Trouble Under Venus

by Autumn Piper

“Oh, nice. It’s not like I allowed him to. Are you jealous of him? Is that what this tantrum is about? You’re jealous of the man I divorced?”

  “It’s not a tantrum. You really don’t get it, do you? Something I’ve been working on for two years just blew up in my face. Because I divided my attention between my job and, and…you. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be distracted.”

  “So that’s what I am now? A distraction?”

  “I was a ‘no-strings fling’, right? Isn’t that what you planned from the start?”

  “You can’t possibly hold my private thoughts against me.” But judging by his flaring nostrils, he did. “You’ve got to know I’d never purposely jeopardize the time travel program.”

  “Purposely or passively, you sabotaged it.”

  Sabotaged. Such an accusatory, suspicious word. A blaming word.

  “So this is all my fault?”

  He nodded. “I’m ultimately responsible for allowing it, though.” Despite his anger, his tone was cold. Final.

  “I guess this is the end of the road for us then. A very short road, I might add.” One without so much as a single hump. I scooped up my journal and headed out. But then an idea struck me. “Mitch? What if, maybe, you and I tried to travel on our own? You know, together. We pretty much know how it’s done now.”

  “That’s crazy. We could end up in nineteen-twenty. You can’t go around breaking rules. Not to mention, it’s against the law.”

  “Not until tomorrow morning!”

  “Randi. You’ve got all those people who care about you enough to drive three states to come check on you. Why can’t you be happy with that?”

  “You know why. I have to fill in the blank. Find the value of the unknown.”

  “Well, your window of opportunity just closed. For good.”

  So did his door, when I slammed it shut behind me.

  * * * *

  Back in my room, I locked my door and my window. Then I slumped onto my bed with my journal hugged against my chest. And cried.

  In the space of an hour, I’d lost everything I’d been looking forward to. The chance to meet my father, an opportunity to be a pioneer time traveler, Mitch.

  Mitch. All he’d said about trusting me had been so much bullshit. He hadn’t trusted me, or he’d have asked if my journal had any sensitive information instead of violating my privacy. And so much for being special to him. When it came down to it, his work was infinitely more important than me. That stung. It truly stung.

  What was that noise? It sounded like a scratch at my door, but when I held my breath to listen, it stopped. Heart racing, I tiptoed over to the door. Silence. And then soft footsteps. On the patio next door. Was Mitch coming to make up?

  With a click, I slid my deadbolt and then opened the door a crack. No Mitch. But a dark plastic bag, the kind big hotels supply for laundry dangled from the handle of the screen door.

  Sitting on my bed, I examined the contents as I dumped them from the bag. One sheet of Feng Shui Inn stationery with the requisite three bamboo sticks and the words Time Transcending Radio.

  An Arizona driver’s license with my date of birth listed as March 17, 1950. A digital photo of the Feng Shui Inn, with today’s date stamped in the corner. A Time Transcending Radio, looking like the crappy old portable player I had as a kid. A key chain attached to a tiny glass turtle with an eight-sided shell. Hmm. Turtles were believed to be good luck in feng shui. So were octagons. Quite the powerful little talisman.

  Poor Professor Sudo. He must think he was still grooming Mitch and I to travel. Did he have no idea his whole project would be shut down in twelve hours?

  I flopped back on the bed beside the stuff.

  How could all of my work, all of my hopes, have come to this?

  Defeat did not sit well with me.

  Dear Randi,

  This is quite possibly the craziest idea I’ve ever had. But you know, some things are worth the risk. And if I don’t at least try it tonight, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

  If I make it to the ‘other side’, wherever that is—hopefully 1980—I’ll write again.

  Until then,

  Randi

  Chapter 13

  Bell Rock towered ahead of me, silhouetted dark against the star-brightened sky. Up close, it always seemed like more of a small mountain than a ‘rock’. Still, since it consisted entirely of stone, its name fit.

  I paused my hike to catch my breath, swinging the flashlight in an arc around me to watch for creepy things on the ground.

  The cab driver had almost refused to leave me at the trail head in the dark of night, but I’d sworn I was meeting my boyfriend there. I probably looked like a stupid girl to him, going off alone. Anything could happen up there. If only he knew what I was really about to do!

  With destination in mind, I turned the light back on and resumed my journey. Sweeping the beam in a constant figure eight ahead of me in an effort to watch for snakes, I had little time to worry about encountering other people. Weren’t rattlers nocturnal, coming out to hunt mice and such in the cool of night? This scared me much more than the possibility of losing my way in the space-time continuum.

  From reading the pamphlet earlier, Sudo’s method seemed pretty straightforward. I’d been on the threshold yesterday while meditating with Mitch. All I needed now was confidence and a bit more time. According to Sudo, I’d be able to ‘think’ myself to a precise time and place after entering the wormhole.

  I only hoped I’d be able to master my emotions and concentrate once I arrived at the spot.

  Three smallish cedars formed a nearly perfect triangle around a flat, smooth section of rock. Every time we walked past this place on our way to and from daily meditation, I’d felt drawn here, enough to leave the group, come over and inspect it. The stone surrounded by trees looked like unmixed batter of some sort, swirled yellow and red in an unmistakable bull’s-eye. I could only guess this was a result of what the locals swore was the earth’s massive electromagnetic energy. Even if the rock could be explained by some volcanic whirlpool ages ago, the bent trees around it resulted from the force of something now. Something current. And all three of them twisted in the same counter-clockwise directions, trunks and limbs alike. Somewhat intimidated by the elated energy suddenly zinging through me, I’d refrained from stepping between the trees that day.

  Tonight, though, it was where I needed to be.

  I stepped between the trees, and the hairs on my arms raised. I did feel lighter, but no buzz of energy like I’d expected. It’d been days since I’d done the chakra-opening yoga, and my poor mind had been quite busy this evening. It was a wonder I could feel any energy at all!

  After a few minutes doing inverted poses to get the blood pumping, especially in my head, I settled Indian-style in the eye of the vortex pattern. It felt great to be here, alone. Not thinking of…Mitch. Not thinking of Mitch. I’d mastered meditation before he came along; I certainly didn’t need him now.

  Now. What was he doing now? He’d been swimming in choppy, noisy strokes when I’d slipped as quietly as possible from my room. He still looked good out there, even with his style all shot to hell. But I hadn’t let myself linger. My vision had been blurred anyway.

  No, I wouldn’t think of Mitchell Goodman, or whoever he really was. He had nothing to do with my quest now. Nothing.

  So why was it much more relaxing to imagine my backpack was really him leaning against me?

  I needed to concentrate. Picture my grandma’s house in Miami. God knew I’d studied the picture enough times, even remembered the license plate number on the Cadillac parked in front of the garage.

  Oops! The actual photo was still back in my room at the Inn.

  No matter. The image was indelibly imprinted in my mind.

  An owl hooted overhead as I conjured the image. Along the white edge of the photo, printed in deep blue ink, was MARCH 1, 1980. On the right, the rear of Grandma’s big powder-blue car. To the left of the li
cense plate, a peeling sticker read, ‘If you gotta go used, you gotta go to Eugene. Honest Eugene’s Used Cars.’ Then Grandma’s simple little yellow house with blue shutters. Dead center in the photo was a rose bush bearing hot pink blooms. Mom had given it to Grandma for her birthday the winter she spent in Florida.

  I had another picture Grandma had taken on that roll of film, too. Trimmed and tucked inside my wallet, it was a photo of my father, the most recent one anybody had. He’d stood there on the front stoop of his mother’s house with a cocky grin, his too-long hair slicked back, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his white t-shirt sleeve. His body language in that photo had always intrigued me. Shoulders thrown back, chin up, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Had he known his mother intended to send the photo to his little daughter for her second birthday? Was he trying to look proud and carefree for the benefit of his ex?

  That wasn’t my concern tonight. I’d know the answers soon enough, if I could only concentrate on that house, that car, that rose bush. Hot pink blooms, the likes of which I’d never seen anywhere else. Lush green lawn, in early March. South Florida.

  The image came to me, but I felt hollow. Bare on one side, like when I’d roll over in the night and some part of me that covered before was then exposed. Something was missing. Someone was missing. Mitch.

  I would not get emotional over him again. Besides, I’d invited him to come along and he’d declined. If I could mentally transport myself through time, I could damn sure imagine a companion!

  Again. Roses, yellow house, blue shutters. Mitch’s back against mine. My hands laced with his. Honest Eugene, curling at the edges. Mitch, sharing the most significant trip of my life. The cool stone beneath me softened, or I became lighter. My body slumped against his, warm and strong. My breaths deepened…slowed. Were hardly needed. Deep inside myself, it was still and empty, yet bright. Bright, and tugging me down deeper still. No longer feeling anything, yet conscious of all, I let the current of energy, of gravity, tug me along. Then the visions came like a parade. Cars, faces, houses. The White House, a school house, Snoopy’s house. Fearful of staring at any one for too long, I shifted my gaze constantly. Airplanes, helicopters, trains. Highway signs galore. More people, here and there a face I recognized, some in color and others in black and white. Suddenly overcome by all the choices and unsure of myself, I reached for Mitch.

  He wasn’t there.

  I panicked, tried to picture his face as thousands of others spiraled past. Attempted to call his name but couldn’t speak. Had no breath. I needed something. Pressure squeezed my head like a vice. I needed…who? Wishing I could close my eyes and erase all the images in my mind, I felt suddenly cold. Very cold. And still. Helplessly spinning through space. And time? Time. It was time for me to take control. If I got lost out here, Sudo would be blamed. And I’d never see my…father. Father, yes. That’s what I needed. The house in Miami. Yellow. Blue. Hot pink. March first. Yellow, blue…

  A jolt ran up from my tailbone to my neck. Then stinging scratches on my arms. I opened my eyes to bushes. A hedge, to be exact. And on through the hedge was a street, and then—I stood to see better—Grandma’s house! I’d landed right where the photo was taken.

  No, that couldn’t be it, because there she was across the street, backing up a little and looking into her camera. Hmm. So this wasn’t a terribly precise way to travel, or a comfortable way to land, but at this point I could not complain.

  “Dennis!” Grandma called. “Let me get your picture now.” Wow. Grandma Bea was a hottie in her day. Too bad I didn’t inherit those curves. Although I could definitely see myself planting a hand on my hip when I was impatient, like she must be right now with her son.

  He appeared at the front door with a cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth. “C’mon Ma. Do I look like fuckin’ Farrah Fawcett?”

  “Nope. Not much like Lee Majors, either.”

  As he stepped out, he raised one side of his mouth in a half-sneer. “Very funny.” When he leaned against the doorjamb and stared off to the side, I couldn’t help but compare him to that picture of James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause.

  Grandma pulled her eye away from the view finder. “Drop the cancer stick and stand up straight. Do you want your daughter to see you as a slouch?”

  “Daughter,” he scoffed. “Like she’ll ever know who I am. Fat chance.” But he ground out the smoke with the heel of his boot and shoved his hands in his pockets. Some devious thought must have crossed his mind to make him grin, and that’s when the shutter clicked. “Hey Ma, you wanta take a picture of my bare ass? We can send it to Tina and she can kiss it!”

  Grandma straightened and muttered a mere, “You!”

  She walked up her front steps and past Dennis, giving him a firm whack on the shoulder in the process. He shrugged and lit up another cigarette before following her inside.

  Sweat trickled down the back of my neck. God, Miami was hot. And humid, too, particularly after coming from Arizona.

  I’d done it. I’d really traveled back in time! The realization struck me, and I felt a bit dizzy. Holy hell. I’d actually gone off all on my own through the space-time continuum. Wow. In retrospect, it seemed pretty idiotic. Yet, as sweat formed on my upper lip, I couldn’t help feeling exuberant, too. I’d done it! I’d really, truly, done it. Time to get out of the sun, out of somebody’s yard, and go introduce myself.

  My legs shook a bit as I walked across the street and approached the house. It looked the same as I remembered from the trip Mom and I took there in ’85. Correction, the trip I would take in five years. Oh, man. Was I going to end up one of those time-travel paradoxes now?

  Walking up the cracked sidewalk, I struggled to remember the story I’d concocted for this exact moment. I was a relative of Grandma’s, come to visit. Her…what? Her, um, niece. With trembling hand, I rapped on the peeling front door.

  “Ma! Door!” my gentlemanly father bellowed. So far, he didn’t seem the picture of nobility.

  The door opened, letting out a whoosh of blessedly cool air. And there stood my grandma—who’d be dead in only another ten years—smelling quite strongly of the scotch and water she’d begin drinking nonstop in another few weeks.

  “Mm, hello?” she asked, pushing oversized glasses back up her nose.

  “Um. Hi. I’m, er…well, you’re, uh…Bea, right? Bea Keenan?”

  She nodded. Behind the big, dark lenses, her eyes studied my face.

  “Uh. I’ve come to see you, see, ’cause I’m…” Oh God. Who the hell did I plan to be? All I wanted to do was throw myself into her arms and hug her and get to know her better. “…I’m your niece!” Niece, yes, that was it! “Your niece.”

  She smiled with those same cock-eyed front teeth I’d had briefly, before braces. “Niece? Are you Celia’s daughter? Sally?”

  Knowing she had eleven brothers and sisters, I’d hoped she wouldn’t be completely familiar with all of their kids. But I didn’t want to be a Sally. Or anybody she knew about, for that matter. What was the name I’d planned on? Could I get away with Randi? It would sure simplify things, if I could.

  “No, ma’am. I’m…” dying to know what your son is up to right now. Nosey as all hell. Nancy? “…Drew. My name is Drew Williams, and I’m the product of an affair your older brother Edgar had. A long time ago.” That sounded stupid. Of course it was a long time ago, since I was looking at thirty-two in another few months.

  A rough male laugh drifted out.

  Hands on hips, Grandma shook her head. “Well. Edgar always was shifty.”

  And since he was dead, I didn’t have to worry too much about my cover being blown.

  “Come on in, honey,” she said, standing aside and waving me past.

  Dennis’s curiosity must have gotten the better of him, because he came around the corner of the hallway the same time I stepped in. We collided with great force and little grace.

  “Ooomph!” he grunted. “Holy shit. Watch where you’re—” He pushed
me away and stepped back for a better view. “Hey Ma, she looks just like you. Just like you.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “So where did you travel from?”

  “C—I mean, Arizona.” It had to be obvious how nervous I was, standing there with sweat running down between my old middle school Eastman backpack and my Dr. Pepper t-shirt.

  “And how did you travel?” she asked, wearing a grin I remembered from when she used to tease me. “From Carizona?”

  “Um. I took the…” I wasn’t certain how close the nearest Greyhound depot was. The train station, either. And did anyone take the train back in nineteen-eighty? I couldn’t remember when Amtrak had made their big comeback. “I took, um, well, I hitched.”

  Silence. Then Dennis chuckled. “Cool.”

  Grandma clucked her tongue. “That’s no way for a woman to go anywhere these days. Not with the likes of that Charles Branson.”

  “Manson, Ma.” Dennis grinned. “And Manson was ten years ago.”

  “It was just last year that Ted Blondie was here, killing women left and—”

  “Bundy. Ted Bundy,” he corrected. “Drew here must be an adventurist.” He nodded and grinned his approval. “Risky, but cool.”

  “Well, come on, let’s sit down and have a drink and you can tell us all about yourself.” Grandma’s hand settled soft and warm on my shoulder. She led me to an orange and yellow plaid sofa, clean, but with too many cigarette burns to count. “You have a seat and I’ll be out with a drink in a jiff.”

  I watched her navy and white pantsuit disappear into the kitchen.

  “So. Uncle Edgar played the field,” Dennis mused over the theme song from Wide World of Sports blaring from a console TV.

  “I don’t know about ‘played the field’. My mother, ah, said they were in love.”

  Dennis got a good laugh out of that one. “Okaayyy.” His gaze skimmed upward from my Keds, all the way to my cut-off Levi’s. One quick shake of his head, and his eyes strayed back to my calves.

  I might have inherited my looks from his mother, but I got my legs from my mom. Would he make the connection?