When I finally got my emotions in check, I called my parents and told them what had happened over the weekend. My dad assured me that he’d have a car for me by the end of the week. My mom offered to cook me dinner, but I told her I just wanted to stay at home and rest.
I put away the things that I’d brought back from Biloxi – everything except the Bible Adam had given me. I sat down on my bed and turned to a verse Adam had bookmarked in the New Testament. It was John 3:16 – “For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.” I tried to concentrate on the meaning of the verse, but I was having trouble focusing. I was about to put the bookmark back in place when I noticed that Adam had jotted down some additional verses for me to look up: 1 John 4:9-10. It took me a few minutes to locate 1 John, but then I read the verses out loud, “This is how God showed His love among us: He sent His one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins.” I still wasn’t sure if I understood everything I was reading, but I was interested in reading more.
I went back to the book of John and began reading from the first chapter. I found myself reading verses several times trying to comprehend the meaning of every verse. I finished reading chapter four by the time Terry got home. When I heard his car in the drive, I reluctantly put the Bible aside and went to the living room. At some point, I would have to explain to Terry that I had decided that we couldn’t be roommates anymore, but I would save that for another day.
Terry knew something was wrong. Why else would I be home at four in the afternoon? And my car was not in the driveway. He also sensed that I was sad about something. I told him about Alicia’s and my trip to Biloxi, but I left out the part about meeting Adam and Rick. I told him what had happened to Sam, and he assumed that I was sad over the loss of my car. I was a little melancholy over Sam, but mostly I was just sad and ashamed about the way I had behaved the whole weekend.
After we talked, Terry decided to go pick us up something for dinner. He brought back a large order of lumpia and cashew chicken from a Filipino restaurant that I loved. He’d also stopped off and rented a DVD for us to watch. It was the collector’s edition of “Gone with the Wind”, my favorite movie.
Terry fixed us each a plate and then he popped the movie in the DVD player. He didn’t normally watch what he called “girlie movies”, but he sat through all three plus hours without complaining once. While I watched Scarlett spend her life loving and dreaming about a man who would never love her and then learning too late that she had alienated the one man that did love her and that she truly loved, I couldn’t help but think of my own folly with Adam. As Scarlett stood at the end of the movie – weeping after Rhett has left her – and says, “…And I'll think of some way to get him back. After all...tomorrow is another day,” I decided that all of my tomorrows would be spent trying to get Adam back.
Chapter 6
The hardest thing I’ve ever done was walk away and leave Brandy. Of course, I never should have kissed her – that just added to the confusion of our relationship. The last thing I wanted to do was give her false hope, but I found – and keep finding over and over again – that I have strong feelings for Brandy. If we had only met under different circumstances, maybe I wouldn’t have had to leave. But Brandy had so many conflicted feelings during our short acquaintance that I wasn’t about to complicate her life even more by starting up a romance. And of course, there was the thing about Rick. I still can’t be sure Brandy is over him. I had to protect myself, too. So I left her standing there with tears in her eyes, but I didn’t let her see the ones in my eyes.
After leaving Brandy’s house, I drove back towards Biloxi, although I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I thought I could sort out my feelings in the place where I met her. I spent a lot of time in prayer as I made the journey, but I still didn’t figure anything out. Mostly I prayed for Brandy. More than anything else, I wanted her to accept Jesus and understand what He did for us. If she could, eventually, everything else in her life would fall into place.
When I arrived in Biloxi, I thought about checking back into the Richland, but I drove by and kept heading west. I passed by the Coliseum and I remembered the concert. It made me start wondering about Alicia and Rick. Something was going on that Alicia wasn’t telling Brandy or me, but I couldn’t guess what it might be. Rick might be more forthcoming, but I really didn’t want to talk to him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sign pointing out the Rest Inn. I remembered that Fisher Perry stayed there, and I began to see red. I couldn’t get past the idea that Fisher wanted to hurt Brandy, and I felt he would have if he had found her last night instead of her car. I imagined that he had been released from jail by now, and the thought angered me even more. I should have kept driving, but my emotions got the better of me. I had passed the street that led to the Rest Inn, so I made a U-turn and went back.
I slowly drove past the rundown motel and wondered whatever possessed Brandy and Alicia to register at such a place. The outer walls desperately needed fresh paint; I couldn’t even make out the color it was so faded. The doors all appeared to have been painted red at one time, but now they looked a dull pink. The roof was in disrepair, and I imagined that it leaked in several places whenever there was even minimal rainfall. There were two vehicles parked in front of the Rest Inn, a red Corvette parked down by the office and a blue pickup truck parked at the end farthest from the office. I was sure the pickup belonged to Fisher Perry, but I decided to stop in at the office first.
A loud bell jangled as I opened the door into the ramshackled office. The furniture seemed to have come straight out of the ‘60’s: a cow patterned Naugahyde sofa and matching chairs, a blue Formica topped coffee table with vintage coffee stains, and a pink lamp that was reminiscent of the bottle where Barbara Eden resided in “I Dream of Jeannie.” Across the back of the room was a counter with the same Formica top as the coffee table. It held a registration book, piles and piles of disheveled papers, old paper coffee cups from various fast food restaurants, and a sprinkling of tools and hardware scattered over the top of everything else. The desk clerk arrived from a backroom just as I approached the counter. Dressed in white tennis shorts and a bright blue polo shirt, the gentleman appeared to be of Indian descent. His hair was jet black curls that circled his dark face and gave him an almost angelic appearance. He looked me up and down with his black eyes, and when he finally spoke, he had a thick Punjabi accent, “May I help you, sir?”
At this point, I wasn’t sure why I had stopped in the office. This man would probably never give me any information about Perry, and he would probably warn Perry that I was asking about him. Still, I took a chance. “I’m looking for a guy name Perry, Fisher Perry.” Before I finished the sentence, an idea formulated in my brain, so I continued, “I’m here to speak with him about an insurance claim on his vehicle. He gave this as his address, but he failed to give the room number.”
Apparently, this was the correct approach to take. “Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Perry is staying in room nine. Is he expecting you? He and I are good friends, and he hasn’t mentioned this to me.” Thanks to the clerk’s heavy accent, I had to make a concerted effort to understand what he was saying.
I was already starting to feel guilty for lying, but I couldn’t back out yet. “No, I was just hoping to catch him. I tried to call his cell phone earlier but he didn’t answer.”
“Fisher, I mean, Mr. Perry, likes to sleep late. He probably didn’t hear when you rang him. I can call him for you now, if you like.” The clerk was smiling at me like we were old friends, and again I felt a twinge of guilt.
“That’s okay. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me. Is that his truck?” I pointed towards the blue pickup.
“Yes, and he was very upset when it was vandalized.”
So, Perry probably had made an insurance claim o
n his truck if he felt that Brandy had “vandalized” it.
The clerk continued, “You’d better go see him now. He likes to go have lunch around this time. You wouldn’t want to miss him.”
I hesitated because I thought the clerk would call Perry as soon as I walked outside, but I didn’t really have a choice. If I stayed in the office any longer, the clerk would get suspicious and definitely call Perry – or the police. As I thanked the clerk and turned to leave, the clerk began speaking so rapidly that I couldn’t easily discern what he was saying. He was gesticulating towards the door, and I soon realized that he was attempting to tell me that Perry was walking out of his room and towards his truck. I picked up the pace and rushed outside, calling to Perry as I exited the office. Perry stopped and gave me a quizzical stare as I all but ran to where he was standing.
I had never laid eyes on this guy before, and it was clear he didn’t recognize me either. I had wanted Perry to look like the swine I had imagined with greasy hair, small deceitful eyes, two or three day old beard stubble, and shabby, filthy clothes. He completely surprised me by having none of these characteristics. Instead, Perry was clean shaven, his hair and clothes were clean, and he had bright eyes that showed not a hint of his criminal heart. “Do I know you?” he asked, his tone implying suspicion.
“I’m here to discuss the damage you received to your truck. Do you think we could step inside?” This time I wasn’t completely lying. The damage to his truck had everything to do with what he’d done to Brandy.
Perry immediately loosened up. “Sure, come on in.”
We started towards his room, and I began to put together a plan that would help bring about justice for what Perry had done to Brandy. Once we were inside the room, I carefully pulled the door shut and locked it securely…
Chapter 7
I have to say that I was thrilled when Brandy gave up on rock star extraordinaire Rick Hartwood. After twenty years, I was sick to death of hearing how wonderful he was. When that day finally arrived, I was thrilled with the part I had played in bringing Brandy to her senses. Of course, my thrill was followed by disappointment: Brandy refused to let me make a bonfire and use Rick’s CDs as fuel. It seems that she still loves his music even if she doesn’t love Rick. That’s because Adam Considine wrote all the songs, and now Brandy is in love with Adam. But that’s good news. Adam is a nice guy.
You might be wondering why Brandy fell out of love with Rick and in love with Adam. Well, that’s kind of a long story, and I don’t want to waste your time or mine going into that whole ordeal. Besides, if you know Brandy I’m sure she’s already told you the entire story. So I’ll just touch on the highlights. Brandy gave up on Rick after I convinced her that he was a womanizing jerk. And just how did I do that, you might ask? It was quite easy. All I had to do was pretend to sleep with Rick, and Brandy was completely cured. I didn’t really sleep with Rick; I just spent a lot of time with him so Brandy would think he was seducing me. I have even convinced Brandy that I had feelings for Rick, although that’s about as believable as a pop group winning a Grammy by lip-synching. Wait a minute – that actually happened, didn’t it? Oh well, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Heaven that I’d ever fall in love with Rick Hartwood. In the meantime, Adam was his charming self, and Brandy couldn’t help but fall for him. Unfortunately, it seems that Adam was only interested in saving Brandy (as in leading her to Jesus), but that soon proved to be a hopeless case. So when Brandy professed her love to Adam, he said, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn,” and took off for parts unknown. Brandy then vowed to dedicate the rest of her life – or at least the next twenty years – to making Adam love her. Okay, maybe Adam didn’t say, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,” but the rest is true.
That’s enough about that weekend, so let me stop right here and introduce myself. My name is Alicia Meyers and my best friend is the aforementioned Brandy Moretti. Brandy thinks that I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs or something, but I am really just remarkably witty with a few unconventional quirks thrown in for good measure. Occasionally, I get adages or words mixed up, but many times I do this on purpose. It’s a great way to get attention, and men always think it is cute. Oh, and with my dark hair and beautiful blue eyes, I’m also quite lovely, even if I am a smidgen overweight. In addition to my charms, I’m a pretty good story teller, and I have my own story to tell. My story takes place after the infamous weekend in Biloxi. Brandy has already spent two months obsessing over Adam. She has a new car and a new job. Well, actually, the car is a used Toyota. And the new job is really just a promotion. She moved from her old job as some kind of Coordinator to the position of Graphic Artist – now she draws graphs or something like that. She hasn’t seen or heard from Adam during this time, and we have no idea where he is. But just in case she finds him, Brandy has been reading the Bible he gave her and she’s started going to church every once in a while. She seems a little different, but you can never tell with Brandy.
Tonight, however, she’s the same old Brandy. It’s Saturday night and we are at our usual hangout, The Three Sheets Bar. We like to go to Three Sheets and do karaoke. Honestly, we probably should have stayed home on this particular night. A category four hurricane is just skirting the coast of Jamaica, and many believe that Hurricane Ivan is destined for Pensacola. It is entirely possible – Pensacola and I have endured a few hurricanes in my lifetime. But I learned long ago that you can’t outrun a hurricane, and many times they don’t cooperate with meteorologist and go where they are supposed to. My parents’ house is situated between Pensacola Bay and Perdido Bay, but they are still several miles from either body of water. The chances of our home flooding are negligible. Of course, Brandy lives much closer to Perdido Bay – within a mile. In a few more weeks, she will be moving into an apartment on the East side of town, but for now she is still living in a fairly dangerous area. She has assured me, however, that Terry (her platonic roommate, as she persistently insists) is taking care of all hurricane preparations for the house: boarding up windows, collecting stores of water and food, and removing any possible projectiles from the yard and surrounding area. Besides, if the hurricane comes to Pensacola, Brandy will wind up going to my house or her parents’ house – she won’t stay with Terry in his house. There also isn’t much that could be done at night anyway, and with a hurricane that far away, it could go anywhere or do anything. So whatever the weather is next week, we are going to have fun tonight.
Brandy is drinking a margarita and I am sipping on a strawberry daiquiri. I usually drink piña coladas, but tonight I feel adventurous.
While we wait for our turn to belt out “The Wind Beneath My Wings”, we are playing pool with a couple of sailors from NAS. Three Sheets has three pool tables and a couple of dart boards. It’s not a very big place, but it is comfortable. We never have to worry about mashers at Three Sheets. Whatever mashers are.
Wayne Bush is a tall thin good-looking redhead. He is a Chief out at the Navy base, and he comes to Three Sheets most every weekend. Brandy and I met him about six weeks ago. He is thirty-seven years old, but his freckled baby face says he is a lot younger. Originally from New Brockton, Alabama, Wayne lived in Corpus Christi, Texas for three years and has been in Pensacola for the past six months. He is happy to be back so close to home. I guess New Brockton is closer to Pensacola than it is to Corpus Christi. Wayne isn’t much of a pool player, but Brandy and I let him win every once in a while.
Curt Snow is accompanying Wayne tonight – as well as all the other times we’ve seen Wayne. Curt is much shorter than Wayne and he has thinning black hair and shifty brown eyes. I don’t like Curt very much but since he is Wayne’s friend, I put up with him. Curt is also a Chief. He is fortyish and slightly overweight. That’s not why I don’t like him – since you know from my previous description that I’m a tad bit overweight myself. I don’t like him because he acts superior to Wayne. He speaks condescendingly to Wayne and orders him around. Curt is from Hartford, Connecticu
t, but he has been in Pensacola for almost five years. Curt is a decent pool player, and he doesn’t like playing with women. He thinks that women are lousy pool players. I asked him where he got that impression after the first time he and I played. I had beat him and he wasn’t in the mood to tell me anything except, “I’m having a bad night.” The next five times I beat him didn’t leave him in the mood to talk either. Perhaps if I ever let him win he will tell me. Like that’s ever going to happen.
Wayne and Curt are playing as a team against Brandy and me. Wayne has just called, “Nine ball in the corner pocket.” I know he’ll never make it – it’s a scratch shot. Brandy will be up next, so I sit down to wait for my turn.
A sudden ruckus at the bar’s entrance attracts my attention. A tall drink of water (I stole that line from an old Western) has just come in and it looks like he is creating quite a stir by bumping a woman and causing her to lose her balance and fall down. The guy has to be about six-five or taller and he looks a little bit like a young Mel Gibson pumped up on steroids. I try not to stare, but he is the most interesting thing that has walked into Three Sheets in the last five years. I immediately nickname him “McKinley” (for the mountain).
McKinley reaches down and offers a hand to the woman that has stumbled onto the floor. She doesn’t want him to help her at first, but after she gets a good look at his face, she seizes his hand with gusto. From where I am sitting, I can’t hear what he says to her after picking her up. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to please her. She becomes a whirlwind and blows out the front door in a flurry. McKinley stares after her for a moment, and then he enters the main area of Three Sheets. After taking a couple of long strides, he is standing in between our pool table and the dart boards. He is now within ten feet of me, and I can see that his resemblance to Mel Gibson is less dramatic than I had first imagined. His hair is slightly darker than Mel’s, his eyes are a little less blue, and his clothes are more characteristic of Walker, Texas Ranger: a blue denim long sleeved shirt, black jeans, and a black cowboy hat.
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