“Leaving this Saturday morning?”
“Yes, around eight.”
With a big smile, she said, “I’m in. One long day, or two short ones?”
“Let’s do two; it’ll be easier for you.”
“Where do we stay? Do you know any places up there?”
“No, I was just planning on staying in any decent looking motel in the area.”
“Let me check into it. I was always the travel arranger in my married days. I’ll Google it,” she said, reaching into her bag.
“Great, go for it.”
She came up empty. “Darn! I guess I left it at the cabin. I don’t carry it around with me all the time like most people. Well, I’ll do it when I’m back at the cabin.”
“Fine. But I have to ask first, are you over losing Bruce? I mean, if you’re still hurting, maybe—”
“Hurting? No, I haven’t hurt since he died,” she said with a sour expression with the word hurt. “I’ll find us a nice place.” She smiled a sideways glance as they mounted their Harleys.
That’s curious, putting that special emphasis on “hurt” . . . Oh well, I’ll have to find a better time . . . .
Six - Possibilities
The ride back to the Starvation Mountain cabin was uneventful; Jim and Penny arrived in the late afternoon. Penny found her cell phone lying on the coffee table.
“I don’t remember leaving it here. Too excited about going on the ride with you, I guess.”
“Cell phones are a pain in the ass, but too handy to not have. Sure you don’t want to give me your number?”
“I think I know you well enough now. You have to be careful these days, you know.” She found a sticky pad and wrote it out for him.
“Great, we can talk Friday after work to finalize the trip plans.”
As he walked to the door, Jim wrinkled his nose and, sniffing, said, “I smell something, like someone smoked a joint in here. Did you sneak a toke before we left this morning?” He asked in an “I’m kidding you . . . .” manner, but it did smell like marijuana.
“God no, I haven’t had a hit in weeks. I noticed it too when I first came up here, so I’ve been keeping the windows open to try clearing the air. But it’s been several days now, and the smell is still here. I guess it’s in the rug and furniture. It’s getting annoying; I don’t mind a little smell of it now and then when I’m outdoors, but not constantly where I’m living. I’ll get the strongest air freshener I can find next time I’m in Ramona and blast this place with it.”
“And I think I smell another odor behind the grass. Sort of like something rotten: bad cabbage or potatoes, or maybe some old meat. It’s very faint, though; could be my imagination. Did you clean out the refrigerator when you arrived?”
“Yes, it was empty and clean. But I haven’t noticed another odor; maybe because the grass smell is so strong. Gotta get that deodorizer.”
“No kidding. I don’t know if Pine Sol would even do it. There are fabric deodorizers for pet smells you might try on the rugs and furniture.”
“If it doesn’t go away in a few days after I’ve tried that, this may be the end of my days up here. I’ll go back to my condo down in San Diego.”
“That would be too bad. I’d hate to lose you as my neighbor. I’ll try to help you with this. Maybe we can find a deodorizer bomb to set off before we ride up to Cholame; that would give it the weekend to work.”
“I don’t know about that. My clothes will smell for months. Like those cheap things you hang under the dashboard of your car? Yuk! I’d rather try to work on the carpet—the one and only carpet in the front room—and the stuffed furniture.”
“Sounds like a lot of work.”
“I’m counting on you to help. Might be what you have to do to keep me up here.”
“I’m in.” Jim turned to leave.
“Give me a hug before you go,” she said.
She seemed to be the best thing he’d run into in years. It was an easy embrace, as if they’d done it countless times before. Their body to body fit was perfect, and their comfort with each other natural and easy. He wanted to kiss her, at least on the forehead, but hesitated. She took the lead: “Are you going to kiss me or not?”
“I’m in.” Jim said and gave her a quick, tender kiss on the lips.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me just because I’m a biker. I’m still all girl, you know.” He gave her a longer, harder kiss that she mirrored with surprising warmth. She was all girl—or woman . . . .
Jim happily strode out to his Harley, started the engine, waved to her, and idled downhill to the intersection with Highland Valley Road, Van Morrison filling his mind: Little darlin’ come with me . . . on the bright side of the road . . . .
Seven - Cholame
A fence line at the intersection of two lonely, two-lane roads near Cholame, California.
“What are you feeling?” Penny asked Jim.
“Disappointed, and maybe a little depressed, too. I thought there would be more here. A little monument, or at least a plaque?”
“Yes, very underwhelming for a person who was such a big star and still has a huge, loyal following. It’s just a bunch of stuff people have left: cigarette packages, notes on little scraps of paper, some magazine clippings and photos, whatever they happened to have when they stopped, I guess. It’s like they just cleaned out their pockets and dumped the stuff here. The rain and winds will blow most of it away, which is a good thing, I guess. But it doesn’t seem enough,” Penny said.
“Only that pair of aviator sunglasses entombed in a block of cement suggests anyone thought about creating something to try capturing a little of him. And that’s pretty weird.”
“What about something spiritual? Do you feel anything . . . a little mystical feeling?”
“No, nothing. And I was trying to be open to it. I thought maybe I’d feel a little chill, like a cool breeze, or even my mind’s eye having a vision of . . . something; a scene from ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ . . . . You know what I’m saying? But nothing here where he died. Somehow, I thought standing silently in this spot for a few minutes, I’d make some kind of connection. Crazy idea, I guess. But, all this junk is too distracting.”
“That’s too bad, you were looking forward to this so much. Maybe I should leave you alone for a while.”
“No, I want you here with me. But, you know, I did sense something—a strange feeling—when we topped that hill back there and could see down here to where the roads intersect at the place of the accident. I knew we were coming into the space where he died. It was an electric feeling in my stomach and the back of my neck, like . . . that’s it; that’s the place. It was the same view he had of the road ahead, not knowing that within a minute or two he’d be dead. I was trying to put myself into his head, imagining what he might have been thinking in that instant before the car suddenly turned in front of him. Like, maybe: ‘we’re finally leaving that flat, boring central valley highway area and are heading toward the low coastal mountains and some fun driving.’ Or maybe he was thinking about the next day’s racing; you know, getting his race face on?”
Penny shook her head and said, “God, who knows? Or maybe he was thinking about how he’d played that last scene in ‘Giant’, second guessing how well he’d acted as a drunk, and falling over the banquet table.”
“You know, the legend is that he actually was drunk.”
“Well, I always thought he’d overacted that scene. Maybe that’s why.”
“Maybe.” Then pointing up the road, “There’s a monument down the road a little way that a Japanese fan had made up years ago. We might as well go look at it. It should have been built here, not way over there, but at least it’s more than a bunch of scrap stuff left by the roadside.”
“Your choice, James. It’s your trip and your dream.”
“Yeah, might as well check it out, now that we’ve ridden over three hundred miles through boring countryside to get here. What a shitty place to die.”
“Too fast to live, too young to die . . . .” Jim whispered, his voice trailing off.
“What was that? Wasn’t that an Eagles song?”
“Yeah, James Dean, James Dean . . . .”
The monument near a roadside cafe wasn’t the answer to Jim’s quest either. It was a strange, abstract, square metal sculpture surrounding a tree that lacked any significance either could imagine. Dean’s name, and dates of birth and death, in block lettering had been attached to the sculpture—and that was it. The thing was in the wrong place, and the meaning of its design, if any, was a mystery.
“Must have meant something to the guy that had it made, but probably no one else,” Penny volunteered.
“Well, at least someone took the initiative and spent a little money to do something special. Why didn’t Warner Brothers do something? With the money they made from his films, you’d think they would have. But they didn’t want him driving race cars, so maybe it was a ‘tough luck, dude, you got what we warned you about,’ response?”
Sarcasm filling her voice, Penny said, “But it didn’t happen in a race! Jesus, who knows? Hollywood greed? They’re all money-grubbing lawyers with no souls.”
“Yeah, and there’s no glory to be had in building a memorial out here in no-where land. It’s all about eyeballs and butts-in-seats for those types,” Jim said, shaking his head.
“I don’t think this has turned out the way you hoped. Why don’t we go over to Paso Robles to get something to eat and check into our motel room?”
Our room! I like that, Jim thought, looking forward to having dinner with Penny—and whatever the night would bring.
“Maybe you were expecting too much,” Penny suggested as they finished breakfast and drank the last of their coffees.
With a sly smile, Jim said, “No . . . last night exceeded my hopes and dreams—”
Blushing, she cut him off, and said, “I’m not talking about that, silly. I meant the Dean memorial!”
“Oh, that. That whole thing was just to get you on the road with me, and then to make you feel sorry for me, and then to—”
“Cut it out. I know you don’t mean that. And I wouldn’t sleep with a guy because I’m feeling sorry for him. I don’t have the time of day for ‘sorry’ acts,” she said, using air quotes. “And I’m starting to like you.”
“Starting! What happens after you decide you like me? But I’m happy to hear that; I’ve been there since we took that ride to Idyllwild. I was just putting you on a little, you know.”
Ignoring his humor, Penny changed the subject, “Has anyone ever told you that you look a little like Kris Kristofferson? Kinda scruffy, but rugged and cool?”
“You mean like a lot of bikers? Goes with the spirit, I guess. You should know the last woman who said that ended up moving in and living with me.”
“Uh-oh, I always hated being the follow-up act. What happened, if you don’t mind my asking? I mean, it doesn’t seem that you’re attached to anyone these days.”
“Annie and I drifted apart. I tried to keep it together, but when I couldn’t get her to join me in San Diego, it was pretty much over.” After a long silence with neither saying a word as they uncomfortably stared into their empty coffee cups, Jim said, “Annie’s part of my life is over. She died in a freeway accident up in Silicon Valley.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take this conversation to a place like that.”
“It’s okay, I wanted to talk about it . . . and I want you to know I’m not some creepy old, lost, ex-hippie, biker dude who’s lost his one and only true love.”
“I don’t think that about you, Jim. You look wonderful, like you’re in the prime of life. A little age, maybe, but wise with it. I’m no spring chicken myself.”
“Coulda fooled me, Penny Lane.”
“I’m liking you more all the time, Mr. Jim Schmidt.”
“I’m glad you came over to my ranch that day. Someone like you has been missing from my life for far too long.” He reached across the table to take her hand, saying, “Let’s head back. How do you want to ride home; back the way we came, or down the coastal highway and through L.A.?”
“The route you picked to bring us up here wasn’t too bad since we avoided the whole L.A. mess. But going down the PCH to Thousand Oaks is a nice ride, and then we can go east on the 210 to I-15, and down to San Diego from there. I hate the thought of going through mid-day, Sunday L.A. traffic on the 5 or 405 on a motorcycle. Jesus, it’s a disaster!
“Okay, I like how you think. Let’s do it that way.” And I love this woman!
Eight - Raided
The cabin had been trashed. Doors were unlocked, drawers spilled onto the floor, furnishings moved haphazardly around the rooms, and closets emptied. The wicked deodorizer bottle lay shattered on the floor, knocked off the kitchen sink.
“Shit, Jim! Look at this place! It’s been raided and searched.” She broke into tears and stormed around the cabin in disbelief.
“Okay, stay calm. Let’s just take our time and do a quick inventory to see if anything is missing. And don’t touch anything. We don’t want to mess up any fingerprints or evidence that might have been left.”
“Okay, I’ll try to keep my cool. But I’m not sure I want to report this, if I’m not missing anything. Mack can do that!”
“I don’t understand that, but let’s check things out and then we can talk about what to do next.”
With Penny leading, they looked through each room, cabinet by cabinet, drawer by drawer, locating Penny’s personal belongings. Nothing seemed to be missing. Nothing belonging to Penny, anyway.
“My stuff is here. I only had a suitcase full of clothes and some cosmetics I brought along, and a couple of bags of groceries I brought in. But I can’t be sure of the stuff that belongs to the cabin since I’ve only been here a few days and didn’t memorize each piece.” Then, with ironical disgust, she added, “I don’t see anything obvious. I mean, look, the sink and kitchen stuff, and the sofa are all still here . . . . What the fuck would I know? And furthermore, I don’t care!”
“So, if they found what they were looking for, it’s something you weren’t aware of.”
“I don’t want to call the police on this, Jim.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not my place and I don’t want to get into a discussion of who the owner is, why I’ve been staying here, and answering a bunch of questions I don’t have answers for.”
“But that’s not a big deal. Your friend wanted you to use it.”
“My friend is in jail.”
“Jail! Mack?”
“Yes, Mack.”
“What for?’
“I don’t know. I’m nervous about it and I’m afraid of getting pulled into something I don’t want to be involved in.”
“No kidding!”
Penny told Jim the entire story of the job offer, Mack’s frequent absences, and his call from jail. She finished by saying she’d insisted to Mack that she would only continue with the job and the cabin for a week or two if things weren’t cleared up.
“And he said it was all a misunderstanding that his lawyer could deal with.”
“That’s what they all say,” Jim responded.
“I’m going to get out of here—now. I don’t like what’s happening and want to pack my things to go back to my apartment today.”
“Wait. How do you know this doesn’t have something to do with you? Maybe they came to get you because of whatever it is that Mack is in trouble over. Or maybe this cabin holds a secret people are after and they think you have it, or know about it.”
“God, I know. That’s been in the back of my mind.”
“Look, I am not allowing you to get deeper into something that could be dangerous for you. Your Mustang has been parked up here the entire time, so it’s possible they know who you are and where you live. Come to my place and stay with me until
we get an idea of what’s happening and figure out what to do about it.”
“Could I? Yes . . . yes, I want to do that.”
“Okay, let’s put the Harley back in the storage room, lock the place up and leave. But we don’t want to put all this stuff back in place, or touch anything. We’ll leave everything as is, but use paper towels whenever we have to touch anything.”
“Why?”
“You want to get as far away from whatever is going on with this and Mack as possible. In fact, we should take some of those Clorox wipes and wipe everything down that we’ve touched.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“You don’t know what position Mack will take when he finds out about this. Will he shield you, or will he try to dump it on you? If there is no trace of you having been here, it’ll be your word against his. He has a credibility problem because he’s in jail for something serious and your word will be stronger than his. Believe me, we don’t want to have been here unless we decide to say we’ve been here. We may want to be able to claim we know nothing about this.”
“I’m not sure I understand that, but I think I like the idea. There’s no harm in that, is there?”
“Well, it is destruction of evidence if there’s an investigation. But it would have to be proven that we’d done it. The raiders might have wiped the place down it as far as anyone could know. So, I’m in favor of erasing all of our traces. We can leave the things we haven’t touched as-is, so only the raiders’ prints will remain.”
“But I don’t know what I’ve touched over the days I’ve stayed here. It might be almost everything.”
“All we can do is the best we can. We’ll wipe all the door and cabinet handles, furniture armrests, and the kind of things you’re most likely to have touched. As for all the stuff that has been moved around, we’ll leave alone, so the last, clearest prints should be the raiders’. We want most of the prints to be the raiders’ prints. If there are a few of yours, it shouldn’t be significant—unless you’ve been fingerprinted. Have you ever been fingerprinted?”
Starvation Mountain Page 4
