Ladies of Pagodaville

by Ellen Bennett

  “My delinquent brother and his half-brained girlfriend with the big tits.”

  Anya shrugged and nodded. “Well, yes. She has a good endowment.”

  Doreen sighed heavily. “Aw God, Lorna’s gonna …” She took another sip. “She’s going to tell me to hit the road, and I wouldn’t blame her.”

  Anya leaned forward, “No, I don’t think she will do that. I think she loves you very much, and I think she will talk first.”

  Doreen continued. “I’m like a stain that you can’t get out.”

  “No, Miss Doreen. You are not a stain. You are a very good woman, you are. I’ll admit, at first, we all had our fears, but now you give so much love to Miss Lorna. You are not a stain. Maybe your family gave you the stain, but you are not a stain.”

  “Thank you, Anya. I know coming from you it’s real.”

  “We love you, Miss Doreen.”

  Doreen stood up and paced. “I don’t have to tell her. I could just let this go and …”

  Anya shook her head. “And, what? Yes. You must tell her. It will eat away at you if you don’t. I know this from much experience.”

  Doreen looked at Anya and nodded. “You’re right. It would eat away at me every second of every day. I have to tell her. I have to step up and tell her and accept whatever she says to me. And I’m scared shitless.”

  “Why are you scared, Miss Doreen?”

  Doreen leant against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms at the chest. “Because I don’t want to disappoint her. I don’t want her to have to make the decision to kick me to the curb.”

  Anya reached for the bourbon bottle. “Mind?”

  “Help yourself.”

  “Miss Lorna will not kick you in the curb. I think her love for you is very strong. I can see that. She might get mad, but she won’t kick you away.” Anya poured a snort of bourbon into her coffee.

  “I can’t believe this happened. My family. The gift that keeps on giving. I wonder what else is underfoot?” Doreen tapped her foot on the floor.

  “Let’s hope this the end of it, si?”

  “God, let’s. Well, I think I need to go to bed and sleep. Maybe I’ll wake up later and this will all have been a bad dream.”

  Anya drained her coffee, stood up, and rinsed the mug out in the sink. “I think this will be a wise movement, Miss Doreen. I left Milton snoring on the couch. I think I am better watchdog than him. Later today we will look at the floor and decide how to fix it.”

  “Thank you, Anya.”

  Anya squeezed Doreen’s shoulder. “It will all be hokay.”

  Doreen reached out and hugged her. “You are one special lady, my friend. I know you’ve got my back.”

  “We will always have our backs together, comprende? Remember, you fixed up my van and now it runs like new.”

  Doreen flicked the switch, and the cabin went dark. She shut the door behind them and wished Anya goodnight.

  The night air was brisk; she felt a chill. She stopped and closed her eyes. Things had been going along so well. Her garage was almost done. Alice was putting the finishing touches on the mural. Her heart was in the right place, she loved where she lived, and she was in love with a woman who gave her the room to grow.

  But something kept surfacing from her solar plexus, and tonight it was almost impossible to swallow it back down.

  Doreen whispered vehemently. “Go. Get out of my head. I don’t need you anymore.” Then, after a long breath in and exhalation out, weaker and pleading: “Please, just … leave me the hell alone.”

  SIXTEEN

  That same night

  3 a.m.

  Lindy stealthily walked up the steps to Alice’s cabin. She wrapped her knuckles lightly on the wooden screen door. She could hear Alice snoring softly from within the cabin.

  She tried the door and found it unlocked. She called out in a harsh whisper, “Alice?”

  Nothing,

  “Alice?” She tiptoed into Alice’s bedroom area. A nightlight bathed the room in a soft glow.

  Alice was on her side, a Coke can and journal on her small nightstand. Lindy leaned over, making sure not to jostle the can. “Alice, wake up.”

  Alice stirred, then sat up quickly when she realized someone was standing next to the bed.

  “Whaaa?”

  Lindy sat down on the edge of the bed, “It’s just me, hon. Lindy.”

  Alice instinctively reached out for her, “Oh, hi babe. Wanna get in?”

  Lindy said, “No.” She rolled her eyes. “I need you to sit up.”

  Alice rustled and brushed her hand over her face. “Is everything okay? You okay?”

  Lindy nodded, “Yes, I’m fine. But I gotta tell you what I just witnessed. You’re not going to believe this.”

  Alice shook her head. “Am I dreaming? You want to tell me that something happened that I won’t believe? What? What time is it?”

  “Almost three-fifteen.”

  “It’s a.m., right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh brother. Well, I need some water. I have a glass in the fridge. Would you get it for me? I gotta pee.”

  When Alice came back to bed, Lindy was sitting on the end, the water glass crammed in on the nightstand.

  “Thanks.” Alice downed almost the whole glass. “So, what’s so earth-shattering?”

  “Well first, you’re going to have to understand that what happened is only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Okay.”

  “Doreen, our very own Doreen, is Mafia.”

  Alice snorted, “What the hell are you—”

  “No, listen!”

  The story came out without punctuation, a hurried run-on sentence that left Alice speechless.

  “Let me get this straight. A strange sound woke you up after one o’clock in the morning. You went to the window in your kitchen because the sound seemed to be coming from that direction.”

  “Right.”

  “Then you heard voices coming from Doreen’s cabin. Then this crazy incident happens. Are you sure you didn’t just dream this?”

  “No way, no how. Every word of it is true, I wrote it down in my journal. Her family was big into the Mafia, and her brother unearthed a box of money—apparently buried there many years ago by someone who must have been a kingpin or something. I think it was her grandfather!”

  Alice belched quietly. “Humph.” She scratched her head and looked at Lindy. “So, what now?”

  “I think we need to learn more about this place is what I think.”

  “Like … what?”

  “I’d like to learn the history of this motel. Something tells me there is a much bigger story here than just a woman who wanted to open a refuge for starving artists.”

  “Well, okay. How are you going to do that without ruffling a bunch of feathers? Doreen is tight-lipped. She keeps to herself a lot. Doesn’t talk much about her past, except that her father died when she was young … of a heart attack.”

  Lindy nodded her head. “Uh huh. Maybe not a heart attack…exactly.”

  Alice waved her off. “Look, this is pretty interesting but what are we going to learn now at three o’clock in the morning?”

  “I think we should investigate this. It could be great fodder for the book I’m working on.”

  Alice raised her eyebrows. “You might want to think about that for minute. From what you said, Doreen sounded pretty upset.”

  “She was. But you can’t make this shit up.”

  ***

  Later that morning at the motel

  A ringing phone woke Doreen out of a very sound sleep. She jumped out of bed and wondered where the phone was. She almost dropped the receiver.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, babe.”

  “Oh. Hi … babe.”

  “Are you all right? Did you just wake up?”

  Doreen fought down what she hoped was just a bad dream. “Yeah, didn’t sleep so hot last night. Probably getting my period.”

  “Ah. Yep, I go
t mine yesterday so you should be getting yours any minute now.”

  Her nerves were on edge already. She tried to sound nonchalant. “How’s everything in Cleveland?”

  “Mom is going to sell the house and move down to Boca. I can’t believe it. Our house …”

  “Well, you said it’s too big for just her.”

  “It is. But it’s the place where I grew up. It doesn’t seem possible to pack this place in boxes and move.”

  Doreen could not sit still. She took the phone with her while she paced. She looked out the window toward the ocean. It was a gray day, and the storm clouds looked ominous from the east. The Atlantic waters heavily moved whitecaps toward the beach, and a damp staleness permeated the air.

  Just the way she felt.

  Heavy and adrift.

  Lorna was talking about something. “Honey, you really don’t seem like yourself. Is everything okay? The motel?”

  “Huh? It’s pretty quiet around here.” Doreen felt her throat close.

  “Why don’t you call me later when you’re feeling better?”

  “I think I’ll do that. I’m just out of sorts. Yeah, you know how it gets sometimes around our cycles and stuff.”

  Lorna purred. “Well I can tell you one thing. I’ve missed you bad. I can’t wait to see you and wrap myself around you.”

  Doreen felt her heart skip a beat. She tried to sound lighter than she felt. “I know. I miss you like crazy. It’s going to be good to have you back home again. Well, home here, anyhow.”

  “It is my home, honey.”

  Doreen had to go to the bathroom. “How about I call you a bit later?”

  “Okay, babe. Take a nice long walk on the beach. That always seems to help.”

  Doreen went to the bathroom, splashed some cold water on her face, and went downstairs to make some much-needed coffee.

  Doreen carried her mug out of the main building and found Anya tending to her own little garden.

  “Ay! Miss Doreen. I went to your cabin this morning with Milton, and we can fix the problem easily. The boards, we can get new boards and take away the broken ends. They will be a different color, of course, but they will be under the refrigerator.”

  “Thanks, Anya. I’m headed there now to start cleaning up the mess.”

  “We cleaned up a bit already. If you need anything, just holler, okay?”

  “Thanks.”

  Doreen entered her cabin. “Shit …” She sighed quietly. She started moving the fridge aside, and the table and chairs to the edge of the room. She peered inside the hole in her floor. “Damn it all.”

  She picked up the phone and dialed Vinnie.

  SEVENTEEN

  Monday, January 5, 1981

  Vinnie blew a gasket. He yelled, “What the hell is he thinking?”

  Doreen held the phone away from her ear. “I don’t know. He’s really gone off the deep end here.”

  “If I get my hands on that little shit …”

  “Listen, Vin, I don’t care what you do with him, but make sure he doesn’t come back here. Ever.”

  “Okay, Doe. But what about the money?”

  “Don’t care,” she said emphatically.

  “Well …” Lingering silence, then. “You all right?”

  “I can’t do it, Vin. I don’t want any part of the family history, or the money, or …” She moved the mouthpiece away from her lips. She thought she might choke. Her mouth felt like a sock full of sand.

  Vinnie talked a mile a minute about what he was going to do to Georgie. Doreen couldn’t listen to it anymore. She told Vinnie she’d call him later.

  When Doreen hung up the phone, panic engulfed her. She struggled to fight down the darkness that had historically propelled her to run. The urge was strong.

  The inside of her chest felt like quills from a porcupine. Pinpricks reached out to her limbs and slid underneath her diaphragm. They sparkled behind her eyes and lingered in her gut.

  She ran out of her cabin, knocked on Anya’s door, and informed her she was going to take off on the bike. She threw her wallet into a backpack, grabbed her helmet and goggles, and fired up the Harley.

  She blew north on A1A despite the dark clouds. The sound of the engine beneath her, the control of speed in her right palm, and the euphoria of conquering the open road eventually eased the sharpness of the quills.

  She felt every single nuance: the grit of the road on her exposed skin, the stale air as it caught underneath her helmet, and the damp fog at the edge of her goggles.

  Her busy mind finally settled as she leaned into the gentle curves along the seacoast road, feeling her body mechanics become one with the machine.

  Farther up the road, the damp salt air became heavier and permeated her skin, nostrils, and eyes. Whitecaps broke closer to shore, and the asphalt smelled strongly sulfurous. She knew this meant rain, and lots of it.

  She remembered that there was an abandoned diner/drive-in up the road a bit, so she gunned the engine. A flash of light followed by a loud crack of thunder came from behind her. She could see the busted sign of the diner about a hundred feet away.

  “Shit.” Water droplets plopped around her. She pulled into the parking lot and saw another biker standing next to his ride underneath the tin awning of the drive-in. She pulled in next to him to take cover.

  A wall of water descended upon them as she slipped off her helmet and goggles.

  He was smoking a cigarette, watching her. “You got here just in time.”

  Doreen swung her leg over the bike, then squeegeed the water off her arms. “You got that right.”

  The man looked out at the ocean. “Well, it’s Florida. Usually hits like a motherfucker and then the sun comes out and bakes the road dry in short order.” He took another long pull from his cigarette. “Where ya headed?”

  “Just out for a ride. You?”

  He made a quiet guttural sound and tipped his head toward his motorcycle. “Anywhere she takes me.”

  Doreen checked out his bike. Harley Road King. Big fairing, deep saddle, powerful engine. He had two large saddlebags strapped over the passenger seat and a smaller tour pack trunk that looked like an add-on. A stuffed backpack was at his feet.

  He reminded her of herself.

  Another flash of light and jolt of thunder surrounded them.

  She stole another glance at him. “So, you just travelin’ around then?”

  He nodded and flicked his cigarette out into the rain. It sizzled and plopped to the ground. “Yep. Just … travelin’.”

  He turned to look at her. “You live around here?”

  “Down the road about ten miles. You?”

  He cocked his head towards the bike, “Like I said. I live wherever she takes me.” He picked up his backpack and fished around inside before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “You want one?”

  “No thanks, don’t smoke.”

  He lit up. “Yeah. The old lady said I smoked too much, wanted me to give it up but…well, she gave up on me first.”

  “Oh man. Sorry to hear.”

  “Yeah. She died three months ago.” He turned away from her.

  Doreen looked at the man. He was older than she had initially thought. Maybe in his sixties. His beard covered leather-tanned skin, and a paunch sporting a Harley T-shirt hung over his belted jeans. His boots were worn at the left toe—the shifting foot—and his hands shook a little. His grayish black hair was short underneath a plain baseball cap, his neck tanned from riding away from the sun.

  When the man turned to face her, she saw that his eyes were red. Her initial impulse was to go to him, put a hand on his shoulder, something.

  She stood still.

  He said, “Well, here I am, cryin’ like a little boy.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for. Wanna talk about it?”

  He shrugged. “What’s to talk about? She had the cancer. Found it too late. She went kinda fast.”

  Doreen shook her head. “I am so sorry.”

  “Yea
h.” He sucked hard on his cigarette. “We was gonna ride out to the West Coast together. She had a bike, too. It was our plan to get on the road and see where it took us. But now …”

  Doreen understood completely. She felt for this man because now that his woman was gone, the road was his only ally.

  The rain continued to pelt the tin roof. She didn’t know what to say because anything she could have said would have been to admit to her own life, her own relationship with the road. Her own need to put miles between her and whatever she left behind.

  Only he came by his honestly.

  She knew, from that moment, she did not.

  She blurted out, “I’m a runner.”

  He turned to look at her. “A what?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind.”

  He nodded and went back to staring out over the shoreline. He sighed. “Well, the sky looks like it’s gonna clear a bit. I think I might get back on the road. Can’t stand still for too long these days.”

  Doreen knew exactly what he meant. “What’s your name?”

  “Al. What’s yours?”

  “Doreen.”

  He smiled slightly, “Well, Doreen. I hope you have a good ride wherever you’re headed.” He crushed out the spent butt with his foot and settled the backpack over his shoulders. He swung his leg over the chassis of the big bike and righted it center, kicking up the stand as he did so. Before he turned the key, he looked directly at her and said, “You got loved ones where you live, Doreen?”

  She nodded. She could barely talk. “Uh hmm.”

  He leaned a bit towards her, “Then you make sure you love them every day all day. And you make sure you let them love you too because after they’re gone, all you got left is your pain.”

  Doreen couldn’t speak.

  Al turned the key, and the engine roared to life. He gave it a bit of gas before shifting into first gear. He said, over the din, “Safe runnin’, girl.” Then he sped off out from under the tin roof, away from the temporary shelter, away from her.

  She watched him turn left out of the parking lot and listened as he revved the engine through the first three gears to get up to speed. She whispered, “Safe runnin’, Al.”