"I'm shocked," he muttered. "It's… it could be inviting the wrong type of person to assist you."
Her amusement lessened. "That's what is considered a judgment in this time, Jack. To believe that, to say that a woman can't be dressed any way she chooses and still be safe, is unfair and opinionated. Can't you see how thinking like that—" She left off the impending speech when she glimpsed another set of headlights in the distance. Besides, who was she to lecture this man? He'd just pushed a sensitive button within her.
"Okay, keep your fingers crossed for luck," she said, heading back to the road.
"Be careful," he called out to her.
Nodding, Mairie took a deep breath and held out her arm, her thumb pointing north.
It took five more cars to pass before a van slowed. She followed the speed of the headlights until they passed her and the van stopped about twenty-five feet up the road.
"Okay," she yelled to Jack, and raced back to get him.
They limped toward the van and the side door slid open. Music blared from speakers, music so loud that even Mairie's ears were assaulted with the barrage of sound.
Jerry Garcia's stunning guitar solo from "Touch of Gray" seemed to leave the van and envelop them. Jack stood frozen in shock and even to Mairie the amount of sound after so much silence was disorienting.
"Hey, there's two of ya. Didn't see the big guy."
The words were barely audible over the music.
Mairie tried to respond, yet her senses were on overload. Suddenly, the music lowered, and her blood pressure along with it. "Ah… thanks for stopping," she muttered. "We're going into Vegas. Can you give us a lift? We've been out here a long time."
There was a pause, and then the voice said, "Okay, but we got to make a stop first. We can take you about fifteen miles and then you can hop another ride or wait until we drop off our equipment."
Fifteen miles closer to her brother, Mairie thought.
"Great," she managed to say, while pulling Jack forward. His body was moving as though she were leading him to his slaughter.
Stepping up into the van, she pushed some wrappers off the back seat and reached out to help Jack. "Come on," she urged. "Get in and sit next to me."
She was glad that the overhead light didn't seem to work. Fortunately, it hid the sheer terror on Jack's face as he followed her instructions. Once seated next to her, the van door slid closed and Jack jumped at the sound. "Relax," she whispered in his ear, pulling him back against the seat.
The van took off and Jack immediately held his body rigid against the motion.
"How long you two been out here?" the driver asked.
"Since one in the afternoon," Mairie answered, still trying to reassure Jack by squeezing his hand and stroking his arm.
"No shit! Wow!" another young male voice blurted.
"Give 'em some water," the driver instructed.
The passenger opened the glove compartment and a tiny light illuminated the front of the van. Two young men, dressed in jeans, tie-dyed and printed T-shirts, and bandanas around their long hair looked around the floor of the front seat. The younger one, the passenger, pushed his hair behind his ear, grabbed something, and handed it back to her with a smile. His ear was pierced.
"Here," he said, offering her a plastic bottle of water. "You two look wiped."
"Thank you," Mairie said, as the light was turned off. She unscrewed the cap and handed it to Jack.
"Drink," she ordered, trying to bring him out of his frozen posture.
"Who… what are they?" he mumbled, just as the music resumed its pulsating volume.
Leaning sideways, she stretched her neck toward his ear and said, "Deadheads."
"What?"
"Deadheads!" her voice shouted over the music, only to have the song end so abruptly that her word rang out in the moment of silence.
The passenger turned around and stared at her. The driver looked at her from the rearview mirror. Both suddenly smiled.
"Us, too…" the driver said.
The passenger brought up his two fingers and grinned. "Peace."
Mairie smiled back and raised her own hand. "Peace," she repeated, and almost fell on the floor in laughter when she saw Jack raise his hand.
He held the bottle of water in his left hand and made the symbol of peace with his right. He looked at her, as if trying to judge her reaction. "This is what you did when I first met you," he said in his defense. "I thought it was a greeting."
"It is," she said, and allowed the laughter.
"Is it about cattle? Why are they referring to themselves as dead cattle? You too are a dead-head, Mairie?"
"It's not about cows!" Laughing even more, she realized this was going to be more difficult than she had originally expected. The thought became sobering as Jack looked to the driver and his friend.
"What do they mean then? Their heads look quite alive."
She bit her bottom lip to distract her from the waves of laughter that demanded release. "It's just a name, a term, used to label people who follow around this group that's playing."
Hearing the opening bars of "Truckin'," an old favorite song, Mairie managed to say, "I guess I am a deadhead, Jack. Never knew it until now. If the Grateful Dead can get me to Las Vegas, if they can pull off this one… then I'll be a dedicated deadhead from here on."
"Where is this deadhead sound coming from?"
"The radio. I think it's a tape."
"What is a radio? That machine with lights on it?"
"Yes. Well, it's… like a telegraph. It picks up signals and sends them back. But this is a tape. A… a recording, like a phonograph record. Do you know what I mean?"
He didn't answer. He brought the bottle finally to his lips, as if he were attempting to assimilate her words.
She watched him drink and then hand her the bottle. Taking a few mouthfuls, she swirled the refreshing liquid over her tongue and moaned with pleasure. She couldn't wait to get to her room at the Luxor. As soon as she saw Bryan and explained everything, she was going to pamper herself royally. And Jack, too… she thought, seeing him steel himself against the assault of sound. He deserved to see that the future could also be quite nice.
Starting to hum along with the music, Mairie looked out the window to the night. At least if she gave herself over to the music she wouldn't keep picturing Jack Delaney soaking in a Jacuzzi. That long wet hair over his shoulders. His eyes shining with pleasure. Sheesh…
"Truckin'…" she began singing along with the kids in the front seat. Anything to direct her brain away from that mental path. He was like an innocent now. Like a child. She had to remember that. Plus, just because she loved him didn't mean it was returned. His actions indicated a little more than like, but far away from love yet.
He did jump, though, and she knew it had been for her. That had to have taken love. Some kind of love.
She couldn't think of it now. Now she had to focus on getting to Las Vegas and finding her brother. Patience. She had to have patience with Jack now.
He was the time-traveler.
Still, the driving beat was stirring up some hormonal reaction that she couldn't deny. She'd just have to remember that she couldn't take advantage of someone with a child's view of his new world. Until he was comfortable in this time, she owed him that respect.
What if he never got comfortable? Suddenly, she was submerged in dejection.
The world, his world, was going to expand with every new experience. It might take him years, maybe even his whole life. How long could she pretend to be just good friends, partners, copilots of this adventure, when every nerve in her body came alive with yearning whenever she looked into his eyes?
It didn't help that he grabbed her arm in that moment, as a cyclist on a Harley passed them.
"A motorcycle," she informed him, patting his forearm like a reassuring teacher.
She had to remember that. She was his teacher now.
His teacher.
Yeah, right…
Hard to believe, after everything she had gone through, mentally, emotionally, and physically, that she was capable of being aroused. But she was… she wanted to hold him, reassure him, stroke him, calm him, love him…
Love.
It was one powerful force.
They stopped about twenty minutes later at a roadside bar and restaurant. Her stomach growled as she and Jack got out of the van. Their peaceful benefactors wished them well and left them on the side of the road as they pulled around the back of the building.
Now what, Mairie thought, as she looked at the few trucks parked on the side of the road. How would they find another ride?
"What is this, Mairie?" Jack asked, standing straighter and wincing. "An outpost?"
She chuckled. "I guess you would see it that way. We've just traveled about fifteen miles in the van, and it's around five more miles to the city. Yeah, this is an outpost. Let's see if we can clean up and get something to drink. I don't suppose you have any money on you?"
"Money…?" He started to reach into his pockets and Mairie grabbed his arm.
"Come on," she said, pulling this wide-eyed man with her to the entrance. "We can at least use the bathrooms. There's running water in them."
She led him through the large glass door into the lobby and Jack stopped short.
"What?" She turned to see his face.
He was staring at a slot machine, the video screen inviting anyone with promises of Lady Luck… "Jackpot worth $8000."
Tugging his arm, she said, "It's a game, Jack. Gambling. That's what Las Vegas is known for in this time. Come on."
He didn't budge. "You said you would explain, if I asked. You said that while we were waiting for the dead-heads. I know what gambling is, but I've never seen anything like this."
She exhaled and shook her head. "Okay. People put money into it, pull the arm or push the buttons and the machine eats your dollar. It's a shot in the dark at winning money, Jack. They don't pay out. Come on, let's get cleaned up."
Leading him by the hand through the small casino, with great relief, she spied the sign, "Restrooms." The pleasant thought of using a modern bathroom raced through her mind. How she had taken for granted simple conveniences. They were luxuries. "Here they are, Jack. You go in here, the ladies room is down the hall. I'll be right back."
Jack stood, hesitantly, before the wide door. Suddenly, it drew open from the inside. A burly man with suspenders and a strange, brightly colored hat stopped short and looked at Jack blocking the way.
"You gonna come in or just stand there, buddy?"
"Ahh, excuse me… yes. Yes, sir. I'll think I'll come in."
"Another wacko. World's full of them," the man mumbled, as he slightly pushed Jack aside.
The room was bright and cool. There was no foul odor. There was the sound of water rushing. Another man walked in and around Jack to several large white bowls hung on the wall. Jack nonchalantly attempted to watch as the man unzipped his pants and began to relieve himself.
"What are you starin' at, ya pervert?" The man blurted out.
Jack quickly turned away to find himself facing a huge mirror on the wall. For the first time in a long while he viewed himself as large as life. He was accustomed to shaving in a small, cracked and discolored pocket mirror he kept in his saddlebag. He'd seen himself in picture windows on city streets in Washington, but never with this clarity.
His mind went briefly to his life in the desert. Bathing in a waterfall. Drinking from a clear stream. Everything he needed in life was provided by Mother Earth. Now he felt entombed in a cold and clinical prison. In fact, it did remind him of the hospital in Washington where he was taken when he had influenza as a boy.
The dirt on his face and hands brought him out of his memory. He looked like he'd been through the war again, he thought, as he continued staring at his image. Jack Delaney, you are not in a dream, he reminded himself. This is real. Unfortunately, very real.
Beneath the mirror were the washbasins. The man who had grunted at Jack while using the white bowl on the wall now stood beside him at another basin. Jack watched from the corner of his eye. The man pulled a handle under a small box on the wall and a pink liquid fell into his hand. He then pushed a button above what appeared to be a spigot and water began flowing from it. He washed his hands until the water automatically stopped, then turned to dry them with paper he pulled out of a metal cabinet in the wall. The man crumpled and threw the paper into a metal barrel, then turned toward Jack.
"You gotta real problem, fella. Better watch yourself before somebody breaks your face." Leaving Jack with the warning, he pulled the door open, banging it hard against the wall, and stormed out.
"I've got a problem, all right," Jack mumbled to himself. "I'm lost."
Looking down at the basin, Jack figured he'd better get accustomed to it. He went to the wall with the bowls on it and relieved himself. He returned to the basin and washed his hands just as the other fellow had. He splashed his face until the flow of water stopped. The coolness felt soothing as he closed his eyes. Opening them to his own reflection, he saw a worried image of himself.
But for their attire, people in the future didn't look much different, he thought. They were men the same as he was. He just might make it through this, however long it lasted, he reassured himself. A grimace of pain came over his face as he slowly stood upright. He was reminded of the landing he made with Mairie on the ground, and he took a deep breath while drying his face on a rough paper towel. He could really use a bath, he thought, taking one final look at himself in the mirror.
The truth, the reality, of his situation finally hit him.
What if it was for the rest of his life? What if there was no way to get him back?
It was a possibility. A strong possibility.
Turning to the door, he pulled it open.
He was inundated in a sea of people talking, laughing, smoking, drinking, and eating. The aroma of cooking food wafted by. He was starving. Mairie must also be hungry, he thought. There was only one way, one chance. Something within him alerted his instincts and he maneuvered through the casino and back toward the entrance.
Standing in front of the slot machine, he pulled the silver dollar from his dirty pants pocket.
"Jack! What took you so long back there?" Mairie grabbed his arm. "I thought I'd lost you."
"It took me a while to experience all the outhouse improvements, that's all." He raised the coin to the slot.
"What are you doing?"
Grabbing him again, she almost spun him around. "Where did you get that?"
He looked at the coin in his hand. "You asked me to buy them from Virginia. Don't you remember?"
"I wanted one, for Fenton. You bought them both?"
"I thought you wanted them both. Virginia gave me a hard time of it, too."
"That's our only cash right now until I get back to the hotel, Jack. You can't throw it away in a slot machine." She closed his hand tightly around the coin.
He looked deeply into her eyes. "Mairie, this entire adventure has been a gamble. My jumping with you from the mountain was a chance I took and it brought me here, into the future with you. We need to eat. Maybe this silver dollar is supposed to be another chance for us. So much has happened. I swear, something is going to break if I bend anymore."
He watched the light fade in her eyes. "Do what you need to do, it's your dollar," she said, turning away. "I'm going to find us another ride into town."
He watched her walk stiffly toward the bar. Hope. He must draw upon it again because he believed she was his gift. At this moment, his angry and hungry gift.
The coin left his fingers slowly and slid down into the machine. He grasped the handle with his right hand. Pulling down deliberately, his eyes were mesmerized by the flashing colors and sounds emanating from the metal and glass box. Almost in embarrassment he stepped back from the ostentatious contraption. Pictures spun around, then began to flip and bounce into place.
&
nbsp; "Bar—bar—bar—bar."
What sounded like a firehouse bell started ringing as a brilliant light flashed around and around on top of the box. Jack panicked and stood still.
"Winner, winner, winner," the display repeated. A small crowd of people gathered around him.
"Don't just stand there, take it! Take it, ya fool!" An old woman yelled at Jack. "Get your ticket! You're a winner! You hit the jackpot!"
Jack looked at the small white paper the machine spit out. He ripped it off and turned, looking puzzled at the woman.
"Don't you know anything, darlin'? Take the ticket to the cashier's box over there and they'll give you your money! You're the grand prize winner… eight thousand dollars!"
A smile began to overtake his face. He turned to look for Mairie, who was pushing her way through the crowd of people toward him.
Strangers slapped him on the back with congratulations. The old woman coyly smiled at him and remarked, "If I was twenty years younger, son, I'd ask you to marry me! You an actor or something?"
"Jack! What's happened? You won?"
"This lady says I hit the jackpot, but all I got was this paper."
"Oh my gawd!" Mairie screamed, as she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him. "I can't believe you, Jack Delaney. You are absolutely amazing!"
He almost fell over with her enthusiasm.
"Oh, oh… I'm sorry," she giggled, pulling back and straightening his shirt. "I was so excited I forgot all about your back. Geez, and I almost took that money away from you!"
He pulled her close to him again and laughed, as the truth hit him. He had just won eight thousand dollars! A fortune! The future suddenly wasn't as threatening. "Things are definitely looking better."
Her giggle increased and he saw in her eyes the light return with such intensity that he felt stunned, as though in the middle of a group of yelling and happy people, he and Mairie were standing alone. For just a brief moment the sound around him lessened. The clarity of the crowd dimmed. Nothing seemed as real as the space around him and the woman he was holding. His chest welled with emotion and he pulled her tighter.
Anywhere You Are Page 19
