Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  “I really hope so, Mom. Sometimes I feel crippled like Daddy. Only on the inside.” April looked into her mother’s eyes and back at the house where her disabled father sat. Things were never going to be right.

  Her mother put her hand on April’s. A breeze rustled the leaves in the magnolia tree above them, and she heard doves call to one another from a slight distance away from them.

  April inhaled. “Well, I’ve got to hit the road to Summerbrook soon, but before I go, I wanted to help you and Dad. I know he’s had a rough week. What can I do?”

  She ran a few errands for her parents and then drove back to Summerbrook.

  When she realized she didn’t even know what time it was, she checked. Shoot. Almost four o’clock. She’d miss the ladies’ tea party. But April didn’t feel like donning a fancy hat and playing dress-up this afternoon. How she was going to finish this thing she’d started was more important. She had to figure it all out. Her parents. Her fears. The rally. Ben. Bull.

  …

  At the office on Monday morning, April settled in and got herself a cup of coffee. Elevator music piped in from a CD changer in the break room, soothed the air around her. A track from an old Carpenters song played a musical rendition of “We’ve Only Just Begun.” Boy, was she ever glad the weekend was behind her. She couldn’t wait to get to the numbers and reports on her desk. Normal stuff.

  As she walked back to her office with her cup of coffee, all eyes were on her. Mandy gazed as she whispered to one of the new receptionists. What on Earth was going on now?

  Maybe they’d heard about the company insuring the rally. They couldn’t still be concerned about Bull picking April up for lunch last week. And she hadn’t seen a soul from work at the country club like she had thought she would. It had to be the lunch thing last week.

  At her desk, she picked up the folded Summerbrook Gazette. The custodian always placed it there when she arrived to open up the building. The bottom of the newspaper had an article about the new zoning going on with the school district and another piece about the town’s animal-control problem.

  April turned the paper over to check out the headline story. It fell from her hands and she was sure that a soft noise escaped her mouth before she covered it with her hand.

  There she was. A picture of her in the motorcycle jacket in front of that dangerous bike. Looking completely disconcerted, like a pig in a butcher’s shop.

  Oh, wait. There was a caption. “Hometown woman dons leather to ride her new Harley.” Nothing could be worse. Everyone in Summerbrook and beyond would see her in that miserable photograph. April Church in her fancy French lace dress, wearing her fringed jacket, about to mount her hog.

  Then, it hit her like a ton of bricks.

  She’d been kidding herself this entire time—believing that everything—all her fears—could be traced back to that one night in her father’s car. But that wasn’t the whole truth of it in the end.

  Every one of those former fears had festered. Had transformed. And there it was—staring her straight in the face on the front page of the paper. She simply hadn’t been able to admit it to herself before.

  It had been more than the accident. More than the fire. More than even her father’s heart.

  She was just like those people back at the country club. Not only did she not want to be around motorcycles. She didn’t want to be associated with bikers. She couldn’t fool herself and call it fear or caution any longer. It was a big, black stain upon her heart.

  She needed far more than to merely overcome her anxieties to help with the rally. This whole thing was about something way bigger. The photograph in the paper revealed the whole truth to her. There she was—smiling one of those polite Southern belle smiles she’d been taught to smile by her Mimi and her mother. The whole world could see how uncomfortable she was.

  Even worse than that, though, was that she was losing Bull for the same reason.

  But how could she reexamine everything she’d ever come to believe? Everything she thought she knew about herself? And everything about the bikers who didn’t fit into her prim-and-proper view about who and what was safe and acceptable?

  She sat down and tossed the paper onto her desk. She could never reorganize her entire world.

  After growing up in her parents’ home after that accident, dismembering her beliefs and arranging them according to some other paradigm might not even be possible. Even if everything she had learned about bikers was wrong.

  Words from a Sunday school lesson she had been taught as a small child popped into her head. Love thy neighbor as thyself.

  But most of the motorcycle people were not like her. Well, except for maybe a few—like Mr. Houseman—who were weekend bikers. But not the rest. Not Bull. He worked in T-shirts and jeans in a garage. She in a business suit in an office. He ate chili in places like Marvin’s, and she dined on standard Southern fare at nice restaurants like Oscar’s. He wore leather and risked his life riding motorcycles, and she wore Ann Taylor and drove a sedan. A safe sedan.

  It was an ugly truth. All spelled out in that photograph.

  She was a fake. And she had to repair the dreadful shortcoming. Now.

  The elevator music stopped. A different CD played from the changer. The words to the new song started out at a higher volume than the Carpenters’ song. “Get your motor running. Head out on the highway.”

  The volume rose to way beyond elevator status.

  It was Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild.”

  April knew that she’d been born for a purpose, and if she had to be a little “wild” to accomplish it, well, she supposed she’d just have to.

  And no one was going to get in her way. She was really going to step up to the plate with the rally like she should have done in the beginning. No more working quietly behind the scenes. Though they were different, it was time to fully embrace the kind and generous people who were giving so much to help Ben.

  It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was time to get to work.

  Chapter Ten

  “April.”

  Her head popped up. It was Charles, her boss. He was holding the paper with her picture and said, “Look at this. Got a call from headquarters. Somehow they got wind of this.” He tossed the newspaper onto her desk.

  Great. Just what she needed—a second copy.

  “They want to see me in Columbia—first thing in the morning. Said they have some…concerns,” he said.

  “About insuring the rally?” she asked, tapping her pencil on the edge of her desk, wondering how much of what she was hearing was fact. Or was he simply being jerky as he was prone to be?

  “I really don’t know. Could be. Or it could be your involvement. You are our risk-assessment specialist.” He paused. “If you are supposed to be in charge of minimizing our uncertainty in insurance situations, I guess they might have some apprehensions about your ability to do your job. You know. Conflict of interest. But I really don’t know. They didn’t say.”

  “I’m not putting the company into jeopardy. I won a stupid motorcycle. In a raffle. I couldn’t help that,” she said.

  “Well, I don’t think the raffle is the problem. They’ve had some calls. We’ll see what they have to say,” he said.

  “But I’ve put my whole life into my career. I can clear up any misunderstandings they might have. I’ve never made any mistakes concerning the company.” This couldn’t be happening to her. She had hardly ever dated. Spent tons of hours working overtime. Who would she even be if she weren’t a risk-assessment manager with The State and Casualty Insurance Company?

  “It’s all in their hands, kiddo. Nothing I can do about it,” he said with his palms in the air as if to signal his absolution.

  Mandy walked by April’s cubical. “Oh, there you are, Charles,” she said. In her hands was a folder, and in the folder was another copy of that stupid paper. The edges were extended from the pathetic attempt at covering.

  Like April wasn’t supposed to see
it. She was sure about how headquarters got the news of her winning a Harley so soon. Mandy, the mouth of the South.

  “Mandy, give me a few seconds and I’ll see you in my office,” Charles said. “Uh, you can wait there with that report. ’Kay?”

  Mandy smiled. “That’s fine. I have everything I told you I’d bring.”

  That little…mouth. April wasn’t prone to cursing, but a few words popped into her mind. Humph. She’d like to take Mandy out behind the building and share a few with her.

  “Yeah, as I was saying. So, I’ll be out of the office tomorrow.” He hesitated. “Albert Morrison will be covering for me.”

  April couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Albert Morrison was a human ottoman—a useless piece of furniture that the people in the office could kick their feet up on. She had always been Charles’s go-to employee when he was away. She had the experience and the seniority over most of the people there. Headquarters’ lack of confidence in her must be worse than what she’d first imagined if Albert Morrison was standing in for Charles instead of her.

  She spent the rest of the day on autopilot, thinking of Ben, thinking of her mistakes, thinking of Bull. It was her turn to close the building, so when Hanna Marks in finance left, so did April.

  It was time to confront her fears and put all this right. And Mr. Houseman’s would be her first stop. He, above all others, would understand because he had one foot in the biker world and one foot in the business world just like her. She trusted that he’d advise her how to maneuver through the next days. Even if she lost her job.

  “April, dear, come on in.” Mr. Houseman turned and called out to his wife. “Velma, look who’s here to see us.”

  Miss Velma came out and gave her a big hug. “Sweetie, we missed you at the ladies’ tea yesta-day afta-noon.” Her voice lilted, like the accents from downtown Charleston gentry. “You should have seen all the hats and gloves. Miss Adree came with a pretty pink one with feathers that looked like it would have been fit for the queen. We sure had us a time.”

  April smiled. “Sorry.”

  “We missed you, sweetie,” Miss Velma said.

  April didn’t respond.

  “Dear, I don’t think April’s mind is on tea parties,” Mr. Houseman said. “In fact, I think she came over for another reason entirely.”

  “Oh,” Miss Velma said. “I’ll be in the kitchen, finishing up with suppa. You can eat with us if you like, sweetie. I’m frying some catfish and hushpuppies and making some coleslaw. Bertie’s favorite.”

  “Thanks, honey,” he said. “We’ll see about that later. You think you can put on a pot of coffee, though?”

  “Yes, dear,” she said and smiled. Her smile was filled with something beautiful. Love.

  Miss Velma disappeared through the swinging door leading to her kitchen. April and Mr. Houseman settled down on two worn green chairs in the living room.

  She didn’t speak for a moment, and neither did he—probably to let her have the time to gather her thoughts.

  “I’ve made a fool of myself,” she said.

  “And what has led you to that profound conclusion?” He leaned forward and reached into a magazine rack beside his chair and pulled out today’s paper. “Was it this?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’m not pleased to admit it, but I think I saw something in that photograph today—something I’m not at all proud of.”

  Mr. Houseman leaned back.

  “I know. I saw it, too.” He lowered his eyes and shook his head once.

  He tossed the paper on the coffee table. “I’m so glad you saw it for yourself. That’s the only way you could really change it.”

  She nodded again. “I haven’t given these people a fair shake, Mr. Houseman.” She stared out the window. “I’ve let some old fears keep me from stepping out from my comfort zone. And I’ve used the fears as an excuse. I’ve been a phony—working for the rally and feeling kind of distant from these people.”

  “Let me ask you something.” He steepled his hands. “What’s really important to you? Sweetie, I’ve seen you walk down a path that few have traveled—helping with the Humanity Projects, assisting Miss Adree when she needed help, and even playing the instrument you chose.” He crossed his legs.

  She leaned her head back. “I always played to a short list of people, though. Friends, family, and the Humanity Project volunteers.” She shook her head. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve let appearances and superficial things guide too much of what I’ve done.”

  “You haven’t been a fool, April. What you really are is a victim of the culture in a small town—a town that’s been through its share of troubles in the past.”

  Miss Velma came in with two cups of coffee, placed them on the table in front of them, and disappeared behind the doors again.

  “You called yourself a fool earlier. If you are, it’s because of your haste. Fools don’t wait. They act and speak without thoughtful consideration,” he said. He took his cup, brought it to within an inch of his lips, and then put it back. “Sometimes we need to bide our time. Wait on things to cool down, wait on inspiration.”

  Wait on things to cool down? The spicy, hot world she had become entangled with was burning her bland insides, and she needed a fire escape to extract her from the flames.

  “I know I need to repair things, but I don’t know quite what to do,” she said.

  “I do,” he said. A phone rang in the background.

  In moments Miss Velma came bursting through the doors. “Bertie, that was Patch from the hospital. Ben’s taken a turn for the worse. They’ve put him in intensive care.”

  April’s heart sank. “Oh, my goodness.” She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head.

  “April, this will have to wait. I’ve got to go,” he said as he walked backward toward the door. “Dear, I’ll have to have cold fish when I get back. I’m so sorry.” He shut the door.

  April grabbed her keys. “I’ve got to go, too.”

  “Just a minute, dear,” Miss Velma said.

  April heard the growling sound of Mr. Houseman’s motorcycle as he cranked it and watched as he pulled out the drive.

  “My, my, my…” Miss Velma looked wistfully out the window. “He’s such a good man.” She shook her head. “And to think I almost missed getting to know him.”

  “What do you mean?” April asked.

  Miss Velma transferred her coffee cup to her other hand. “My parents. I grew up in downtown Charleston. My world revolved around cotillion and debutante balls. When Bertie came rolling into our drive on Tradd Street on a motorcycle, my parents nearly fell off our front porch.”

  April could picture it—the absurdity of a Harley parked outside one of the old antebellum homes.

  “My motha fanned herself furiously, and my fatha stood at attention like some Yankee with a carpetbag had just stepped on their prized gardenia plant.” Miss Velma shook her head. “Mmmm. Mmmm. Mmmm.”

  “How’d they get beyond it all?” April asked.

  “They nevva did, dear. He was a poor carpenter. I met him while he was waiting tables at a party at Hibernian Hall. Only person who understood how I felt about Bertie was my best friend, Millie.” She took a sip from her coffee cup. “Watching how he lived his life led me to change everything I’d been taught. My family nevva quite got over the fact that I didn’t marry money and become the president of the Daughters of the American Revolution or something.” She smiled at her own thoughts. “I’ve nevva regretted a minute of being married to that man. Not one minute.”

  “But what about the life you were living—all the balls and parties and your friends?” April asked.

  “What are those things to an old woman? After the life I’ve lived, caring for people and helping, what are pearls and a pretentious social calendar compared to my work with Bertie, really? I don’t care who I would have impressed if I had chaired the Charleston Ladies League’s cookbook committee.” She smiled.

  Yeah, that would ha
ve impressed April at one time. But now she didn’t think so.

  The older woman turned again to look out the window. “The things some of my friends and my parents’ friends said about me were so shallow that I can hardly rememba a word of any of it.”

  April hadn’t heard her coworkers talking, but she knew some of them were. She was supposed to be the risk-assessment manager. They probably viewed her more like a risk-advocate manager. No wonder the brass was meeting about her tomorrow. But even that paled in comparison to what she had realized about herself.

  “Years ago, I forgave them all—for everything they said and did,” Miss Velma said. “April, I remember what happened years ago to your family. To this town.” Miss Velma paused. “Have you forgiven the people involved?”

  April stared out the window. “I’ve held on to the pain and have used it as a shield to keep myself safe. An excuse not to take risks.” She took in a deep, cleansing breath. “I see it’s time for me to let it all go. Now.”

  …

  On the way to the hospital, she thought about exactly how she was going to accomplish what she knew she needed to. Right now she needed to get to Ben’s bedside.

  As she drove, she realized there would be no peace tonight for her. And on top of everything else, Ben was gravely ill.

  Carpetbaggers and gardenias. Ben and cancer. Coffee and cotillions. Tea parties and motorcycles.

  Miss Velma seemed to have reconciled them all. She was happy and still in love. And she was living her life according to what made her content.

  April wished her happiness involved something less scurrilous. Like tea parties and pretty hats. She didn’t even care that much that it involved an accordion now. Why was she so worried about what the world thought of her? Why had she cared so much that they saw her as careful and safe and not standing out in any way?

  April had hidden some things away in her heart. Painful things. After the fire, she felt isolated from everyone in town. She felt she had something to prove—that she was cautious and conservative. And belonged.

  All the newspaper headlines and gossip had left a dark stain upon her heart.