The Most Dangerous Time

by David LaGraff

  Chapter 13

  Rickie awakened from her nap in the garden to find herself ravenous. Accordingly, Judy made a refueling run up the street to the open air pedestrian mall on Third Street and returned with sufficient grub to re-energize a soccer team. The Sunday afternoon sun was weakening, having fallen behind the hotel, leaving long, cool shadows over the house and garden.

  "Dr. Black's office is in Sherman Oaks at the corner of Sepulveda and Ventura," Rickie said. "She wants to see me at 9 o'clock tomorrow. Also, she reminded me I agreed to take a three week old kitten off her hands. She'll have it waiting for me in her office."

  "I'll drive you over," Judy said, "but I can't put the cat in my Voyager because of my allergies."

  "How will we pick up the cat?"

  "We'll think of something. I hope it's accustomed to living outdoors, because that's all I can offer it here. It'll have plenty of company. The alley behind Shutters is crawling with them. We'll have to leave her in my potting shed until we make sure she's got all her shots."

  "The real problem I have right now is that I need my clothes and personal effects. I can't live in the most famous beach city in the country without clothes, I a certainly cannot continue to hang out in a borrowed bathrobe. Must I go see a shrink for the first time with no lipstick or deodorant? What if she thinks I'm crazy? Judy can you go get my things? Hershey won't be there; he's going to be busy with his weekend night shooting schedule."

  "I'm going over to get your things right after we finish dinner," Judy said. "I'll slip in and out and he'll never be the wiser."

  Rickie, wrapped in a heavy robe and comfortably ensconced in the tiny living room, held court from the patched leather easy chair in front of the TV with the sound off, wolfing away on her second bacon cheeseburger, slurping through a straw a thick chocolate shake between bites, while half-watching.

  "Judy I've been thinking. Maybe it isn't safe for you to go over to my place alone. What if Hershey comes back and finds you moving my things?"

  "What if he does? What's he going to do about it? I have my pepper spray. If he gets out of line, I'll melt his eyeballs."

  Rickie pondered this. An image of Hirschfeld, held at bay by Judy, seemed surreal. Hirschfeld would be in full red-faced fluster, glowering at Judy, who'd be laden with sweaters, pants, tote bags, and her small red key chain canister of pepper spray. Would the confrontation end with the two of them yelling like savages, the conversation terminated by Hirschfeld's pealing howls as he received a full-face shot of the stuff?

  "It's not worth it," Rickie said. "I'll simply have to re-outfit myself some other way. Maybe we can drive over to Nordy's in the morning. I'll simply have to max out my Platinum Visa."

  "This is a fine pickle. No. We're not going to Nordy's. I'm going over to get your stuff. Hirschfeld is not going to control this trip."

  "I'm sorry. It's a very strange situation to find oneself in, to say the least."

  "What a long, strange trip it's been," Judy sang. "I'll never understand how someone as beautiful as you could suffer at the hands of such a man as Hirschfeld. With your Audrey Hepburn good looks, you should be married to Spencer Tracy instead, having a storybook romance."

  "Spencer Tracy? He couldn't tell the difference between a woman and a monkey. Do you not remember him spouting all that crap about evolution in Inherit The Wind? At least give me Rock Hudson; gay or not, I'd take him."

  "As would we all." The room was growing darker, and Judy got up to turn on the lights. "Oh wow," she said, as she passed in front of the window. "There's a stretch limo at the curb. It's Jesse Edwin and Shank."

  In spite of the painful effort it took to rise from her chair, Rickie got up and went to the window and was presented with the sight of Jesse Edwin supervising the retrieving of a guitar case from the trunk of a black stretch Lincoln limo, the limo driver smartly attired in white shirt and black tie, while Shank stood aft of this business, talking with the heavy-duty female security guard, removing something from his pocket and showing it to her. Rickie wondered how Shank mixed so fluidly with whoever he came into contact with. Whatever he was saying to the guard seemed to produce a certain amount of genuine friendliness from the normally professionally stoic woman.

  "Jesse Edwin's sponsor, Shank, is really weird," Judy said.

  "Weird doesn't describe it," Rickie said. "Weird doesn't cover people who flash fifty grand in bully's faces and threaten them with wholesale mayhem in elevators."

  "I wonder exactly who he is,” Judy said.

  "We stayed up talking most of the night," Rickie said. "I'm still not sure."

  "He's not bad-looking in a sort of wasted Marlboro man sort of way," Judy replied. "Angular, but perhaps could be made to cuddle. Apparently rich as sin. I wonder if he's available. How's my hair?"

  "He's an old, burned-out alcoholic," Rickie snapped. "Don't even think about it."

  "Rickie? Rickie? Don't tell me!"

  "Blast you, Judy," Rickie said, fuming.

  "Oh, I can't believe it. This guy spent eighteen hours with you in your hospital room. Something passed between you, didn't it?"

  "I was on drugs and in extreme distress. He rescued me from Hershey. Apparently a few stray hormones were wafting around the room, that's all."

  "The man looks great in the Lauren suit," Judy said, flipping on the porch light and opening the door to greet Jesse Edwin, and appraise the trailing figure of Shank, whose long-jawed face radiated with kindness. Over Shank's shoulder, Judy caught Rickie's eye and silently and exaggeratedly mouthed a large "Wow".

  "We'll skip the normal entryway amenities," Judy said. "You guys don't have to gawk at my living room and tell me how attractive it is. I already know it looks hideous. I own the place free and clear. Me and the termites, that is. If the roof doesn't fall in and if you guys haven't eaten, there's a bag of burgers and steak fries in the kitchen and--" here Judy paused only a split second, quickly assessing what kind of liquid refreshments to offer two alcoholics. "There's plenty of Cokes in the fridge," she said, recovering herself.

  "You got any booze?" Shank said.

  "Are you kidding, or what?"

  "I'm kidding. Is there coffee?"

  "I'll put on a fresh pot," Judy replied, brushing herself closely past him, an action Shank made no attempt to avoid, duly noted with irritation by Rickie.

  Shank and Jesse Edwin efficiently made themselves at home at the tiny kitchen table and attacked a couple of the big greasy burgers and heavy, slabby fries in a manner that suggested idle chit chat, for the moment, best be delayed. At the exact point when the last bite of the first burger had been taken, and fresh coffee poured, Rickie could stand it no longer. "What's with the limo? You guys getting married or something?"

  Jesse Edwin looked up. "It's Shank's car. Shank can't drive. Can you believe it? He's the only man in L.A. who can't drive."

  "It's true," Shank said, delicately dabbing at his lips with a paper napkin. "I'm probably the only person in this town who cannot operate a motor vehicle."

  "Is that an alky thing?" Rickie said, and instantly regretted making the statement from the way Shank's face clouded over briefly before recovering its composure, the composure not quite at the level it had been before the statement.

  "It's a personal decision I made a few years back," Shank said. "One of these days I'll tell you all about it."

  Shank's darkened expression wrenched at Rickie. What was behind his decision not to drive? She tried in vain to read his mind behind the decent, intelligent face, but she could read only pain, and a sheltering of bitter thoughts.

  What did you expect of him, she thought. The man's an alcoholic. God only knows why he doesn't drive. He probably T-boned a school bus or something.

  Alcoholic. The word was totally inappropriate both for her inner and outer assessment of the man sitting before her. She searched for a better word and gave up. Labels were of no use here. The man ran
hot and cold, as though he had an inner flaw which switched the electricity on and off. When it was on, she felt the fire. When it was off, she felt shut out, silenced. She laughed, a harsh dry sound she instantly regretted making. She was outgunned emotionally, unable to defend herself against the onslaught of confusing feelings about everything going on around her. Her son's brave new self, fortified by something he referred to as God, Shank's mercurial moods, Judy's self-sacrificing compassion was too much. She longed to return to normal, but understood normal was a place she'd probably never find again.

  "We need to establish the ground rules here," Rickie said. "I want both of you men to put away the pitying stares once and for all. I had an unpleasant thing happen to me, but as you can both see, I have survived. I'm going to continue, not only to survive, but to grow stronger. Only an hour ago, I made an appointment with a shrink. I've only eaten two cheeseburgers. I've even given some thought to coming with you guys sometime to one of your little meetings. So let's quit worrying about poor little Rickie. She's going to be fine."

  The words came out slightly acid, and Rickie felt weak beneath her statement of bravado, so much so, she returned to her chair, drawing her robe tightly around her. "I lied," she said. "The truth is, I'm scared and I feel like crap. I need you guys to help me not be so scared."

  Jesse Edwin stood up and unpacked his guitar. It was a good one, a vintage Martin 12-string acoustic, a classic model. After a few moments spent tuning up, he began to play. And play brilliantly, his fingers pulling from the strings a series of richly-vibed arpeggios. Was it Handel? Mozart? Something he made up himself? It was music. Music with the power to invoke deeply buried dreams from the interior lives of its hearers, who left their workaday world behind to travel Jesse Edwin's crystal roadway to a higher sphere. After a time, the last chord diminished in the air and Rickie was returned to her former world, which now, in the silence, felt like a pile of cold ashes.

  "I'll never forget this moment," Judy said.

  "I don't know whether or not to cry or jump up and shout," Shank said. "Thanks, Jesse Edwin."

  Rickie smothered her face in a tissue. "Don't anybody look at me for a moment. I'm about to turn into a complete mess."

  "More coffee?" Jesse Edwin said, busying himself with pouring and serving, too modest to take any more compliments.

  "Shank?" Judy said, "I've got to run an errand in Beverly Hills tonight, and I wonder if you could take me."

  She's already moving in on him, Rickie thought, and checked herself. It was too absurd, and too soon, to be giving sway to those kinds of feelings.

  "Sure thing," he said. "Where to?"

  "Rickie's house. We need to pick up her clothes and personal items. Don't worry about Hirschfeld being there, because he probably won't be. In any event, I'm taking my pepper spray. It's the most concentrated form there is, over 15 million to 1. I sprayed it into a pot of chili one time. It ruined the whole pot. Think what it would do to Hirschfeld's face."

  "I'd love to find out, but I'm glad for his sake Hirschfeld won't be there," Shank said. "Rickie, is it all right if I go with Judy?"

  Good, she thought. He's keeping the tie with me. It wasn't all in my head. "Go ahead, Shank. Judy, don't forget to get my shampoo from the shower, and my entire Arden Green Tea collection from the dresser."

  "Mom," Jesse Edwin said. "I've got a problem."

  Rickie peeked out over her tissue. "What is it, son?"

  "Maybe now's not the time," he said. "I'll wait until these guys leave."

  "These guys are your family. Why not tell all of us?"

  "I'm chickening out. I'll tell you later."

  Shank spoke up. "Jesse Edwin hasn't been entirely straight with you, Rickie. He's told you he's been sharing an apartment in Van Nuys with a friend. The truth is, he's homeless. He's been sleeping in the basement of Our Lady of Grace church over on Ventura and Whiteoak."

  "Homeless? What about your job at the bakery in Northridge?" Rickie said. "Surely you're making enough to at least rent a room."

  "I don't have a job. I went there for a day, but I couldn't handle it. They had me working with all these ex-cons, scraping burnt butter off trays all morning and when it came time for my break, I left and never went back. I only told you I was working there so you wouldn't worry about me. The truth is I've been too messed up emotionally to do anything but go to meetings."

  "What have you been eating?"

  "The church feeds me. I've been doing a little painting for Father Larry, the Parish priest."

  "Shank? With all your money, you couldn't help?"

  "He has to make it on his own."

  "Come here, Jesse Edwin," Rickie said. For a long time, she held on to him, saying nothing, but wanting to say everything and not knowing how to say it.

  Judy spoke first. "You can check out of the church basement. You've got a home now, Jesse Edwin. Right here. For as long as you need it."

  "I can't, Aunt Judy. You heard Shank. I have to make it on my own. Besides, your house is too small for the three of us. I'd only be in the way."

  "You're staying here. Don't argue. You've been having a rough time. Your mother is like family to me. This is what families do. We're the safety net."

  "I have a tent," Jesse Edwin said. "I can set up in your backyard, if it's all right."

  "A tent?"

  "I'll be okay. My sleeping bag's rated for 10 degrees below zero."

  "Why not?" Judy said. "A tent in the backyard it is, then. This is the beach, after all."

  "Thanks, Judy. I'll find a way to pay you back."

  "You can start paying me back tomorrow. I've got lots of work for you right here."

  "Anything."

  "The first thing you can do tomorrow is fix this broken window. Hirschfeld was supposed to do it, but of course nothing's happening."

  "When you're done with that, I've got a little job for you," Rickie interjected.

  "What's that, Mom?"

  "A pick up and delivery."

  "Sure thing, Mom. What am I picking up?"

  "It's not a what, it's really a who."

  "Who?"

  "A kitten in Sherman Oaks."