Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  When she got home, she perused her closet again for a suitable outfit. She grabbed her only pair of jeans from the shelf—the ones she’d worn last night—and stared at them. She opened the chest at the foot of her bed and threw them in, doubting she’d ever wear them again.

  She raked through the closet one last time. Maybe she’d simply wear what she had on. She wasn’t going to fit in with the group anyway, no matter what she wore. They were going to be in chaps and do-rags, and she was going to be in Ann Taylor.

  It was nearly six, and if she wanted to be on time, she’d have to speed things up, but as she brushed her hair, the doorbell rang.

  “Jenna. What are you doing here?” That was a stupid question. Jenna stopped by whenever she wanted. She didn’t need a reason.

  “I thought we’d have dinner together tonight and watch our favorite movie after?” she said as she kicked off her shoes, tossed the Shag DVD on the table, and headed toward the kitchen. “Those things are killing my feet. Got to look good at the shop, though.” She reached for a glass. “Do you mind?”

  April shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t. Something’s come up.” She eyed her favorite dance movie on the table. The one she and Jenna had been watching covertly since they were young girls. The shag was South Carolina’s state dance, and since she didn’t get out dancing much, the movie satisfied her love of the dance. They’d have to watch it another night, though.

  Jenna examined the picture on the refrigerator that Ben drew. “So cute,” she said, and took her glass to the living room and sat. “Well, ditch your plans. We can go to Oscar’s. I hear tonight’s special is shrimp and grits. Our fave.”

  “Can’t.” How was she going to get out of this with Jenna without a lengthy explanation before she had to leave? Which was now. April had barely bought some time last night. An idea came to mind. “I have some group-insurance speech I have to deliver tonight.”

  “Where? Maybe we can meet there afterward and go out. If it’s at a restaurant, we can even eat there. As long as they have shrimp and grits.”

  “Not tonight, girl.”

  Jenna turned abruptly on the couch and her smile disappeared. “Oh, no. You’re meeting that guy again, aren’t you?”

  “I’m meeting a whole group, Jenna.” April couldn’t completely blame Jenna for her reaction. April had filled her friend’s head with her own anxieties since they were in elementary school.

  Jenna stood. “I know when I’m not hearing the whole story. He’s going to be there, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. Yes. Yes. There’s nothing I can do to get out of it. It is about work. And it’s for Ben. You know how I feel about him.” She grabbed Jenna’s hand. “I have to go.” April didn’t say that she wanted to. Wanted to see Bull, that is.

  “But he’s a biker, April,” Jenna said. “A biker who used to belong to Rebel Angels.”

  The two women stood, staring at one another. It was a standoff. But April knew she was going to win.

  “Humph.” Jenna gathered her things. “I see. We haven’t had secrets before.” She paused at the front door. She tapped the DVD on her hand.

  “We don’t have secrets now. Goodness. I’ve gotten myself into this situation, and now I have to see it through. You’re going to have to understand.”

  Jenna opened the door. “This time I’ll be waiting for you to call.”

  “I will. I promise I will.” April locked the door behind Jenna.

  Making promises. Giving her word. April was neck deep in chrome, rubber, and leather—spicy-scented leather. She was making promises and giving her word, but she wasn’t certain she could back up any of it.

  As she drove, she couldn’t believe she was headed to Marvin’s Bait and Tackle Shop. It couldn’t be as bad as what she’d heard from her mother. Surely, the police didn’t practically “live” there, breaking up fights and arresting drunks like her mother had said.

  No. Her mother had over exaggerated many things the same way her Mimi had before she’d died. They were worrywarts, and April was determined not to follow in their footsteps, but it took work to break a family habit.

  Anyway, weren’t tackle shops in the South a sort of common man’s country club? Where one could find a bucket of bait and a burger basket—among other things—if he wished? That was the general impression April had away from her family. On April’s salary, it would be the only country club she could ever afford.

  Going to the tackle shop still made her uneasy. But this time she couldn’t blame anyone for her troubles. She’d made her own bed. Dug her own grave. There was no getting out of it. She’d talked to her boss, and she’d have to meet with these people in weird places where she knew no one. Except for the man with the spicy smile. At least for a while. That was going to be tough, but she would do that for Ben. And to be near Bull while she helped raise money for Ben.

  All that was left for her to do now was to inform the group about minimizing the risks for the rally. That was about it. Once she would eventually get Jenna all settled down, she’d be home free. Jenna and she’d been through too much together for them to have something like this cause problems in their friendship.

  The paint on the street sign was faded and peeling. Advertised under Marvin’s name were NIGHT CRAWLERS, CRICKETS, AND BLOOD BAIT. Under that was HOTDOGS, BURGERS, AND BOILED PEANUTS. What a combination.

  As she’d expected, there were all the bikes and trucks. A man with a leather bandana dismounted his Harley, and a woman with a camouflage sweatshirt hopped out of a similarly painted pickup with dog cages in the back. These were the kinds of people that Bull hung out with. Which was fine. They just weren’t the kind of people who were going to get her into the Ladies League. But this wasn’t about the Ladies League. This was about Ben. And there would be plenty of time to deal with Jenna and the Ladies League later if she still wanted to.

  In the parking lot, one motorcycle was painted three shades of pink and had Sissy Cycle engraved on its side. Another was painted black and had florescent blue lights blinking in internal hiding places. Its name was Midnight Rider. She walked in a wide semicircle to avoid getting close to them. No telling when another might have a weak kickstand.

  As she made her way to the door, bandana man held it open for her.

  Southern manners just like she’d been taught.

  She walked through, completely missing the food inspector’s rating that should have been placed on the door.

  Wonder how low those things go? This place could have a Q rating. Quit while you’re ahead. But she was already inside.

  Hanging on the walls were all manner of dead fish—a big one with a stick-looking thing protruding from the front—probably a swordfish or a marlin, but she wasn’t sure. She’d never actually been saltwater fishing. On another wall was a small one with a mouth that looked like it was doomed to say “Nooooo” for an eternity. They gave her the creeps.

  She walked past a huge tub with a sign that read MINNOWS and up to the register. The smell of chili and onions was strong, and there was an endless supply of fishing paraphernalia on the displays and shelves around her.

  Aside from the obvious dangers, the risk-assessment manager in her ran all kinds of bacteria-laced scenarios through her head.

  The skinny, old man who was stirring something in a crock-pot finally turned around.

  “I’m looking for the fundraising party,” she said.

  “Oh, you must be April.” He came from behind the counter and wiped his hands on his white apron. “Bull said to keep an eye out for you. Come this way.” He was bent over. His skin was leathery from years in the sun. He opened the door to a back room.

  Crank was already addressing the group.

  The old guy said to Bull, “You were right on both counts.”

  But what was Bull right about?

  Bull smiled. A couple of people at his table chuckled.

  She held her palms up and squinted. What was that all about? It sounded good-natured, but she wasn’t the bes
t judge.

  Bull reached over and pulled a flier out of the stack she had brought. “This looks good if I have to say so myself,” he whispered. His closeness stirred the fireflies in her tummy again and warmed her. She wished he’d stay close to keep them fluttering. She enjoyed the feel of it.

  She leaned even closer to get a look at what he was eyeing. He really had quite a talent with computers and graphic art designs. And she had quite a talent with copy machines.

  “We simply have to get the word out,” Crank said from the end of the bar. “Bull, you got those fliers?”

  Bull stood and passed them around.

  “The more we distribute, the more money for Ben. Remember that,” Crank said.

  When Bull finished, he asked, “Crank, how many do we have signed up already?”

  “Right at two hundred. At fifty dollars a pop, that’s almost ten thousand. Lookin’ for a lot more, though.” He stared at the flier in his hand for a moment. “I guess you heard about our problem. Summerbrook won’t let us ride in and around the square without the extra group insurance. That’ll be in addition to your own personal stuff. But I think we’ve got someone looking into it. April, I hear you started to check on that for us?”

  She was hoping she wouldn’t have to get up in front of the group so soon, but nothing else she had hoped had worked out. She shouldn’t expect this to go her way, either. She stood in her gray pantsuit, feeling about as out of place and out of touch as she could possibly be, and for an instant she wished she could have blended a little better.

  “The company I work for has offered to provide the insurance for free as a charitable contribution for Ben’s fundraiser.”

  The crowd roared and clapped. She felt like she was a movie star. Wow. They liked her. They really liked her.

  When the applause died down, she began with the details. “All we have to do is follow a risk-management plan.”

  Someone in the crowd asked, “Risk-management plan?”

  “Yes. It involves a few simple rules,” she said.

  “Like what?” someone called out.

  “Like lowering our speed limit, having police escorts, and everyone wearing helmets,” she said.

  The room grew utterly silent. The applause was gone. All of a sudden she knew she was in trouble.

  A man in the back of the room stood up and said, “I ain’t never worn no helmet in all my life. Law in South Carolina says I don’t got to.”

  Whispers of agreement sounded around the room. What could they be so concerned about? Helmets were no big deal. They could save lives.

  “And what kind of speed limits are we talking about here?” a woman at Bull’s table asked.

  “Only ten miles below what is posted,” April replied.

  Loud noises once again filled the room, but this time they were sounds of dissention. No, make that anarchy. The man who said he hadn’t ever worn a helmet stood again. She noted that he had the same tattoo as Bull. Rebel Angels. He knocked over his chair and stormed out the room.

  The noise made her wince. Not all the bikers there had hearts of gold.

  She looked toward Bull for help. Again.

  …

  Bull knew April was getting herself into hot water. It was his fault. He should have gone over the details with her, but he didn’t know. She couldn’t have known how so many bikers felt about putting a helmet between them and nature and their sense of freedom when riding. She needed saving again, and he was the man to do it.

  He stood. “Wait. I asked April to get us a quote and she ended up getting us something for free. No. She ended up getting something for Ben for free. That means more money in his fund. More money for his treatment and his family.” He walked to the front of the room and stood beside the woman who shakily held the terms of the policy in her hands. “Who knows if anyone else in this area will even write the policy the town wants?”

  The people whispered among themselves.

  “I’m with you guys. I don’t wear a helmet either, but this once I think I can for Ben.” And for April. He looked down at her and she looked up at him with those big brown eyes. He wanted to whisk her out of the room and spare her any more confrontations.

  Crank stepped up also. “I can tell you that I haven’t found anyone in this town to write a policy. That’s why I called Bull and asked him about any suggestions.”

  Ramsey Hall stood and towered over the group. “I say it’s the best deal we’re going to get. April’s done the work and it wouldn’t be hospitable to turn her and her company down. It’s Ben we’re here to think about, not ourselves.”

  The man in the back stood up again. “What if it keeps people from signin’ up? Won’t that take money from Ben?”

  A few people clapped.

  Ramsey answered, “We have a projected amount we’d like to have. Five hundred, I believe.”

  “That’s right,” Bull said.

  “Well, if we don’t make that number, I’m willing to kick in the money to make our goal,” Ramsey said.

  Bull knew Ramsey could easily pay. He owned apartment buildings and storefronts all over Summerbrook and beyond.

  “But if I know bikers like I think I do, no one will turn down helping a sick boy on account of anything shy of a hurricane,” Ramsey said.

  The crowd erupted in applause again. Bull looked at April. She was smiling.

  He liked making her smile, but it certainly wasn’t an easy thing to accomplish.

  …

  Bull had saved her once again. What would she have done if he’d left her alone, standing in front of the headstrong bikers? He took the remaining papers from her hands, leaned down, and said, “Let’s go back to the table.”

  She gladly followed.

  Marvin came back in and surveyed the room. “Anyone seen Slug?”

  Patch and a few of the others pointed to the back of the room. A man had his head down on a table—apparently asleep.

  “Slug,” Marvin called out. “That old chopper of yours has done fallen over again. And it’s blocking my front door.”

  Slug groggily lifted his head. “Mmmmm?”

  Bull looked at April and smiled.

  Must be a real habit of Slug’s. She shouldn’t have been so worried that night at the steakhouse after all. She glanced around the room. Why was she so concerned about even coming here? Nothing had happened. Not really. Nothing more than some hothead biker storming out, and she didn’t think anything would.

  “If anyone would like something else to eat or drink, speak up now,” Marvin said. A few hands went up and the guy wrote the orders on a little pad he held in his wrinkled hands.

  Bull leaned into her space. “You want something?” he asked.

  She was starving, but she had never eaten anything from an establishment like this. Terms like “greasy” and “stale” came to mind.

  “Marvin has the best hotdogs and chili in Summerbrook. Probably the best in South Carolina,” he said.

  “Okay.” That popped out before she knew it was coming. Her alligator mouth just kept overloading her chickadee brain these days. She hoped those night crawlers had secure lids on their containers.

  Bull ordered for both of them and in moments, Marvin was back with their food.

  Bull was right again. The meal was as delicious as he had promised. The only dogs she’d had before were ones her mother had made for her as a child.

  “You did good up there earlier. This can be a tough crowd,” Bull said.

  No tougher than April’s crowd was on bikers, though. “I’m beginning to see that. When I came in, they were laughing at me. What did Marvin mean when he said both things you told him were right?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I told him to look out for you and that you’d be beautiful and late.”

  Beautiful? She didn’t think anyone had ever thought of her before as beautiful? “What do you mean by late?” She playfully knocked him on the arm.

  “So, you’re denying it now? The steakhouse, th
e library, tonight? Three for three. I’d say you’ve got a problem.”

  He was right. She did have a problem.

  It was him.

  Chapter Six

  April sat in Marvin’s Bait and Tackle shop, eating hotdogs with a motorcycle gang. If only Jenna could see her now. No. If her parents could. Good thing they couldn’t.

  In no time, she had devoured that hotdog and in the process, she had completely drained her glass of sweet tea. It was the kind that tasted like home—like the tea her mother had made for her when she was a child, the tea Miss Adree made for April on their lazy summer afternoons, the kind of beverage that she had become accustomed to at church socials and Humanity Project dedication dinners. Oh, the dedication dinner. She had almost forgotten. The Summerbrook Humanity Project was turning over another home to a needy family Sunday afternoon, and she hadn’t done a thing to prepare for it.

  What she needed to do was to have Miss Adree help her pick out a song to play on her accordion at the ceremony like she usually did. April tried to keep her accordion playing on the down low. The old instrument wasn’t hip. Bull had already laughed at it in the parking lot the first night they met. If he only knew she was playing it regularly at Humanity functions, well, he’d have lots to laugh at.

  She looked around the room filled with kind people. They had their quirks—just like her. They had their leather and fringes, and she had her accordion. But the one thing everyone had in common was Ben.

  Near the end of the evening, April figured the bait-and-tackle shop wasn’t so bad after all. The worst of everything was over. She breathed a sigh of relief—from hunger and from stress.

  Crank walked back up to the front of the room and said, “A couple more things. We’ve been asked to provide something for the silent charity auction another group is having for Ben. Anybody got anything?”

  An extremely skinny older woman with a tattoo of a snake crawling around her neck stood up.

  “What do you have, Scooter?” Crank asked as he gathered the remaining fliers.