Bike Week Blues (5 page)

Ruthie came to my rescue. “Depression is a
sure sign of a Vatta imbalance. How about a warm sesame oil
massage?” she said brightly. “Nothing better to realign your
humors
.”

“You want to
patta
my
vatta
?”
Penny Sue quipped.

She was coming around.

Ruthie shook her head peevishly. “Yes, Ms.
Smarty Pants. Go put on your swimsuit, and I’ll warm the oil.”

The laughing and sesame massage lifted Penny
Sue’s spirits considerably, but it was Deputy Ted Moore’s arrival
for dinner that really fine-tuned her
humors
. Simply,
testosterone worked on Penny Sue like Prozac.

When Ted arrived, I met him at the door and
explained the situation. “Let me see what I can do.”

Well, the boy’s good. A few superlatives
about her new motorcycle and, next thing I knew, Penny Sue was
hugging his waist and they were riding off into the sunset. I have
to admit that I felt a tinge of jealousy. I’d never hugged Ted’s
waist. We’d both been so adamant about merely being friends, we
went through an awkward avoidance rite whenever we found ourselves
within two feet of each other.

Ruthie read my mind. “You know, Penny Sue’s
just the touchy, feely type.” She nodded in the direction they’d
gone. “It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, it might be time for you
to loosen up a little.”

“What do you mean, loosen up?”

“Just a thought,” she said, heading down the
hall to the great room. “Me thinks ye doth protest too much about
Deputy Ted.”

“You, of all people, know I’m not ready for
a relationship, and neither is he. We’re buddies and we both like
it that way.”

“Whatever you say. Come on, let’s catch the
news.”

The hour-long show was almost over before
Penny Sue and Ted returned. As time drew on, the tinge of jealously
I’d felt before grew to a trickle.

Penny Sue bounced down the hall grinning
from ear to ear. “Look what I have,” she exclaimed, waving a
videocassette with huge red lips on the cover. “
Rocky
Horror!
Ted and I thought—”

Ted and I
. The trickle expanded to a
good-sized stream.

“—we could get take-out from the steakhouse
and watch the movie. Won’t that be fun?” She put her hands on her
hips and started hopping around, mimicking the Time Warp dance
number from the movie. A few hours ago she was in the pits of
depression, and I felt fine. Now, she was back to her old self, and
I felt like hell. A strange turn of events, if you ask me.

My eyes must have shot darts, because Penny
Sue abruptly stopped the antics. “Ted, take Leigh for a ride on my
bike.” She handed me her helmet. “Come on, it’s fun. We’ll order
dinner while you’re gone.”

“The bike handles like a dream, and it’s a
beautiful night.” Ted flashed his movie star smile.

My jealousy evaporated. “Okay,” I said,
strangely excited by the prospect of clinching his waist.

“Wait, what do you want to eat?” Penny Sue
was back in charge. All was well.

I opted for chicken and shrimp, while Ted
ordered prime rib.

“And dessert, we must have dessert,” Penny
Sue decreed.

“Chocolate’s good for depression,” Ruthie
commented.

Penny Sue winked at me. “And, an
aphrodisiac,” she said under her breath. “What’s that super, duper
chocolate thing?”

“Chocolate Avalanche,” Ruthie replied,
nearly swooning.

“Right,” Penny Sue said, adding that to the
list with a big star. “We’ll get a couple of them.”

* * *

This was the first time I’d ever ridden on a
motorcycle. Until that night, I’d viewed bikes as loud, dangerous,
and borderline uncouth. My opinion changed immediately. First,
there was something positively sexual about the low rumble and
rhythmic vibration of the motorcycle. (Better than having a
vibrating cell phone in your pocket!) Add to that the musty scent
of Ted’s cologne, the muscular warmth of his back, and the feeling
of oneness as we leaned into the curves, and I was close to heaven.
But, the icing on the cake was the feeling of elation and freedom I
got from the wind in my face—the same sensation I felt as a kid,
when I coasted my bike down the long, winding hill in front of my
parent’s house. I snuggled closer to Ted as we took the swooping
curve where A1A paralleled the beach. Maybe Ruthie was right; I
should relax a little.

The food was waiting when we returned to the
condo. No time was wasted since our dinners were cooling fast and
re-warming steak seldom worked. As we caught our breath before
tackling dessert, Ted asked, “What are your plans for the week? I
assume you’ll hit some of the bike events.”

“Do you think it’s safe for the three of us
to attend without a male escort?” Ruthie asked nervously.

“Some of the places in Daytona can get a
little rough, but you’ll be fine if you stick to the beaten
path.”

“Bobby Barnes suggested we go to the Pub,” I
said.

Ted nodded. “The Pub, J.B.’s, the
restaurants on Flagler, even Main Street in Daytona—you’ll be fine
at any of them. In fact, I’ll probably be doing traffic duty at the
Pub most of the week.”

The Pub it is, I thought. I turned to
Ruthie. “Bike Week is world famous. We really should go to a few
events.”

Ruthie didn’t look particularly excited, but
didn’t get a chance to argue. Penny Sue started the tape for
The
Rocky Horror Picture Show
and began passing around the
desserts. The rest of the evening was a blur of food and frivolity,
which did everyone, especially Penny Sue, a world of good.

* * *

I awoke to
the smell of coffee which
summoned a memory so old, I’d never have guessed it was there. I
thought of Zack. When we were first married, before the kids, Zack
would make the morning coffee. An ambitious young lawyer in Parker,
Hanson, and Swindal, one of the most prestigious law firms in
Atlanta, he got up at five so he could beat his colleagues to work.
In those days there was intense competition between the associates,
each vying to rack up the most billable hours to insure they’d
receive a coveted partnership. Everyone tried to be the first to
arrive and the last to leave, which meant no one left while a
single partner was on the floor, after which, they still played a
silly cat and mouse game to see who could outlast whom. Thankfully,
by the third year, Zack and his close colleagues came to an
unspoken agreement that they’d all leave together. A darn good
thing, otherwise I’d never have seen my husband, and we certainly
wouldn’t have had children.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the
ceiling. All of that happened twenty-five years ago. Twenty-five
years, a quarter of a century. I suddenly felt very old.

Old. Hey, today was Ruthie’s birthday.
Finally, we were all the same age.

I snatched a cotton robe from the closet and
followed the scent of Colombian roast. Ruthie sat at the kitchen
counter reading the newspaper. The television, tuned to CNN, played
in the background. An insatiable news junkie, Ruthie was never out
of touch with world events. Which struck me as ironic, considering
her metaphysical leanings. As far as I could tell, most of the
woo-woo people avoided the media claiming, at best, it fostered
fear and wanton materialism. At worst, it was nothing but a
mouthpiece for a vast right wing—or left, depending on one’s
political philosophy—conspiracy.

I snuck up behind Ruthie and started to sing
softly. “Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you—”

A thunderous warble came from the hall.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEAR RUTHIE,” Penny Sue skipped into the great
room, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU-U-U. And man-n-ny mo-ore.” She was
wearing the red silk robe with a dragon embroidered on the back,
holding her cell phone, and grinning like a stereotypical Cheshire
cat. For a person who’d been in the pits of depression less than
twenty-four hours earlier, she’d made a remarkable recovery, I
thought.

“Thank you, thank you.” Ruthie ducked her
head modestly. “All good wishes are gratefully accepted.”

“You’re getting much more than wishes,”
Penny Sue said enthusiastically as she rounded the counter and
poured a cup of coffee. She smiled above the rim of her mug.
“You’re going to get the royal treatment.” She grinned at me. “In
fact, we’re all getting the royal treatment.”

“You sure are chipper this morning,” I
observed, filling my own mug.

“Of course, I’m here with my best friends.”
She motioned at the sun streaming through the sliding glass doors
that faced the ocean. “It’s a beautiful day,” she paused
dramatically ...

“And?” I prodded. I knew something was
up.

Penny Sue held up her cell phone, giggling
like a teenager. She punched in a few digits and a message began to
play. A man’s voice sounded, low and slow as if he were whispering.
“Penny Sue, I’m sorry I was so abrupt yesterday. I do care about
you and didn’t mean to hurt you. So much is going on. I need some
time. I’m going away for a few days; I’ll call when I get back.
You’re very special to me, Bun—” Her thumb hit the off button.

“Wait,” Ruthie said. “What was that last
part? I couldn’t quite make it out.”

I nudged Penny Sue with my elbow. “Yeah,
let’s hear that again.”

Penny Sue pursed her lips huffishly. “It’s
just a nickname.”

Ruthie arched a brow. “Did he say, butt? He
calls you Butt?”

That got her. Penny Sue drew up to her full
five-foot-eight stature. “Not butt—Bunny,” she said smugly. “As in
Honey Bunny.”

I gave a low whistle. “Honey Bunny? That is
serious.”

Ruthie nodded. “Like I said, it was all a
misunderstanding. Rich was probably acting tough in front of his
friends. You know how men are—have to play Mr. Macho all the time.
Besides, you don’t know who the guys were. He said they were
friends, but one of them could have been his wife’s brother or
cousin or something.”

It was good to see Penny Sue back to her
sassy self. I clicked my mug to hers. “I know you’re relieved. I’m
happy for you.”

“Yeah. Yesterday was completely out of
character for the Rich I know. It threw me for a loop. He’s not the
chest beating, macho type. Yet, all’s well that ends well.” She
opened the refrigerator. “Y’all want a bagel or some cereal?”

“Raisin bran,” I said quickly, still feeling
stuffed from the decadent chocolate desserts we’d eaten the night
before. Even miming the
Rocky Horror Picture Show’s
dance
numbers did little to work off the heavy dinners.

“What’s in the news today, Ruthie?” Penny
Sue asked as she poured three bowls of cereal.

“Weather for Bike Week is supposed to be
perfect. Record crowds are expected.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Last year was rained
out—a real bust.”

Ruthie flipped to the front page and scanned
the headlines. “An Atlas V rocket is scheduled to go next week.
They haven’t announced the launch time, because of the terrorist
threat. It’s taking up a military communications satellite.” She
looked up from the newspaper as Penny Sue slid Ruthie’s cereal onto
the counter. “Do you think we’ll be able to see it from here?”

“Sure, a perfect view from the beach,” Penny
Sue said between bites of cereal. “As the crow flies, Cape
Canaveral is only about 30 miles. I hope it’s a night launch. When
the shuttle goes at night, it’s like the sun coming up. You can’t
believe how it lights up the sky.”

“When will they announce the launch
time?”

“Twenty-four hours in advance.”

Penny Sue shook her head. “This terrorism
stuff is a real bummer. I hate to fly anymore, it’s such a
hassle.”

“Better safe than sorry,” I said.

Ruthie nodded. “A shipment of missiles and
ammunition was hijacked in North Carolina yesterday. The police
have no clues and speculate it could be anyone from Mafioso arms
dealers to American extremists to Al-Qaeda.”

“There are a lot of kooks in this world.
That’s why I carry a .38,” Penny Sue declared.

Yes, and you’re one of them, I thought
bleakly. Her last .38 got us in a passel of trouble, all because a
guy called her a bitch. I hoped she kept the darned gun in her
purse during this visit.

“Do you still have the Taser?” Ruthie asked
me.

“Oh, yeah, it’s in the linen closet.” A
cutting-edge prototype that Ruthie’s father sent us for protection,
the liquid Taser looked like a child’s super soaker squirt gun.
Only this booger was no beach toy. Unlike the models used by police
which shot barbed probes on wires, this gun used an electrified
saline solution capable of delivering a shock that knocked manly
men on their behinds. Simply put, this Taser had multiple shots, a
range of 25 feet, and could stun more than one person. And, the
good news, it was a completely defensive weapon that wouldn’t
seriously injure anyone unless, perhaps, they had a pacemaker. “I
received a shipment of electrolyte solution before you arrived.
Your dad obviously wanted to make sure you’d be safe.”

“Is the battery charged?” Penny Sue
asked.

“Yes, I charge it once a week. Even with the
new alarm system, I like having it around. It gives me a sense of
security. Ted thinks it’s a good idea, too.”

“Ted thinks—”

I cut Penny Sue off. “What else is in the
news, Ruthie?”

“There’s a feature article on Dolly Parton’s
theater in Orlando. You eat dinner while watching a rodeo.”

I grimaced. “That sounds a little stinky to
me. I mean, horses aren’t usually potty trained, are they?”

Penny Sue waved dismissively. “I’m sure
they’ve worked around that—deodorized dirt or something. Besides, I
like Dolly Parton. Her hair’s a little extreme, but I admire her
guts—she’s not afraid to be who she is.”

Ruthie chuckled. “You’ll love this, then.
The article quotes Dolly as saying, ‘It takes a lot of money to
look this cheap.’”