little too drunk and tussling with friends, strangers, sometimes both at once, in bars just like this one.
Then there had been the one he’d put on Tricia.
That one, he’d never forget. That one had looked like a cartoon heart fallen over on its side, one ventricle extending up above the eyeball, and one below. She’d left him for good that night, and he couldn’t say he’d blamed her.
But, the waitress.
Until that moment, he hadn’t even looked at her face, even though she’d made several visits to his table, bringing him dinner: an old-fashioned burger, fries and two beers. Why would he look? He’d been married once, had gotten the t-shirt, and even that, he was pretty sure Trisha had taken when she’d left, plus all his furniture, and half of his bank account.
Still, he was drawn to the bruise, and from the bruise, to the rest of her face. She had soft features, dark, tousled hair, and caramel-colored eyes that sparkled in the neon glare. Not what he’d consider beautiful, but there was a natural prettiness about her, no question. How long had she worked here? Why had he never noticed her? More importantly, why did it even matter? This close to fifty, women were a distraction he could do without. Better to put all his energy into his work and pending retirement, especially now that the moon base was so close to completion.
“36 credits,” she said, offering him a light pen.
“36?” he asked. “Didn’t stuff seem cheaper back when we had paper money?”
“You lunar boys are all the same. Making all that dough and too cheap to spend it.”
The liquor burned as he swallowed it. “What makes you think I’m a loonie?”
“Your hands. Hair’s all gone, but your arms are furry. Which means you wear gloves for work. Heavy ones. And that means moon suits.”
He looked down. The coarse hair, which had grown out of the back of his hands and fingers since puberty, was indeed rubbed away. She was observant, for a waitress.
“Also,” she added, “this is the closest bar to the transfer station.”
Smiling, he lifted his hand to her. “John Land.”
“Edith Caraway.” She folded her hand into his. “My friends call me Edie.”
“Well, Edie. Maybe I’ll stick around for another.”
He sat in the booth, sipping beers and eyeing the game, until it ended, and then he watched her. She was good at her job, and her eyes seemed to light up as she worked her tables. More than once, the happiness drained from her face as she ducked into the kitchen. Once, he saw the corners of her mouth pull down, until he thought she might cry.
The pub filled up during the dinnertime rush, and hours later, started to empty again. A handful of couples made their way to the dance floor, shuffling along sleepily to the sounds of honky-tonk music. Her shift ended shortly after nine, and when it did, he asked her to join him.
She told him she had things to do. He pretended he was deaf. She smiled. At that moment her features softened, and he saw something vital and precious about her, and he wanted to protect her from whoever had struck her, and from everything else in life.
So he persisted, asked her again.
At last, she relented, ordering a glowing cocktail from the bar. “Looks like antifreeze,” he joked as she sat down. “Bet it tastes like it too.” She sipped the drink quietly. He bought her another and headed for the jukebox. The machine pulsed with color as he typed in his selection, and a sweet, jazzy melody filled the pub.
“It’s nice,” she said, her cheeks flushing with color. “What’s it called?”
“’How High the Moon’,” he replied. “Ella Fitzgerald.” He stood and bowed comically. “Dance with me?”
On the floor, he did his best not to step on her toes—one of the drawbacks of being a large man. At least the trait served him well in other areas: first, as a linebacker in high school and then as a construction worker. She looped her arms around him, her fingers exploring his dense shoulders, the strong muscles of his back.
Two songs later, her body relaxed against his. “I fly out tomorrow for six months,” he whispered, directing his breath carefully against the slope of her delicate neck. “Spend the night with me.” Her response was a sigh, heavy and long.
They drove to his apartment, and he thought about the land just beyond his headlights. About the trees and football stadiums, about houses and families.
The asteroid would destroy most of it.
Thousands would survive the impact, maybe. But not for long. The Corporation had been quite clear about that.
But he forgot all that the moment her naked body pressed against his under the covers. That night, neither of them slept.
***
He woke in the morning to the sounds of her crying. She was trembling on the bathroom floor, her face covered with a towel, which he coaxed from her fingers. He held her until she calmed, and traced the edge of the bruise with his finger. Washed of makeup, it was an ugly thing. “Tell me his name,” he said, but she didn’t answer. Gently, he cupped her head and turned her toward him. “Edie.”
“Donny,” she said, at last.
“How long?”
“Six years. Give or take.
“First time?”
A wan smile spread across her face. “I wish.”
“Why?” he asked. “Why would you go back to—"
“Please,” she said. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your job.”
If only he could tell her everything. “The lunar colony? Where do I start? An entire city under a dome near the southernmost pole. Two years until it’s finished. Damn thing’s going to have everything. Lodging for 5,000 of the richest pricks in the world. Farms and parks. A roller skating rink, even. There are these machines. Nuclear powered. They convert ice and water into oxygen. And it’s perpetually sustainable.” At least it better be, he thought.
“Lifestyles of the rich and famous,” she said.
“I’d like to see you again,” he blurted out.
She didn’t answer. She was staring at the ceiling.
“Look,” he said, “I’m home two weeks out of every six months. The phones up there don't work so great, but I can call you weekly. Would you like that?”
Finally she spoke in a voice so low, he struggled to hear it. “Yes, I would. I think.”
Later that day, as he strapped himself into his seat on the transport shuttle to prepare for blastoff, he thought of Edie and smiled.
For the next six months, they talked on the phone every Sunday evening at exactly seven o’clock.
***
They huddled together under the sheets, their bodies slick with sweat and cooling, listening to the walls of the old hotel creaking in the winter winds. He was surprised at how good it felt to hold her. There was something about the way their bodies intertwined. It was as if they’d been a single organism once, and some strange, alien force had separated them, and only now, after years apart, had they found their way back together again.
Her fingers traced figure eights in his chest hair, occasionally straying into the edges of the shaggy beard that now covered his face. They heard a door slam though the walls, signaling that another occupant was checking out. Within seconds, a whirring mechanical sound indicated that a botmaid was moving in for cleanup.
“Good thing they’ve got machines doing that now,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the things a maid sees.”
“Do tell.”
“I cleaned hotels for awhile,” she said with a laugh, “back before my glamorous waitressing gig. Never thought I’d say I lost my job to a robot.”
He smiled. “So you didn’t always want to be a waitress?”
“An actress. Doesn’t every girl want that?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Stupid,” she said. “Or scared. Maybe both. I acted a bit in college before dropping out. Too shy, I guess. Then Donny came along, and we know how that turned out. God, it’s all so boring. Tell me why anyone would want to live on the moon.”
He yawned, got out of bed, and made his way to the coffee machine. “You know how rich folks are. They love their status symbols. It’s like owning a villa in Tuscany, I suppose. Or an air car.”
“Well, I think I’d hate it up there. No breezes. No oceans. It all sounds so, I don’t know, artificial. Think I’ll stay down here on the ground, thank you very much.”
No, you wouldn’t hate it Edie, he thought. Because in two and a half years, a rock the size of Manhattan’s going to come hurling out of that big black asshole we call space and crash on this dear old planet we call Earth. If you’re not killed outright, you’ll be dead soon enough, because that thing’s going to kick up a layer of smoke and dust that’s going to choke out all life down here. And the organization I work for? Why, they’re building a moon base. They promised me a place up there, if I can keep my yapper shut about it.
She stared at him, puzzled, clearly waiting for a response. With a wave of his hand, he turned on the coffee maker, then leaped on the bed and scooped her up in his arms. He’d been wrong before. She was beautiful. Her face beamed when she smiled an honest smile, not the way she did for her bar customers. How could anyone ever have hurt her? “Is he gone for good?” he asked.
He knew the answer by the way her body tensed. The machine sputtered as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted across the room.
“He can’t accept that it’s over,” she said. “I mean, it’s been hard for me, too. We were together eight years.”
“Are you still seeing him?”
“He’s come to the bar a few times, but—”
“Jesus, Edie“
“What, you want me to lie? Eight years is a long time, John. I told you it was complicated.”
He grabbed her wrists. “You stay away from him.”
Her body flinched, ready for the blow.
I’m frightening her, he thought. Just like he does.
A surge of memories hit him. The look on Tricia’s face the night she’d left, the horrible bruise already darkening on her face. The sleepless nights afterward. The anger management classes he’d taken as atonement, as if it would ever bring her back.
He loosened his grip. “Christ,” he said. “You deserve so much better, is all. Why can’t you see that?” They sat in silence for some time.
“Stay away from him,” he said. “I-I like you, Edie.”
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible. “I like you, too,” he thought she said.
***
They kept in touch, making plans to spend some time at the beach on his next visit. When he landed at last, he drove to the pub to pick her up. Her wrist was wrapped in a bandage. His hands curled into fists. “That son of a bitch,” he said.
She coaxed him back into the truck and explained how she’d fallen at work. He didn’t believe her, not the first time she said it, and not the third. It wasn’t until she swore on her mother’s grave that he stopped doubting.
By the time they got on the highway, he felt foolish. Of course she had fallen. How could it have been anything else?
It was a feeling that was reinforced later, when, walking along the seashore, she slipped on a slick patch of seaweed and landed butt first in the surf. She was clumsy for sure. Or it could have been the daiquiris they’d consumed at a seaside bar. He rushed to her side, but she sat there laughing, thrusting her bandaged wrist up to keep it dry. Nearby, two young girls were building a sandcastle. They giggled as he gathered her in his arms and carried her out into the waves. There, with her wrist balanced atop his shoulder, they held each other and listened to the waves crashing against the shore.
The peaceful moment was interrupted by a cry. A gull, looking for food near the water’s edge, had landed near the girls. It strutted eagerly toward them and became airborne, swooping over the castle and cleaving it in two.
He’d never heard Edie laugh so hard.
The blood red sun collapsed into the horizon, and the magnificent water grew cool against their bodies. It was the most perfect moment he’d felt in a long time. He wondered how many millions of couples the ocean had enchanted with moments just like this one. He wondered what would be left of the oceans after the disaster.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Not as long as he had Edie.
***
The job on the moon base ended the following summer, just like the Corporation planned. The migration started almost immediately.
As an employee, John was allowed to bring his family. The Corporation gave him a week for the move. He drove his rover to the launch pad, passing hundreds of new arrivals along the way. Actors and politicians mingled with Corporation employees and their families. Each of them had signed a contract vowing their secrecy.
He landed on Earth early on a Monday morning. Edie was working the day shift, giving him several hours to get ready. By noon, he’d ironed his favorite shirt, shaved and picked up a ring from the jeweler. He bought a bouquet of red roses, and the sweet fragrance pleased him as he drove to the bar.
The midday heat settled on his shoulders when he got out of the truck. A fingernail moon shone faintly in the almost cloudless sky. Home, sweet home, he thought. A twinge of sadness passed over him when he thought of all the people who would be left behind. But it passed quickly. The human race was terrible, for the most part. Everybody was out for himself, with hardly any regard anyone else. He hadn’t felt connected to his common man in years, and doubted he ever would again. The moon base would be a chance for humanity to start over. Hell, a chance for him to start over, to build a life with someone he loved. This time, he would keep his anger under control. He’d proved it with Edie many times since he’d known her. He took a deep breath, checked to make sure the ring was still in his pocket, and started towards the door.
On most days, she greeted him with a kiss, but today, he didn’t see her anywhere. He flagged down the manager, who glanced at him nervously before disappearing into the restroom. Edie emerged a moment later, wringing a rag in her hands, her cheeks streaked with tears.
“What is it?” he asked. But he already knew.
“I’m a horrible person,” she said.
“What are you talking about? You’re beautiful. Don’t I make you feel beautiful?”
“I-I can’t leave him.”
“Edie, we’ve gone through this. He’s the one who’s horrible, not you.”
“John, please, don’t—“
“You’re just confused. Whatever it is you’re feeling for him, it isn’t love.”
“I don’t expect you to understand. Donny and I have years between us. Years. He’s going to change. He promised me. He’s going to change. He said it.”
Customers were staring. The manager guided them to a hallway near the back bar. Edie collapsed against him, her body wracked with sobs.
“I love you Edie. I thought you loved me.”
“I do,” she said. “But I love him, too. God knows why, but I do.”
“He’ll destroy you.”
“I’m sorry you think so,” she said. “But that’s a chance I’m going to have to take.”
Her tears moistened the front of his shirt, but he held her tightly. He realized he’d dropped the roses somewhere. It didn’t matter. All he smelled now was sour beer, the musky scent of mold growing in the bar sinks.
When he was sure she could stand on her own, he smoothed out the front of his shirt and started toward the door.
“John,” she called out softly, “Will I ever see you again.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t suppose you will.” He opened the door and stepped out into the harsh afternoon light.
Copyright © 2021 Robert Stahl