Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  But it was time to remove that stain.

  As soon as she entered through the door of the intensive-care waiting room, she saw Bull pacing in front of a large window. She couldn’t believe he was here. She thought he had an aversion to hospitals.

  “Bull?” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “Ben’s real sick,” he said. His face was strained. “I had to drive Patch here. He’s taking it kind of hard. He was in the garage when we got the call.”

  “I can see that he gets a ride home if you need to leave,” she said, wanting to give him a way out as he had tried to give her Saturday night—even though now she wasn’t going to take it.

  “I need to be here for Patch. It would be selfish for me to leave.” He continued pacing.

  She knew how hard it must have been for him to hang around. As hard as it was for her to be near him. It was time he knew just how hard it was. She touched his arm. “Bull, I want to tell you something.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Bull knew they’d eventually have to have a come-to-Jesus talk. He’d seen the look on her face in that photo in the newspaper. He’d felt sorry for April that night, but when he examined her expression in the picture, he saw something distasteful. Of course they needed to talk. But why did it have to be in a hospital? Yep. He hated hospitals.

  He sat down in the waiting room and she began.

  “When I was seven, my father and I were in an accident with a motorcycle—someone from Rebel Angels died. That night, my father ended up in the hospital after they beat him mercilessly,” she said.

  So that was what this was all about. Oh, God. He had used her pain to turn a few screws for his amusement at first. And later to push her out of her comfort zone. His heart sank. But she had no right to lump all bikers into one category.

  She told him about the thud, the sirens, her silence.

  “I didn’t want you to know me as that person. So, I kept quiet and tried to behave like it didn’t happen. But I failed. In the end, I was only trying to protect my father. He hasn’t really gotten over what happened.” She closed her eyes and tears fell. “But I’ve let the whole thing affect me in ways I should not have. I’ve been wrong.”

  Bull understood her better than he ever thought possible. He knew what it was like to feel like an outsider. How it felt to let his past affect the choices he made for his life. He got that she was afraid to be hurt. Again.

  He cupped one of her hands in his. “That had to be traumatic to go through at such a young age,” he said.

  She nodded.

  They sat in silence for a while. Bull had his own closet filled with things he’d rather not deal with. If he admitted to April that he’d not stood up for his own brother, considering the way she was standing up for Ben… Well, she would see him in a different light. This whole thing with Ben was kind of cathartic for him. He’d even come face to face with his disdain for hospitals. Finally, April spoke up and said, “Where is Mr. Houseman?”

  “Bertie is in Ben’s room with the family,” Bull said.

  He looked out the hospital window into the night. He remembered looking out over a similar parking lot when Adam had been hospitalized. “Don’t see that anyone can help that much, though.”

  He didn’t want to think about Adam or Ben anymore. There was nothing but darkness. He turned around. “You see that picture in the paper this morning?”

  “Yes,” she said, and walked to the table and picked up a magazine. “I’m working on that.” She sat down and flipped the pages so fast she couldn’t have seen any of the pictures.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Well, it wasn’t a very—”

  “Hospitable photo. I know,” she said.

  In her expression in that picture, he saw a predisposition that told him she’d never be okay with motorcycles. Much less ride on one. And if she’d never ride on one, he didn’t think he could ever be with her. He knew he wasn’t a weekend warrior, like Bertie. Motorcycles were a lifestyle for him. Always had been. Even if she could finish up with the rally, he saw her problem as insurmountable for anything past it. Before he could discuss what he saw in the photo, Bertie Houseman walked through the door.

  “He’s bad. He’s really bad off this time. Needs to be flown out of here to where he can get some special treatment because of a complication, but we don’t have a donor or the funds for a critical care flight even if we did get a match.” Mr. Houseman sat with his head in his hands.

  April walked to the window. Bull knew that all she was going to see was black. Lightless, lifeless darkness. Little boys die.

  It was even more important now that they put aside their differences and whatever happened in their pasts to work together to help Ben. No matter how difficult it was going to be.

  They couldn’t let him die, too.

  …

  What on Earth was going to become of Ben, and what could she do now?

  It seemed as if all was lost.

  She was of no use at the hospital, so she left and got home past midnight. For the rest of the night, she tossed in her bed, wrestling with her pillows once again. Ben needed blood and money. Blood and money. Cotillions and tea parties. Fools and her job. Motorcycles and newspapers. She fought the sleep that caused her head to nod twice. She had to figure something out to help Ben, but she was so exhausted from the turmoil from the day that she lost her battle.

  The picture in the paper was surreal. It was moving in frames like one of those old picture shows at the turn of the century. Some dangerous-looking motorcycle guy with a darkened face was sitting across the table from the two-faced woman she couldn’t recognize. The woman picked up her teacup and saw that it was filled with blood. She threw the bloody cup on the floor, and the red liquid covered everything. The dark-faced man slammed money on the table, hopped on his motorcycle, and careened through the dancers at the cotillion and out the door.

  April woke up in a cold sweat. She wasn’t going to be able to take any easy way out. She had to go through this and come out on the other side—whole and healed.

  She looked upward and closed her eyes. “Okay, I know what I’ve got to do.” And this time, she really meant it.

  On the drive to work, she came up with a plan. It was risky, and it wouldn’t matter if she got fired. There were other jobs at other companies. Better jobs with even better pay.

  Anyway, she had been careful and had squirreled enough money away for a rainy day. Risk assessment was more than a job to her. She had lived her life that way. Now it was time to cash in on the policy of that careful lifestyle.

  Speaking of rainy days, this one was not going to be one as the weatherman had forecasted. A brilliant Carolina sun beamed rays of yellow and gold through a pink-and-purple sky. Ben was going to be all right. It was a knowledge that suddenly came to her. Shining and strong in pink-and-purple and yellow-and-golden words.

  At work she made a couple of calls, then typed out an e-mail and sent it to everyone in the building and everyone in her address book:

  Ben Evans needs you now. He needs you to test to see if you may be a match to be his bone-marrow donor. He needs your money, and most of all he needs your prayers.

  She continued typing the who, what, when, where, and how of the donor testing she had set up earlier that morning with one of the Humanity volunteers who was a nurse at the hospital. At the end of the message, April announced all the details about the bike-rally fundraiser and how she was involved.

  That ought to give headquarters plenty to fire her over. It would be a shame if her firing were merely marginal—over a picture in the paper and some office gossip.

  All morning she’d violated her company’s workplace rules. No raising money in the office. No controversial anything in the office. No private use of company time. She clicked send and pushed back in her chair, satisfied with her message.

  She started to type out a time sheet for people to sign up for the testing. Her friend at the hospital said to give each person fifteen minutes.
As soon as she sent the document to the printer, Albert Morrison came to her door. “I want to sign up to be tested,” he said.

  Maybe she’d had him all wrong, too. Maybe there was more to him than met the eye—or feet, as it were. “Great. Just a second.” She waited for the paper to finish in the printer behind her. “Here’s the sign-up sheet. When we get that one filled up, I’m going to print some more,” she said.

  “I’m calling everyone I know,” he said as he signed.

  Reaching out her hand to shake his, she said, “You’re a good man. Thank you.”

  Edna, one of the receptionists, stood at April’s door. Hanna, the finance guru, stood behind her. Then a line of people in the office formed behind her.

  April thanked each one as he or she scribbled a name on the page. In minutes, she printed out a few more sign-up sheets.

  By lunchtime everyone in the office had signed up—everyone except Mandy. April was sure she was taking notes for Charles—meticulous ones with copious details. April didn’t care.

  She worked doubly hard through lunch. She was also going to stay late to make up some of her work. She probably wouldn’t have a job tomorrow anyway. And she needed to tidy up the loose ends if someone else was going to take her place. Mandy had been gunning for April’s position ever since she came on board with the company.

  April left work at eight that evening.

  Bull hadn’t called all day. When she last saw him at the hospital, he was having a hard time being there. He needed some space.

  He was also having a hard time with her photo in the paper. Her expression spoke volumes. She could simply tell him she was going to change, but she wanted to prove it instead.

  As she drove toward home, she called Jenna.

  “Girl, I’ve been trying to reach you. I’ve been leaving messages for two days. Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” Jenna asked.

  “I’ve been busy with Ben and with something else,” April said.

  “Are you still working on that rally after Saturday night?” Jenna asked.

  “I didn’t call to talk about that. I printed off a few fliers this evening. Do you think you could put up a couple at the shop?”

  “At our boutique and in every store on the square. Run them by tonight or e-mail a copy and I’ll print some off on some left over card stock we have at work,” Jenna said.

  “That would be great. I’m exhausted this evening. I didn’t get any sleep last night.” April yawned. “And one more thing. You’re going to help me with the rally.”

  “You know how I feel—”

  April cut her off. “I know how you feel, but you’re going to do it anyway. You don’t have to ride a chopper or kiss a biker or anything. Unless you want to.” She paused and smiled, thinking of the way Hogan fell all over Jenna at the silent auction. “Oh, by the way, I think that guy, Hogan, from Saturday night, believes you’re the lid to his pot.”

  “Don’t you dare put down your guard and give him my number or something,” Jenna said.

  “It’s too late for that. Guard is down. But if he gets your number, you’ll be the one who gives it to him. I’ve got too much sizzling on my own plate to worry about matchmaking you two,” April said.

  “Good,” Jenna said.

  “Then we’re in agreement. I won’t give Hogan your number, and you’re helping me with the rally,” April said.

  “That almost sounds like blackmail,” Jenna said.

  “Whatever it takes,” April said. Jenna couldn’t see April’s smile. Or the resolution that accompanied it. “See ya later.”

  Oh, yeah. Whatever it takes.

  …

  Early the next morning, she woke and called in to work for a personal day. They would do her no good anyway if she were to lose her job. She decided that Ben really needed this day more than anyone.

  All morning long, she placed calls and drummed up business for the donor testing. The afternoon was spent running around town putting up fliers in every storefront that would let her—and everyone let her. Jenna took care of the town square.

  In the evening, April visited all the local restaurants and they also agreed to put up the fliers. When she had visited the last establishment, she went home and once again crashed and slept soundly.

  When morning came, she stretched and knew she had to face the music at work. She’d never been fired before. On the way to the office, she kept telling herself that everything was going to be okay. No matter what.

  After powering up the computer on her desk, she turned to put away her things, and before she could even sit down, Charles was at her door.

  “April, I need to see you in my office,” he said.

  She inhaled slowly and then carefully blew out the breath. “Okay,” she whispered.

  After walking into Charles’s office, she stood in front of his desk.

  “Take a seat,” he said.

  Maybe this was going to take longer than she thought.

  He twirled back and forth in his chair. “You know why I went to corporate offices the day before yesterday, right?”

  She nodded.

  “The strangest thing happened. We were in the meeting—and there were lots of questions. For a couple of weeks, there had been unsubstantiated rumors. Someone had been misinforming them about things.”

  Mandy.

  “Then in walks Mr. Huffman’s secretary, and she pulled something up on his laptop. He tapped his fingers on his desk for a while and finally told us that we were all barking up the wrong tree, and he told us about your e-mail and how passionate you were about the little boy with leukemia,” Charles said.

  “Ben is dying, and I admit I actually used company time that morning to send out the information.” She wanted everything on the table “It was the right thing to do.”

  “Well, Mr. Huffman got that. And he said that you were the only person in the company who was truly following her heart about the Give Back program, his big pet project,” Charles said.

  “He said that?” She sat up straight.

  Her boss continued to move his chair from side to side. “He said that you were obviously dealing with the rally for Ben’s sake and that you should be commended. Then he wanted to know who got this all jacked up and blown out of proportion.”

  Before she realized any implications, she said, “Mandy didn’t know the whole story.”

  “Mandy’s gone,” he said.

  April had to pick her bottom jaw up off the floor. “She’s gone?”

  “Fired her yesterday. And I’m supposed to offer you a ten percent raise and extend an invitation to you to work for headquarters.” He stopped pushing back and forth in his chair.

  Her head spun. “I couldn’t possibly leave this area right now with everything that’s going on with Ben,” she said.

  “Mr. Huffman said you’d say that. That’s why he sent the raise as well. Good job.”

  She sat, stunned.

  “’Kay then. You can go back to work now,” he said.

  “Thanks.” As she walked the short distance across the hall to her cubical, she shook her head in amazement.

  If he knew, Bull would be happy for her. In fact, he would know about all that she was doing on her own very shortly. She would tell him how she ignored office policy. How she set up and advertised the donor testing. How she was willing to do anything to help Ben. How she had changed.

  Funny how things were working themselves out lately.

  For the next few days, she stayed busy. She had a lot to do to catch up at the office and in the organization of even more donor-testing days. She had been one of the first tested, and she found out that she wasn’t a match. More people needed to be tested, but there was only one more person on her list to contact personally—Bull.

  She was going to pay the handsome biker a visit at his place of employment.

  Normally, dressing for a visit to a garage wouldn’t take so much consideration, but she was getting ready to see the man who had her tied
up in emotional knots. And she had completed a transformation since she’d seen him last—a significant transformation.

  Finally, she settled on a white dress with delicate pink roses on it—something far different from her insurance-world suits. Oh, and her pearls. She’d better not forget them. Because she wore them to every important occasion.

  Buckled inside her Taurus, she meandered through the streets and toward the garage on the corner of Hickory and Gum Streets. It was Friday afternoon and the town was beginning to close up for the day. Hope that Bull would still be at the shop knocked at her chest.

  At the front door of the shop, she sat in a moment of paralyzing stillness and watched the butterflies waltz around the azalea bushes at the sides of the door. They were turning and twirling in her stomach as well.

  He may not even want to see her. He hadn’t called after the hospital. He may have given up on her. He had every right. That picture in the paper was awful. He may have moved on. She bristled. He had better not. A realization surfaced in her heart. A part of him belonged to her—because they were working together for Ben. She had a right to be here.

  She rummaged through her purse, found a pink lipstick, and glazed her lips with it. Looking in the rearview mirror, she fluffed her hair a bit with her fingers.

  It was time to face the inevitable or the music or the firing squad or whatever it was. She opened the door. The waiting room at the garage was pristine. Magazines all neatly displayed. Comfortable chairs perfectly aligned across from one another. But it was empty, so she headed straight down a hall toward what looked like offices. Instead of finding her guy, she found a slightly older man dressed in khakis and a blue oxford shirt, the official uniform of Charleston yuppies.

  “I’m looking for one of your employees,” she said, glancing around at the service awards on the walls.

  “And who might that be?” he asked.

  She craned her neck and looked down the long corridor. “Bullworth Clayton.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s wrong? Did he quit or something?” she said.

  The man laughed even harder. “Lady, he can’t quit. He owns this place,” he said. “I work for him.”