“Okay,” she said, reading from her cellphone as we walked around, “Fort Ord was a United States Army post on Monterey Bay, which closed and was abandoned in 1994. My great-aunt was stationed here in the forties, during World War II.” Chris looked up from her phone. “She told me that the Women's Army Corps, or WACs as they were called, faced a lot of prejudice, and not just from the male soldiers, but from society as well. She joined up, thinking she could help her country, and was ridiculed as immoral. Can you imagine?”
“Thank God she did,” I said.
“Yeah, it freed up a lot of the men for combat,” Chris explained.
“Yes, but it also advanced women’s equality by leaps and bounds,” I added. “Without courageous women like your great-aunt, we’d all still be at home, barefoot and pregnant, and can you imagine me pregnant?” I started to shake just thinking about it.
“It’s okay, Melinda,” Chris said, rubbing my arm. “I’ll carry that load for us.”
“Oh, God, I love you so much!”
We spent the night in a little motel just on the edge of Monterey, nothing fancy, just a place to canoodle and sleep. The next morning, we spent some time exploring the town. It had grown considerably since the last time I breezed through. One of the places we visited was the Monterey Bay Aquarium, a place where an adult could feel ten years old again. I was partial to the Giant Pacific Octopus, which Chris said gave her the creeps. She preferred the tufted puffins and adorable sea otters. At one point, we even walked out on a deck to look out at Monterey Bay. We saw a wild sea otter as he lay on his back, swaying with the waves and eating his lunch. Most likely it was clams or mussels from the ocean floor. Chris said it was a very charming sight to see. We did a little more exploring, which included a drive through Cannery Row, the subject of the book of the same name by John Steinbeck. After lunch, we continued our drive down Highway One.
We passed through Pacific Grove and stopped a time or two after that for more picture taking. Then we arrived at Seventeen Mile Drive and began that very scenic route. We skipped the Pebble Beach Golf Course and Carmel By-the-Sea. We followed close to the shoreline and found a couple of really beautiful spots, especially at Cypress Point. We pulled over and I took some shots of my beautiful wife in front of some dramatic-looking rock formations with the ocean crashing over them. Of course, I jumped the fence and ventured out to the rocks, calling for Chris to follow me. After a few yells of “you’re crazy” she followed me. Just like in one of those movies, we kissed hard and hungrily as a spray of water doused us. We didn’t care.
We continued our drive down the coast, talking, laughing, and holding hands as we admired the beauty of the rugged coastline, with its crashing waves over the big rugged rocks, causing huge white water sprays. We passed through the Big Sur area and then we came around a curve and spotted a big white lighthouse. I had to stop and take pictures, though I had done so many times before. But this time, my bride would be in the picture, so it would be like seeing it for the first time, through her beautiful eyes.
Mini-Honeymoon — Chris and Melinda
What a wonderful time Melinda and I were having. We dubbed it as our mini-honeymoon, cruising down the coastline without a care in the world. Well, almost without a care. Melinda looked so handsome in her black jeans and gray Berkeley T-shirt. I was wearing a white pair of slacks with a sailor tee that was solid blue on top, with red horizontal strips around the waist. I looked like a fashionable sailor on shore leave with her girlfriend.
One of the strangest sights we saw along the road was a barbeque rib shack. It was literally a shack, with a large backyard grill on wheels sitting in front of it. Of course we had to stop and investigate. A big, burly man, wearing a stained apron with an Arkansas Razorback on it, was sloshing barbeque sauce over the skewered chicken on a stick.
“Howdy,” he said with a thicker Southern drawl than I had.
“Hey, there,” I said back. “What’s a Razorback fan doing way over here in California?”
“Making ends meet,” he laughed and pointed at the meat on the grill. “Y’all want a stick?”
“Sure, how much?” Melinda asked, pulling a twenty from her jeans pocket.
“That’ll be five bucks each,” he said with a straight face.
“Five dollars for a piece of chicken on a stick?” I asked, shaking my head. “That’s highway robbery.”
“Well, in all fairness, Chris, we are next to a highway,” Melinda wisecracked.
“It’s not the chicken that you’re buying,” he said, “It’s my secret sauce.”
He tore off a tiny piece with his fork and handed it to me. Pulling it off the fork, I took a bite and handed the rest of it to Melinda. It was simply the best sauce I had ever tasted, and living in Memphis, I’ve tasted a lot. Melinda had that same satisfied look she gets after her orgasm. Well, similar to it at least.
“Listen, I recently took up barbequing, but nothing as fantastic as this,” Melinda said. “I’ll give you a thousand dollars for your secret sauce recipe.”
“That’s right nice of you, ma’am, but my sauce recipe ain’t for sale.”
“Two thousand dollars,” Melinda countered.
The man shook his head and crossed his arms.
“Honey, he’s not going to change his mind, no matter what you offer,” I said.
“Five thousand?” Melinda upped the ante.
“It could be five hundred thousand, and I’m still not going to give it to you,” he assured her. “It’s been handed down through generations of my family, and we have never revealed the recipe.”
“Okay, how about this then,” Melinda said. “Sell me a couple of jars of the stuff now, and I’ll give you some money to ship a box of it to Memphis, where we live.”
“Hell, lady, you can just eat at my brother’s restaurant in Memphis. It’s called The King’s BBQ, and it’s on—”
“Son of a bitch. Is your brother named Robert Kline?” Melinda asked.
“Yeah, that’s him. How did you know that?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s a long, arduous story,” I said, not wishing to remember the aching feet and greasy skin I suffered through when I worked there. Melinda had also worked there for a few weeks, and like me, she hated it. For her, it was an experiment, but for me it was my livelihood. Thank God those days were over with.
“You should give your brother some tips,” Melinda said. “Because I’ve tasted his sauce and it’s not nearly as good as yours.”
After she learned who his brother was, Melinda lost interest in the sauce, and paid the man for the chicken sample. Then we jumped back in the car and headed out again.
Melinda was cruising along when we noticed a large group of people at one of the lookout points. We weren’t interested in fighting a crowd, so she kept going. Then something caught her eye and she suddenly exclaimed that we needed to turn back. I didn't know what she was so excited about, but she made a big U-turn, right in an open stretch of the highway, and all she would say was that it would be worth it. We got back to the lookout point and pulled into the parking lot, just as that group of people were leaving.
As we got up to the railing along the cliff edge, there was an area that we could see down to the beach. It was filled with Elephant Seals. It was late afternoon and the sun was beginning to come down, but we climbed over the railing and down to the beach. We kept our distance from the seals because they could be dangerous if threatened. There was one seal stretched out in the sand, not moving, seemingly not breathing either. The other seals were a stone’s throw away, as we say in the South, and seemed to not want to be around the seal. My eyes welled up with tears at how sad it was. Then suddenly it snorted and its blubbery stomach moved. I was so happy that the seal was alive that I jumped into Melinda’s arms. The unexpected closeness aroused us both, and we kissed to the sounds of Elephant Seals farting. At least that’s what they sounded like to me. Melinda wanted to hide under a large rock formation that formed a cliff on the beach, and
make love, but I just couldn’t get past the noises the seals were making. Once she slowed down long enough to listen, she agreed with me, and we climbed back up to the parking lot, and jumped in the car. Suddenly we were in a hurry to find a hotel for the night.
We stayed at a five-star hotel in LA, and I made it up to Melinda. I realized, as I watched my wife climax that the look of satisfaction on her face was so much sweeter than when she ate the sauce. You can’t put a price on that.
The next morning, I got a call from my mother, who was frantic about the party. It seems she couldn’t find a certain item she wanted that would be the shining jewel in her crown. So I told her that we were in LA and would go look for it. Melinda knew LA well, and knew how to avoid the traffic clogs. It still took us a while, but we found what Mom wanted in a mega Hollywood memorabilia store. We picked up a few other things just for the fun of it, like an exact replica of the neon sign in Casablanca. Rick’s Café Américain. At first Melinda wanted to hang it over our bed, but I convinced her that the light would keep us awake, besides, it would look so much better in her game room.
We had planned to stay another day, but Mom called again and I knew she was starting to stress under the pressure. She always got that way when it got close to time for the event. But this time, it was our event, Melinda’s and mine, so we decided to cut the trip short, and fly back to help Mom. We rented a private jet and flew back to San Francisco. It only took an hour to fly back, but even so, I fell asleep on the plane, snuggled up in Melinda’s lap. I was exhausted but so happy. I hated to see the mini-honeymoon end though, because now we had to deal with John.
Chapter Eighteen
Family Movie Night — Norma, George, Felicia, Chris and Melinda
The masquerade ball was only a few days away, and I couldn’t decide who to go as. Chris, bless her heart, is going as me, so it would be too egotistical to go as myself, and frankly, I didn’t want to. It’s bad enough that Felicia borrowed my Oscar statue to use as a decoration, not that anyone would know whose name that is on it. I just didn’t want to be one of those old Hollywood actresses who think that they still shine in the spotlight. Unlike some actresses I’ve seen in the tabloids, I could never dress as the beautiful Marilyn Monroe. My wrinkles would be too frightening to see when the short, white dress blew up in the wind. Melinda is going as Katharine Hepburn, which is perfect because she reminds me of a young Hepburn. George hasn’t made up his mind yet either, but he will most likely dress as Rock Hudson or Cary Grant. He has the shoulders for it.
“Good morning, Norma, Felicia,” George said as he walked in. “What’s for breakfast?”
“I’m having my old ladies’ breakfast of orange juice and bran flakes. I’ve been a little irregular lately.” I waited to see if George would flinch.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Maybe I should have some bran flakes also,” he joked, never missing a beat.
“George, have you decided what you’re going to wear to the party yet?” Felicia asked.
“Well, I was thinking about going as Rock Hudson, but now I’m leaning more toward Errol Flynn from one of his swashbuckling movies.”
“Oh, yes,” I agreed. “You’d look dashing as a swashbuckler.”
“What about you, Norma? Have you decided yet?”
“I’m leaning toward Charlie Chaplin as the hobo. I already walk like him, so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to look like him, too.”
“You would be absolutely adorable as Charlie Chaplin,” Felicia said.
“And with the mask on, no one would know it was me in a man’s suit with a bowler hat on. So, don’t tell the girls. I’d like to see if they can figure out that it’s me behind the mask.”
“Sure, but won’t they know that it’s you when they see you coming out of your bedroom?” George asked.
“No, they won’t because they will be leaving early with me to make last-minute arrangements,” Felicia interjected.
“And I’ll come along a tad bit later,” I added.
George nodded. “Well then, may I escort you to the ball, Norma?”
“That would be divine,” I said, smiling.
“What would be divine?” Chris asked as she walked into the dining room, looking fresh and bubbly.
Melinda came dragging in after her, yawning and scratching her butt. As crass as some people might find that, I find it quite endearing. It’s a sign of complete trust for those around her. Of course, once she realized that Felicia was in the room, her whole demeanor changed and she was suddenly wide awake. It was quite comical to watch the transformation.
“My costume for the ball,” George answered.
“Who did you decide to go as, George?” Melinda asked, peeking over her shoulder at Felicia.
“The Gay Cavalier, of course,” he replied.
“Oh, dear, that was my idea also,” I teased, with a wink to George.
“I must still be half asleep,” Melinda said, guzzling her soda. “Did you just say you wanted to go as the Cisco Kid?”
Shocked, I said, “More importantly, dear, you know who the Cisco Kid was?”
“Oh, yeah, Norma, I was something of an insomniac as a teenager, and when I was forced to be at home, I would sit up at night watching old black and white movies.”
“Oh, I use to do that, too,” Chris exclaimed. “We should do that together, sometime.”
“I’d love that. I’ll pop some popcorn,” Melinda said.
“Is this a private affair or could any of us join your movie night?” I asked.
“That’s a great idea, Norma,” Chris declared. “We’ll make it a weekly thing, a family night in.”
“Yeah, like when we watched your first sci-fi movie, Norma.”
“It sounds like fun,” I said. “The family night in, that is, not watching my films.”
“Oh, no, the first movie we rent will be your Oscar winning film, Mr. Washburne Takes a Wife,” Melinda said.
“We don’t have to rent it, Melinda. I just bought that movie yesterday,” Chris said. “I was at the mall looking for costume jewelry that would go with your gown from the movie, Norma, and found the movie instead. I was going to ask if you wanted to watch it with me.”
“Well…”
“Great. I’ll go make some popcorn,” Melinda said, jumping up and leaving the room.
“But we’re eating breakfast,” I countered.
“I’ll get the sodas,” George said, jumping up and following Melinda.
“And I’ll get the movie,” Chris said, following the other two.
“I’ll just sit here and enjoy my breakfast,” Felicia stated.
Shaking my head, I said to myself, “I don’t think I was ever that young.”
Prepping — Melinda and Chris
Finally, the day of the party had arrived. I was so anxious to get this over with and get on with my life, which is surprising, because I used to relish getting revenge on someone who had hurt me. And that was just for mental pain, not physical, like drugging me, and making me do things that almost mortally wounded my marriage. Strike that, the bastard must pay.
Surprisingly, my father had agreed to attend our little soirée. He hadn’t been very forthcoming when I questioned him on the phone about the blackmail payoff from my college days. I’m hoping to corner him in person and get him to tell me what’s really going on, because I know there’s more to it than what he’s telling me. Not sinister stuff, like John was hiding, but confusing stuff, like why he didn’t have John arrested for blackmail. My father is not usually so magnanimous toward people who blackmail us. So, to coin a phrase, I am going to kill two sharks with one stone; my father and John.
The costume shop gave me a list of names and what each person would be wearing. There were twenty-five college students who had picked up a costume, and I had invited Charlotte, Konani, and Baylee-Ann to the event, plus my father’s butler, Charles. But he declined once he learned that my father would be there. John’s name wasn’t on the list, which meant that he eit
her decided not to come, or to use his own costume. My father insisted on bringing his bodyguard with him, because of John. I told him that the John I remembered was a pantywaist, afraid of his own shadow.
I finally received the latest blackmail photos in the mail, but I haven’t told anyone about them yet. Grainy copies of me supposedly making love to Tori on the pool table. It was surreal, looking at those pictures and not remembering any of it. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear that Tori went any further than showing her boobs, but I could see what Chris saw when she walked in on us. I don’t blame her for flying home to her parents. If it had been the opposite, and I had walked in on her with Tori, I would have flown home to Vegas and gotten totally wasted. The note attached to the photographs said that they wanted one million dollars or the photos would go to the newspapers. To me that was laughable. If I weren’t married, I wouldn’t even give it a second thought. But I am, and I have my wife, and a new reputation to protect. If things go according to plan tonight, John will be exposed for the douchebag that he is, and those pictures will disappear into the shredder bin. I have to admit though, that I have a twinge of sympathy for John’s wife. Maybe I could set her up with a good job and help her get on with her life.
As I was dressing in my costume — a covert cloth, men’s suit, a replica of one that Katharine Hepburn liked to wear — Chris walked out of the bathroom and over to the closet, where the dress she was wearing tonight, hung from the door. Her hair was gathered in a bun, just as Norma wore hers in the movie.
“Oh, wow,” she exclaimed, looking at me. “You look fantastic in that suit. That blue really brings out the sparkle in your eyes,” she said, and then unwrapped the towel she was wearing and threw it on the chair.
“I don’t think it’s the suit that’s doing that,” I said, looking at my wife standing there wearing only a pair of rose-colored panties.
Separating Riches Page 21
