"See you soon, too, " the acne-afflicted student said as she went out the door.
It was then that Barbie noticed the scruffy-looking Mexican boy sitting on the sofa. She frowned a little and felt a prick of anxiety. He certainly didn't look like one of the students, but then young people could be so slovenly these days. He also seemed a little young for college, but the older Barbie got, the younger other people looked.
"May I help you?" she said in a professional tone she had learned on the job and knew never to use at home because it annoyed Lennie.
"Si, " he shyly replied, barely glancing up from the magazine.
"I only speak English, I'm sorry, " she admitted. "You do speak English, don't you?"
Her anxiety intensified. If he didn't speak English, how could he attend the University of Richmond? And if he wasn't a student, what in the world was he doing here at the Baptist Campus Ministry? Barbie wished Reverend Justice were here today. He hadn't called to say where he was or when he would be in, and the secretary was out with a cold, so Barbie was all by herself in the small building.
"Si, " Cruz replied. "I speak a little English, but not so good. "
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No. No appointment. I need help bad. "
Barbie sat on the other end of the sofa, keeping her distance and realizing it would not be a good idea to take this poorly groomed Mexican boy back to her private office and shut the door.
"Tell me about yourself, " Barbie used the line she always began sessions with, and wished Reverend Justice would walk through the door right this minute.
But the reverend had been busy visiting that poor beaten-up truck driver in the hospital, and there were many demands for Reverend Justice to give talks and make appearances on local television and radio shows, Barbie reminded herself. She shouldn't be so selfish as to wish he would tear himself away from truly needy people just because Barbie was a little ill at ease.
"I don't got no money, " Cruz told her as his criminal intentions began to weaken. "I not from here and got no money to get home. I just in town on a job, you know? And all these things happen. I scared. "
"Well, there's nothing to be scared of at the Campus Ministry, " Barbie said with conviction and a touch of pride. "We're here to help people and you couldn't be in a safer place. "
"Si, that good. I no felt safe and am very hungry. " Cruz blinked back tears.
He also needed to shave the black fuzz off his upper lip, and his hair needed cutting, Barbie couldn't help noticing, and his fingernails were dirty and he had a tattoo on the back of his right hand. This was a child who had endured a hard life. Poor thing.
"How did you find us?" she wondered out loud.
"I see the sign and think maybe you family of Gustavo and Sabina or maybe Carla. "
This made no sense to Barbie.
"So I come in. " Cruz shrugged. "You know a way I can get home?"
"That depends on how you got here to begin with, " Barbie said, confused. "And where might home be?"
Cruz wasn't terribly bright, but he realized he had New York plates on the car he had ditched, and the cops were looking for a Hispanic from New York. So maybe it was best to leave New York out of the equation at the moment.
"I just bet you're from Florida, " Barbie said. "A lot of Spanish people live down there. My husband took me to the Everglades on our second anniversary. You know, he'd just always wanted a ride in one of those airboats, and then we spent two nights in Miami Beach in one of the few hotels that wasn't boarded up back then, because I just love Jackie Gleason. You ever watch The Honeymooners?"
Cruz frowned and scratched his head.
"Well, I was just thinking, maybe you could take the bus to Florida. The Campus Ministry has a small discretionary fund we can draw on if a student needs to get home and can't afford it. "
Cruz fell into a depression. He didn't know anybody in Florida.
"Maybe I go to New York and look for a job, " he then said, hoping she wouldn't assume he was from New York and therefore the Hispanic serial killer who was running around committing hate crimes.
"That's a mighty big city, " Barbie pointed out. "And it's very hard to find jobs. But I tell you what I'm going to do. How about I give you some money so you can get a bus ticket and something to eat?"
Something whispered to Barbie that perhaps it wasn't wise to talk about money or imply there might be a discretionary fund inside the Campus Ministry. But she was a bit of a pushover when it came to pitiful people, and although this boy had perfect skin, he was clearly miserable and unlucky. So maybe God was telling her to give him a little miracle, and she thought of her rainbow and felt happy inside.
"Oh gracias, gracias, thank you, " Cruz said with massive relief. "God bless you. You a nice lady. You save my life and I never forget. "
Barbie was fortified by his gratitude and felt better about things. She got up from the sofa.
"But first I've got to clear this with Reverend Justice--if I can find him, " she added. "You may have heard of him. He's very famous these days. I just hope I can get hold of him. He seems to have vanished off the face of the planet. You wait right here. "
"I be right here, " Cruz promised.
Barbie went back to her office and locked the door. She called the secretary, who didn't sound very sick when she answered the phone.
"You got any idea where Reverend Justice is?" Barbie asked as misgivings and fears began to gather inside her again, rainbow or not.
How could she be so sure that Hispanic boy was nice? What if he wasn't?
"You tried him at home?" the secretary asked in an unfriendly way, as if Barbie were a nuisance.
"No one answers, " Barbie said in frustration as someone began knocking on her door.
She wished she could call Hooter and get her opinion on giving the Hispanic boy money, but as far as Barbie knew, there were no telephones in the tollbooths.
"Anybody here?" a loud female called out as she knocked harder.
Barbie hurried to see who it was.
"I'm sorry, " she nervously shouted through the shut door. "Who is it and do you have an appointment?"
"You take walk-ins? I must talk to somebody or I very well may drown myself in the lake. I'm not a Baptist, but it won't matter if I take my own life and people, especially those who hate Baptists, find out you wouldn't talk to me, " the person said in tears.
Regina Crimm's path had led to Barbie Fogg and Cruz Morales in the most extraordinary way, and the timing could not have been better.
Trooper Macovich had been driving through downtown to return the failed Officer Reggie to the mansion, when he got a call over his radio that an old Grand Prix with New York plates had been discovered in the parking lot of the Country Club of Virginia. It was believed that the car had been dumped very recently because an old, beat-up vehicle that did not have Virginia tags would draw immediate attention at the club, and in fact had. A woman on her way to play indoor tennis spotted the Grand Prix while she was parking her Volvo and didn't hesitate to call 911.
"Sorry, " Macovich said to Regina as he hit his siren and lights. "We gotta check something out. It may be that Hispanic everybody looking for. "
"That's fine. I promise I won't tell, " Regina said, cheered by the flashing lights and whelping siren, and excited by the knowledge that it was against regulations for
EPU to respond to a dangerous call while protecting the First Family.
"Far as I concerned, you still an intern right this minute, " Macovich said as he sped west on Broad Street, weaving in and out of traffic. "So you get some big idea about snitching on me like you already done before when I beat you fair and square in pool, I gonna deny it and say you was officially riding along. "
"It's Papa who got mad at you, " Regina retorted.
"Huh! 'Cause you such a sore loser and malingered me to him!" Macovich roared through a yellow light.
Motorists were pulling off on the shoulder, certain they were about to ge
t a ticket for something. Traffic had slowed to ten miles an hour as other drivers cowered in terror and prayed they hadn't driven over a stripe on the street and their speed hadn't been checked by some helicopter and now a trooper was after them.
"The governor didn't see me beat you, " Macovich irritably went on as he did his best to cut through the barely moving cars. "So you had to snitch, and then suddenly I have to hope he don't remember me. "
"He doesn't remember you, " Regina reminded him. "He says you all look alike, and he doesn't mean it in a way that's not nice. But Papa can't see most people, and sometimes he calls Constance Faith and the other way around, especially if they haven't put on makeup and are still in their robes. "
"Would you get outta my way?" Macovich yelled at the cars he was trying to pass.
Within minutes, he was turning off Three Chopt Road into a long driveway that led to the stately country club with its elegant clubhouse, tennis and paddleball courts, and sprawling golf course. CCV, as the Country Club of Virginia was called, was in a very wealthy neighborhood where many of the homes were as big as the governor's mansion. Macovich was in an anxious sweat as he drove slowly over a speed bump. People around here thought all black folks looked alike, too, and poor vision had nothing to do with it.
"I tell you, nothing I hate more than coming over here, " he muttered.
"What for? Papa's been a member ever since he was governor the first time. I practically grew up in this club. " Regina scanned for the Grand Prix, hoping she would spot it first.
"Yeah. You a member as long as it's a family membership, but the day come you try to get in on your own when your daddy no longer the guv, then you see what happen, " Macovich said, spotting the car near the indoor tennis facility. "Folk like you and me don't get 'cepted into places like this, in case you ain't figured that out yet. And most other guv'ners turn down the membership even if it's free, 'cause it go against their conscious. "
This was news to Regina. "Why wouldn't I get in on my own? I'm white and from an old Virginia family. "
"You still a minority. "
Macovich radioed that he had found the Grand Prix and requested a backup as he lit a cigarette. He got out and checked the car, noting that the key was still in the ignition, and when he cranked the engine, he discovered that the gas tank was on empty. It also did not escape his attention that there were no personal effects inside the vehicle or the trunk. He got back on the radio.
"Subject appears to have abandoned the vehicle, " he informed another trooper who was minutes away. "I'm going to check the area and let you work out getting the vehicle to the city tow lot. "
"Ten-four. "
"What do you mean I'm a minority?" Regina resumed arguing with Macovich. "How dare you insult me like that. "
"Oh, I get it. " Macovich got mad inside his cloud of smoke. "It ain't no insult for me to be a minority, but it is if you're one. Well, let me tell you something, Miss Majority. Every time you daddy ain't in office and you don't have EPU following you around, it's well known you hang out at Babe's playing pool. "
"Not every time. Just the last two times. I was too young before that. And so what?"
"So when was the last time you saw a male in that joint, huh? We all know why you go in there. Maybe you come out with some nice field-hockey player with a shaved head and Dingo boots, or maybe you ride off on a Harley with some other sweet thing you meet in there at the bar. Or maybe you pick up a woman doctor or lawyer who live in the closet until it's cocktail hour and they can hide in some booth inside a nice dark place where they can meet other Majorities. Woooo! You live some protected life, all right--acting like you the last one to know. "
Regina was crushed. She always assumed that when her father was out of office and not in the news, she could live her life as she wished. All the times she had frequented the women's bar in the Carytown Shopping Center, it had never occurred to her that people were watching and gossiping. Mention of the field-hockey player, in particular, conjured up terribly painful memories of yet one more heartbreaking failed romance. Regina had been desperately in love with D. D., a percussionist for the city symphony orchestra who had waited until Regina's birthday to announce that D. D. was having an affair with a tuba player and never wanted to see or talk to Regina again.
"I hate my life, " Regina told Macovich as he turned off into the nearby University of Richmond grounds so he could check with the campus police and see if they might have noticed anybody unusual in the area.
"I can't take this anymore. " Regina was more upset than Macovich had ever seen her. "You're mean. Everybody's mean to me. A person can only endure so much cruelty and humiliation. "
Macovich pulled into a small parking lot by the lake so he could turn around and head the other way.
"I'm so unhappy, I might just blow up! One of these days I think I'm just going to explode, and they'll find just a little burned spot on the floor!" Regina threatened as she noticed a white minivan with a rainbow bumper sticker parked in front of a small brick building that said BAPTIST CAMPUS MINISTRY out front. "Stop the car!" she demanded. "Stop it now or I'll hold my breath until I die and then you'll have a lot of explaining to do. They won't be able to find out what killed me, and you'll be blamed. "
Macovich slammed on the brakes and parked by the minivan as Regina imagined her neglected, unloved body inside a pouch at the morgue. Dr. Scarpetta would spend an inordinate amount of time on Regina and finally admit that there was no apparent cause of death.
"It may be that she died of a broken heart, " the famous medical examiner would tell Regina's important parents.
Or better yet, Regina would figure out a way to burn herself up like the fisherman, and then Andy would spend the rest of his life investigating her mysterious, tragic, and untimely death. He would be sleepless, frustrated, and compelled by guilt to somehow figure out exactly what had happened to her. He would think of her morning, noon, and night and wish he had been nicer to her and had not kicked her out of the very morgue where he would visit her after it was too late.
Regina walked past the minivan with its rainbow bumper sticker, heading to the clinic, which she assumed specialized in counseling gay Baptists. How unfair to be born a gay Baptist, and she was surprised that the University of Richmond had enough gay Baptist students to merit a clinic for them. She climbed the front steps and walked into the lobby, where what she assumed was a gay Baptist Mexican was sitting on the couch. She selfconsciously averted her puffy, tear-stained face from his curious eyes as she wiped her nose again and another wave of grief racked her massive body. Andy would be sorry, oh yes, he would. He would be devastated when he rushed to the morgue and begged to say good-bye to his former partner, Officer Reggie.
"Please let me have just a moment alone with her in the viewing room, " he would ask Dr. Scarpetta. "This is all my fault. I was afraid to show her how much I really cared and needed her, and now it's come to this! The stress of her life and my unkindness toward her were too much and she burst into flames!"
Perhaps it was a touch of clairvoyance on Regina's part, but even as she was fantasizing about spontaneous human combustion, Andy was speeding back to headquarters to post a Trooper Truth essay on that very subject.
THE TRUTH ABOUT SPONTANEOUS HUMAN COMBUSTION
by Trooper Truth
Although there is no evidence that people literally blow up without some mechanical or chemical assistance, it is a fact that living human beings can burn up in the absence of any external fire. I make this distinction because many of you, my readers, mistakenly believe that combust means to blow up, when it doesn't mean that at all. Now, it is true that combustion can refer to agitation or tumult, but for the purposes of this essay, when I mention combust, combustion, or combusting, I am talking about something or someone burning up.
For centuries spontaneous human combustion (SHC) has been written about but not always persuasively. Novelists like Melville and Dickens, for example, use SHC to demonstrate that what g
oes around comes around, and if you are evil and unfair to others, then it is poetic justice if you burst into flames one day while you're minding your own selfish business in your castle or house.
What may perhaps surprise the reader is that there is a scientific explanation for SHC. Experiments on dead human bodies and body parts donated to The Body Farm in Knoxville, Tennessee, have shown it is possible, given certain conditions, that if a body is ignited, it can continue to burn until it is almost completely cremated. Normally, it takes one to three and a half hours for a body to be reduced to bits of bone and ash, and this only occurs in an extremely hot fire or a crematorium oven.
So I have to admit that when forensic anthropologist Dr. Bill Bass first mentioned to me that one of his graduate students had written her master's thesis on SHC, I thought he was joking.
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