Interview With Ethan

Sure you do, I think. More like someone between the sheets.

I feel a brief tinge of jealousy, and remind myself I like Ava. She's like my first daughter- well, would be if I had a daughter. And I'm glad she and Ethan are still happy after all this time.

Even so, gazing into his pale gray eyes, I find myself hating her just a little.

The Anchor is quiet this time of day. Lillian has let us use the narrow back patio, promising the view will be worth the cold.  

She's right, of course. 

We have a clear view of the Bering Sea. A veritable navy of tiny, ramshackle dredges bobs in the black, icy water. There seem to be more of them than I remembered.

LO: Thanks for making the drive. I couldn't get a ride out to Council on such short notice.

EC: No problem. Ava wanted to visit Alice, anyway. His long fingers caress the sides of his shot glass. The sharp, seductive scent of tequila tickles my nose. So, what did you want to ask me? 

His voice carries a slight drawl. Once a cowboy, always a cowboy, I suppose. I clear my throat a bit obviously.

LO: Well, you know this is my first character interview. I thought we could start simple. I brought this list of questions with me... 

He quirks an eyebrow. I stop.

LO: What?

EC: You flew all the way to Nome to play Twenty Questions?

LO: There are only twelve. I pause. And what if I did?

He raises his hands, still holding his glass.

EC: Easy, darlin'. If you want to play Twenty Questions, we'll play Twenty Questions. This is your rodeo.

I cringe at the obvious analogy, but he's clearly trying to bait me, so I don't mention it. I pull a crumpled, coffee-stained piece of paper from the pocket of my anorak.

LO: Okay, smart-ass. First question. I'll give you something easy. What do you like best about yourself?

EC: What the hell? You don't ask a man a question like that. He shifts. What am I supposed to say, my sparkling eyes? My spunky personality?

I huff. I'd almost forgotten: there's more to Ethan Calhoun than meets the eye. Underneath that pretty face is an iron core. Maybe I'll let Ava have him, after all.

LO: Just answer the question.

He scowls.

EC: My spunky personality.

I roll my eyes. Some great interview this is starting out to be. Who the hell ever thought character interviews were a good idea, anyway?

LO: Okay, fine. What do you like least about yourself? Should be a more appealing question for a nihilistic he-man like you.

He takes a sip of tequila. His nostrils flare slightly, but he gives no other sign the harsh alcohol affects him at all.

EC: My hair-trigger temper.

He lets the threat behind his answer hang between us. I swallow hard. I know all about his hair-trigger temper. I also know he's telling the truth when he says he doesn't like it.

I decide to move on.

LO: If you had a free day with no responsibilities and your only mission was to enjoy yourself, what would you do?

EC: That's easy. I'd fuck. He meets my eyes. A sexy little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. A lot.

My cheeks heat. I clear my throat. Then I clear it again.

LO: Right. Of course you would.

EC: You don't believe me? 

He angles his body in such a way that it feels like he's moved closer. I check. He hasn't.

LO: I believe you. 

Do I ever believe him. I'm suddenly, inappropriately warm. I stifle a nervous giggle. Why am I here again? Questions. I have questions. This is taking longer than I'd expected. I duck my head and shake out my scrap of paper officiously.

LO: What impression do you make on people when they first meet you? 

He doesn't answer right away. I recognize the look in his eyes. He's reading me like a book. I squirm. Why did I have to make him so goddamn perceptive?

Finally, he speaks.

EC: Never really thought about it. Reckon they think I'm just a happy-go-lucky sort of fella.

LO: And are you?

He shrugs and takes another sip of tequila.

EC: Mostly.

LO: How about after they’ve known you for a while? What do they think of you then? Something occurs to me. What do you suppose Rocket thinks of you? Or Roo?

His brows draw together. Interesting. Maybe he really hasn't thought about it.

EC: Rocket probably thinks I'm a good, hard-working man. Roo probably thinks I'm, I dunno, a superhero or something.

LO: Are you?

When his eyes meet mine this time, they're hard.

EC: No.

This definitely isn't going according to plan. My mouth feels dry. I'm wishing now I'd taken him up on his offer to buy me a drink.

LO: Okay, let's try another one. What are you most proud of about your life? 

He lets out a supremely ungentlemanly snort.

EC: Really? He shrugs before I can reply. Apparently he's decided to be agreeable. The Lucille, I guess. Been bringing in near triple our seasons' goals since I paid her off. Doing real good.

I should have known he'd try to deflect the question with an answer about business.

LO: And what about on a personal level?

His eyes narrow, and I wonder just how committed he is to being agreeable. His lips purse. Then he shifts, and looks out at the dredges in the harbor.

EC: Guess I'm proud I didn't turn out like my old man. It was close there for a while. He hesitates, as though unsure how much he wants to reveal. I still feel him in there sometimes, inside me, you know? But he's never come out. Not once. Don't think he wants to. Think him just bein' in there's enough.

I'm a little stunned at the honesty of his answer. I don't know quite what to say. He glances back at me, a sheepish tilt to his lips.

EC: Ask another question.

I cringe. In light of his admission, my next question is going to make me sound like an asshole.

LO: Do you think you’ve turned out the way your parents expected?

To my surprise, he chuckles. It's a shade too dark to convey amusement.

EC: If you asked my ma, she'd probably say I turned out exactly the way she expected. Dunno. Maybe better. As for my pop... well, I don't know that he ever gave it much thought.

LO: How you would turn out?

EC: Me, in general.

I'm itching under my collar now. I don't know why. Didn't I want him to open up to me? Maybe I was stupid to think I could handle it. Things have always run deep with Ethan Calhoun.

I read off the paper without thinking.

LO: Tell me about your best friend. 

I stop immediately. 

LO: Oh, shit. Sorry, Ethan, I- these are scripted questions. Goddamnit. You don't have to answer that.

EC: Much obliged. Rather not, if it's all the same to you.

One look at his face, and it's clear it's still a sore subject. His eyes are flat, his lips drawn in a thin, tight line. My chest aches for him. Some wounds never fully heal. I know that as well as he does.

Mercifully, the next question is a little lighter.

LO: What would you like it to say on your tombstone?

EC: You know.

My eye is drawn to the tattooed words scrawled along his collarbones. The top edges of the letters peek above his simple drifter's sweater.

LO: Of course I know, but some of my readers might not.

Obligingly, he tugs down the sweater's collar. The words are still easy to read, even on his weather-beaten skin:

Paradise is wherever I am.

LO: You always were poetic for a cowboy.

He smirks.

EC: So I've been told.

I'm starting to feel more at ease. He's visibly relaxed too. It's as if we both know the worst is over.

LO: If you could spend the day with someone you admire -living, dead, or imaginary- who would you pick?

EC: That's a weird question.

LO: Scripted, remember?

EC: Yeah, sure, writer. The way he says it sounds like a strange mix between a benediction and an insult. Would it be too predictable if I said The Duke?

LO: John Wayne?

He gives me a dirty look.

EC: No, the Duke of Wellington. Yes, John Wayne.

LO: Yes. It would be terribly predictable.

EC: Damn. Well, nothing for it, I guess. The Duke it is.

LO: Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t done?

EC: You mean, like, sexually...?

I have what feels like a small heart attack.

LO: Something tells me that wouldn't be much of a problem with Ava around.

He winks.

EC: No, ma'am. It is surely not. 

His drawl has lengthened into a full-blown Texas twang. His body seems looser, like his muscles are remembering some clandestine sexual encounter. I find myself starting to hate Ava again. 

I ignore the fact that he hasn't really answered the question, and briskly move on.

LO: So what do you like best about Ava? I need his response like a splinter in my foot. I try not to look bitchy.

He's reading me again. I can see it in his eyes.

EC: Something wrong, Mrs. Oliva?

He grinds out the title like an accusation. Okay, so maybe I deserve that one. But he's not getting out of this that easily.

LO: You're evading.

EC: And you're difficult.

LO: So I've been told.

His chuckle is warm and smooth. A little thrill flutters through me.

EC: All right, all right. Well-played. He takes another sip of tequila. It's a bigger sip than any of the others he's taken so far. What do I like about Ava? She's smart. She's sexy. He pauses meaningfully. She's a bobcat in the sack.

I grit my teeth and resist the urge to tell him I taught her everything she knows.

LO: Quit stalling. None of those are what you like best about her.

He rubs the back of his neck.

EC: Yeah, fine. She's tough. No, that's the wrong word. She's strong. I've... needed that before. You know.

LO: Yes.

EC: Hell if I can explain it. All my life, I've tried to a better man. I put on a good enough act, but that's all it ever was. 

LO: I have a hard time believing that.

He tips his head in the barest of nods.

EC: Thank you. Point is, there was always something bad inside me, and I knew it. But when I'm around her, it's like she makes me strong enough to be someone else.

LO: Or maybe she makes you strong enough to be yourself.

EC: Thanks, Dr. Freud. 

I allow him that.

LO: What do you like least about her?

He taps his nose and doesn't answer.

I nod approvingly. I've created a wise man, if I do say so myself.

LO: Okay, moving on. What’s your idea of a good marriage?

He blinks.

EC: What?

LO: You heard me.

EC: Well, sure, just wasn't expecting that. You trying to tell me something?

LO: What? No! Damn it, what part of scripted questions do you not understand?

EC: Shit. 

He draws the word out, so it sounds more like shee-it. It's far sexier than a swear word should be.

EC: Don't know if I know what a good marriage should be. Not like I ever had a real model for it.

LO: I know that. But that's not the question. What do you think it should be?

He turns and leans against the railing again. This time, he doesn't look at me when he answers.

EC: Reckon it should be like what I have with Ava. She keeps me strong. I keep her soft. She needed some softness when I met her. All snap and sharp edges. His lips turn up. Hell, she's still all snap and sharp edges. But I like to think I make her... happy. I hope I do. She makes me happy.

I swallow hard. It's bittersweet, hearing those words from him. Of course I want him to be happy, but he was my first hero. I poured everything I had into him. My hand shakes a little as I read the last question.

LO: How do you feel about your life right now? What, if anything, would you like to change?

EC: Funny you should ask. I've been doing some thinking on that.

He still isn't looking at me, but he's fingering something in his pocket. I look closer.

LO: What's that you have there?

EC: Thing is, I'm an old-fashioned boy at heart. Well, about certain things. I believe a man's word is his bond. I believe in working hard for what you want. He glances at me without turning. I believe when two people are in love, sooner or later they oughta make things official.

I'm not sure I'm breathing anymore.

LO: Ethan, what's in your pocket?

His lips twist like he can sense what I'm going through. Of course he can. We're connected. He knows me just like I know him.

He pulls out a plain, nondescript little box, and opens the lid a crack. The tiny diamond on the ring inside catches the sun. He claps the lid shut again.

I want to be happy for them. I think I am.

LO: Wow. Congratulations.

EC: I was hoping, you know, if you have the time, maybe you could... write it for us. I know you'd do it right.

Something pangs in my chest. I'd thought my feelings about him would have changed by now. It's been a few years. There have been a few other heroes in my life. But you know what they say.

You never forget your first.

I stare out at the water. A lone guillemot is swooping hear the surface, its blood-red feet flashing against the pale sky.

LO: I'd be honored.

###

Want more Ethan? Check out All That Glitters:

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(Questions courtesy of the Writer's Library)