HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (7 page)

“She believes in clean bathrooms,” said
Larry.

December leaned across the table to Larry.
“So,” she whispered, “is it the lottery, den? Is dat da big pile of
money?”

A waiter approached the table, smiling at
Larry and December.

“Hello, I’m Ollie. I’ll be helping you
tonight,” he said.

December, as if Larry may not have been
aware another person had drawn near, let out two “shh” sounds and
quickly said, “Oh, hello... we’re waiting for someone... still need
a minute.”

The waiter, with a look on his face that
suggested recognition, stood frozen.

“You can go away now and bring three
coffees,” said December. When Ollie left, she leaned across the
table again and whispered. “So the lottery, huh?”

“Yeh,” said Larry. “I finally hit it.”

“You hit it?” said December, trying to hold
her voice down. “Like,
all the way,
hit it?”

“Yeh,” said Larry, with a slight laugh.
“Big…. Crazy big.”

“Oh, hunny,” said December. “So now you got
two girls and dis big pile of money... yeh baby.”

Ollie approached with three white mugs.

Lori approached the table and before she
could choose whether to sit with Larry or December, each got up for
their trips to the restroom, leaving Lori to choose her spot
freely. She sat and sipped at the one remaining black coffee on the
table. She moved the other two cups across the table and slid the
place settings so she had her side to herself.

“Was everything okay?” asked Ollie, as he
rang up Larry’s payment and gawked at December.

“Yeh, fine,” said Larry, tucking his VISA
card away. “Hey, can I use that pen again?” he pulled out his
folded lottery ticket and began to write his name on the back. The
pen hit a grease spot and left no ink on the section for Name.
Larry tried to put down a signature, but the pen made no more
marks, even when be drew invisible circles on the credit card
receipt. “Damn.” He refolded the ticket and put it with his VISA
card, re-snapping and re-zipping his wallet.

Outside, Lori handed the keys to Larry.

“Drive, Larry. I’m tired.”

“I’m... uh...,” said Larry. “I really
shouldn’t.” He handed back the keys.

“I’ll drive,” said December. “I like to
drive.”

Lori hesitated, but gave the keys to
December, who let out an “ooo yeh” squeal at the handoff. “Can I
have the back, Larry? I need sleep.”

“Can you?” said Larry. “It’s all yours.”

.

December Carrera drove with the intensity of
a race car driver, passing without hesitation and weaving through
the lines of cars and trucks plying their way north through the
night. She held her hands high on the wheel, giving Larry the
opportunity to periodically watch her breasts jiggle under the
loose hooded sweatshirt that otherwise effectively offered no real
sense of a body that she charged subscribers like Larry thirty
dollars a month to watch online.

“Dey call ‘em turn signals, bitch... use
‘em!” yelled December, as a car sped past on the right and cut
directly in front of the convertible. “Aww,” said December, to
Larry. “Must be hard to enjoy the show. Hold the wheel....” Not
diverting her eyes from the road, December swiftly pulled her
sweatshirt off, leaving her with only a purple satin underwire bra.
“It’s okay, hunny,” she said, as Larry nervously grasped the
steering wheel. “You can look at the girls.” December took the
wheel again. “Even gentlemen like to look.” Larry gazed downward in
the intervening long silence. “And you look at my face when we
talk.”

“I’m not a gentleman,” said Larry, openly
staring. “I’m not even nice, really.”

“Oh,” said December. “I’ve met plenty of
gentlemen who weren’t very nice.”

Larry broke his eyes away from Miss
Milkshakes’ chest and leaned his head back. “I’m just... some
g-u-y,” said Larry, “with not very much going on in my life.”

“I don’t believe dat,” said December,
revving the engine to motor past a Winnebago and quickly change
lanes in front of it. “Dis girl, she’s nice, and she likes you, so
you can’t just be some loser jerkwad.”

“I didn’t say I was a... a loser... jerk,”
said Larry.

“Jerkwad,” corrected December. “And now
you’re definitely not a loser jerkwad…. Yer Mister Money, hunny.”
December shifted to the left lane, motored past three sedans and
ducked back into the right lane.

“Yeh,” said Larry, with disbelief in his
voice. “It seems that way.”

“Is dis the first time you’ve had big money,
hunny?”

“Well,” said Larry, awkwardly, slowly, “my
family has money, but....”

“But what?” said December, passing an SUV
and returning to the right lane.

“I don’t like the money... or my family...
mostly my family,” he said.

“Did your family do crimes or something? Is
dat the people with the guns?”

“No,” said Larry. “It’s just my family has a
bunch of money and mostly are assholes about it.” Larry looked to
the darkness beyond the roadway. The car lurched ahead as December
sped past a big-rig. As she motored past the truck, she took her
foot off the gas pedal and slowed, so as not to pass a California
Highway Patrol cruiser in front of the truck. She stayed parallel
with the big-rig.

“How ‘bout you?” she asked. “How do you make
your money?”

“I don’t have a job, or anything,” said
Larry. He turned his face towards December, her body pulling his
eyes downward. “I’m kind of just a loser, I guess.”

“Do you have a girl?” December lifted her
hand to point with her thumb. “Is she your girl?”

“No,” said Larry. “We’ve always been just
friends.”

“No fucking?”

“No,” said Larry, quickly. “No... None of
that.”

“Ever?”

“Well… no, no,” he said. “Not ever.”

“It’s the kind of thing most people
remember,” said December. With the voice of a calculator tallying
numbers, she added, “Now you’ll have lots of women all over you,
going for lottery man.” She nosed the car forward and saw the CHP
cruiser. She fell back. “For a lot of people, the dollars, dat’s
all they see.”

“Yeh, I know,” said Larry, looking up to
December’s face, to the sculpted mountain of a nose rising from her
olive skin. “I grew up... money was all anyone cared about, except
my grandmother.”

“Did she grow up poor?”

“No, she’s had money her whole life,” said
Larry. “But somehow, money doesn’t matter to her. Family has always
been what makes her happy. And considering our family, that’s
saying something.” His eyes again fell, at a moment when the uneven
road made for swaying and bouncing that even in the darkness held
him in a hypnotic daze. “My God, you have an incredible body.”

“Dat’s a nice thing to say,” said December,
again, nosing the car and, not seeing the CHP cruiser, speeding up
to pass the big-rig and pull into the right lane ahead of the
truck. “Your gram’ma sounds nice.”

The cab of the convertible glowed red and
blue, as a cruiser came from behind and hugged up tight to the car.
Both cars slowed until they could safely make their way onto the
shoulder. Both cars stopped, as the long train of vehicles sped
past.

“Damn it,” said December. “You promise dis
isn’t stolen?”

“It’s not,” said Larry, patting his pocket.
“I have a note.”

From behind came yelling and then the
crackle of a loudspeaker. “Place your hands on the dash. Hands on
the dash!” Larry stopping fishing in his pocket and put both hands
in front of him, on the dashboard. December kept her hands high on
the steering wheel. A harsh, wide beam of light flooded the cab,
moving to both sets of hands, across Larry’s face and then
December’s. The light followed December’s face to her neck and, as
though with hesitation, moved to reveal curves and shadows one
typically wouldn’t expect.

“A note…,” said December. “Here we go.”

A knuckle lightly tapped the driver’s
window. December lifted one hand to crank the window down. “Hello,
officer,” said December.

“Sweet Jesus,” said the highway patrol
officer, after leaning in enough as to see December. He looked
across to Larry and back to Lori. He shined his flashlight to
Lori’s face, but she didn’t stir. “She okay?” Wagging the light so
it danced across Lori’s face produced no movement. “License and
registration please.”

Larry reached to open the glove compartment,
inches below his hands. The officer poked his head fully into the
cabin, speaking angrily to Larry. “Not you,” said the officer.
“Her.”

“I’m sorry, officer,” said December, “but my
license is in my bag in the back. I didn’t expect to drive, but she
got tired.” She pointed to Lori. “Must be because it’s so hot
tonight.”

“Registration and proof of insurance,
please.”

“I have a letter,” said Larry. “It
explains....”

“Sir, I said not you... her,” answered the
patrol officer. “Miss, what is your name”

“December Carrera.”

“December?” said the officer, as one would
pronounce the name of a new flower.

“And it’s not Miss Carrera; it’s Miss
December,” she added. “Hef said it’d confuse everyone if I was
Playmate in a different month.”

The officer seemed to have difficulty
speaking. “Hef?”

“Hugh… Hugh Hefner,” she said, in a
matter-of-fact tone. “He runs a magazine.”

The officer shined the light onto Larry.
“What’s this letter?”

“In my pocket, my front shirt pocket,” said
Larry. “My friend’s District Manager is loaning her the car for her
vacation from work.”

The officer shined the light at Lori, who
still did not flinch under the light.

“I thought the car was stolen, but it’s
not,” said December.

“Show me this letter,” the officer demanded
to Larry, following the movement of his hand with the beam of
light. Larry reached into his shirt pocket and produced a note and
a slip of paper giving proof that insurance was paid through the
end of the year. “Registration?” December leaned so she could reach
into the glove compartment. She pulled out the white, square DMV
envelope with the single sheet of paper inside, which she then
handed to the officer. “I’ll be right back.”

The officer headed back to his car with the
registration and proof of insurance.

“A note!” said December. “Like a cop is
gonna believe a note!”

The CHP officer walked to Larry’s side and
tapped the window. He kept his light aimed at December,
illuminating her entire upper body. “Sir, can see some
identification?” Larry hesitated and then spoke slowly. “I’m not
exercising... a privilege of the State for which I need
identification,” he said, unmoving.

“What did you say?” the officer demanded.
Larry repeated his statement and the flashlight swung so the beam
was directly on Larry’s face. After a moment, the light fell back
on December’s shoulders. “I guess that’s true.”

“I understand, officer, if you have to give
me a ticket,” said December. “You don’t want people getting hurt, I
know.”

“That’s right, miss,” said the officer, his
voice beginning to reveal the hypnotic power of light and
shadow.

“December....”

“Right... Miss December.”

“Just December.” She squared her shoulders
in the light.

“This time, I’m going to just give you a
warning....”

With a slight shimmy in her shoulders, the
light and shadows danced and she murmured agreeably. “Oh,
officer... I know everyone drives so fast.”

The officer handed back the papers and
quickly turned away.

.

“Harris Ranch should be coming up soon,”
said Larry. “I just saw the sign for it.”

December, again in her sweatshirt, spoke
flatly. “I know where we are. My family drove up and down this
Five. We moved a lot.” A long silence. “But we never ate at the
Harris Ranch, except to buy cantaloupe and pistachios at the farm
stand.” More silence. “Up and down.”

“Like migrants?”

“Part that,” said December, “and partly my
parents just didn’t know where they wanted to live. Sucked for me.
Never had friends. Teased for this weird name. But so what. Who’s
laughing now?”

“Do you wanna dig out your license when we
get to the hotel?”

“I don’t got a license,” said December.

“But you told the cop....”

“I don’t got no license. I’m a Dreamer,” she
said. “Dat’s why I like to drive, cuz I never get to.”
Downshifting, December exited and headed to the grand hacienda
glowing against the darkness. She slowly drew up to the hotel’s
main entry and parked outside the lobby doors. A teenaged boy ran
to open her door, and she put her hand into the air, for him to
assist her from the car. He did exactly that and she smiled at him.
The teenager circled to Larry’s door, opened it and let him climb
out unaided. Larry leaned in to the car, calling Lori’s name
several times. Larry unlatched the roof on the passenger’s side
and, with December being walked in by the teenager, walked around
the car and unlatched the driver’s side and wiggled the roof open.
He leaned close to Lori and whispered. She opened her eyes, sat
upright, wiped her mouth, and climbed over the seat and stepped out
of the car.

CHAPTER six

Putting on the Ritz

“C’mon, we need a big room, hunny,” cooed
December, looking through a brochure showing Harris Ranch room
packages and configurations. “These photos are tiny. Do you have
big ones?” With the answer a nod, she continued, “... of the
Luxury, Triple Crown and Presidential suites... thank you.” She
looked up to Larry and smiled. The desk clerk returned carrying
three small bound sets of photographs.

Lori approached the counter, face freshly
washed and wearing a David Bowie tee-shirt. She walked up to
December and Larry. “Grade Double A…. Triple A.”

“Pretty, too, huh?” asked December, as she
looked at photos.