The Story of You and Me (21 page)

“I do believe speaking in tongues is a Pentecostal thing. Dr. Kelsey told me his program has been updated.”

“Just because something’s updated doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good thing. Like—World War II Nazis versus the Neo-Nazis. The whole Quest thing creeps me out. It’s not the safest alternative healing modality out there.” He pulled the Jeep into the sweep of the hotel entrance.
 

A man in a uniform rushed to the passenger door and opened it. “Valet?” he asked and opened the passenger door for me.

“Thanks. Just dropping off,” Alex said. “How long is this gathering?”

“An hour,” I said. “Hour and a half max?” I stepped out of the car and the valet closed the Jeep’s door.

He shook his head. “Make it quicker. We need to beat the traffic and haul ass south of San Diego before gridlock. Gridlock doubles our commute. Passing Mexico’s immigration can be quick or a long, slow nightmare with wait times. I’d like to cross the Tijuana border before rush hour.”

“Okay. What are you going to do?” I asked.
 

“Westfield Mall’s up the road. Grabbing more provisions.”

“We’re only staying one night, right? I only made a reservation for one night.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t want to stay at my parent’s place. It’s pretty. It’s safe. I won’t jump your bones.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.

“Right. I’m staying at a hotel.”
 

“Your call. Hey, Bonita. This Quest group feels a little cultish. If they ask you to sign an organ donation card, don’t do it, okay?”

“You’re bad,” I said.

“Hah! You have no idea…” He grinned and peeled out of the driveway.

* * *

Dr. Kelsey’s private seminar was held in an ultra modern two-bedroom penthouse suite with sweeping eastern views of L.A.’s downtown miles in the distance, and the mountains rimming it further away.
 

Meathead #1 stood by the suite’s entrance door eyeing everyone as they came and went. He was probably on the lookout for someone pilfering hotel soap. Folks of all ages gathered around TV screens watching Youtube videos of Kelsey Vision Quests. A Greeter walked past handing out snacks and offering herbal tea. Another greeter lit a stick of sage leaves with a match and swished it around the room.
 

“You’d better wave that closer to the floor,” I said. “You don’t want to be setting off the fire alarms.”

A thirty-something woman looked at the brochures and booklets on a small conference table covered in a white linen tablecloth. I picked up a few pamphlets and paged through them.
 

“Have you ever been on a Kelsey Vision Quest?” she asked.

“No. You?” I said.

“Absolutely. My first helped me get over my loser ex-boyfriend. I’m Beth.”

“Sophie,” I said. “So you’ve taken more than one?”

“Yes. My second Quest freed the energy of my bummer ex-husband. I’m thinking about going on a third.”

“Oh,” I said.
 

“Did you see the male greeter passing out the appetizers? Like, I know he’s like fifteen years younger than me but he’s so hot.”
 

Maybe Beth needed to change her choice in men.

“You should totally do the Quest,” she said. “It’s transformative.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

Dr. Kelsey squeezed my arm. I jumped, until I realized it was him, not a Meathead. And I relaxed. “I believe in honesty,” he said. “How about you?”

“Absolutely.” Considering how many half-truths and lies I’d told since I landed in L.A., that was actually a funny response.

“Great. Why don’t you tell me more details about why you’re here?” He took my arm and led me away through the crowded living room to a bedroom door.
 

I balked. “I’m not…”

“Neither am I,” he said. “Just want to talk with you privately. Keep the door wide open should that make you more comfortable.”

* * *

Dr. Kelsey sat at a small table next to the window while I paced. Finally
I
closed the bedroom door for more privacy. Then spilled everything to him about my MS, the alternative healers and the USCLA stem cell study.

“You got a lot on your plate. Take a Quest,” he said. “Confront your fears. Meet your spiritual guardians. Ask them what they can do to help you battle MS.”

“But it’s not me I’m here for. It’s not me who I’m worried about. At least not right now.”

He shook his head. “Then who is it?”

I bit my lip. “My grandmother. She’s been in a wheelchair for over five years. She’s had MS for thirty years. Her health’s going downhill. I’m scared she might not have that much time left.”

“That’s why you’re here in L.A? That’s why you’re researching alternative healers and doing the USCLA stem cell study?”

“Yes.” I bit my lip. “I can’t just let her wither away and die without a fight. It’s not fair!”

“Well then, Sophie Marie Priebe.” Dr. Kelsey held out his hand to me. “Let’s get you on a Quest. You’ll find your power. Become wiser than you ever dreamed possible. And quite possibly help your grandmother.”

I looked at his hand, but hesitated. “The hallucinating drug part of the Quest thing scares me,” I said. “Mushrooms? I think I’d like them on pizza. Not in my brain.”

He laughed. “The drugs are different now. Even more natural than mushrooms. Plant medicine. South American Natives use it all the time.”

“I’ll think about it. I’ve got an appointment with—”

“Hello, Venusians!” a familiar male voice said. “I’m looking for Sophie Priebe. A pretty young lady with light brown hair, a twinkle in her eyes and flowers on her toes?”

I smiled. Apparently Alejandro had grown tired of waiting and busted in on the private, invite-only gathering.

Dr. Kelsey looked up for a second toward Alex’s voice that boomed from the other room. His gaze swiveled back toward me. “Your friend?”

I nodded. “I’ve got to go. We’ve got an appointment with a
curandero
. Oh, and don’t tell my… friend… anything I’ve shared with you.”
 

“Patient doctor privilege,” Dr. Kelsey said. “Whatever we discuss is between you and me. Completely private. Best of luck with the healer.”

“Thanks.” I turned to leave.

“In case you change your mind? We’ve got a Quest coming up next weekend. It’s booked, but someone always backs out at the last minute. I can almost guarantee you a spot. Email or call me.”
 

I wasn’t sure I wanted to travel to a remote, nearly deserted mountain and take hallucinogenic drugs, let alone meet my “guides.”
 

“Sure thing,” I said.

Alex opened the door and strode into the room toward me. “Bonita?” He kissed me on my cheek, grabbed my hand and slid his fingers through mine.

“Hey,” I said. “Right on time. Alejandro, I’d like you to meet Dr. Carlton Kelsey.”

Dr. Kelsey stretched out his hand to Alex. “Pleased to meet you, son.”
 

Alex’s face was devoid of emotion as he shook Dr. Kelsey’s hand. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Dr. Kelsey. Have we met before?”

“No.” He smiled.

“Then, in all due respect, sir, I am not your son.” Alejandro released my hand, wrapped his arm around my waist and hustled me out of the penthouse suite.

Chapter Nineteen

Alejandro and I drove the 5 Freeway south toward Mexico. It was a behemoth beast of a road. It ran from Mexico to Canada and was the only Freeway in the U.S. to touch both borders. On average it had six lanes heading north and six venturing south. We passed signs for beach towns, industrial towns, airports, amusement parks and military base exits.
 

As we traveled farther south, I began to see signs that cautioned against running over people who were running across the road. We had the ‘Watch for Deer’ signs in Wisconsin, not the ‘Watch for Illegal Immigrants’.
 

Mercury, the Roman God of Transportation, was with us. We had decent traffic ’till we hit the San Diego vicinity. That’s when we slowed way down to a sputter and alternated between twenty and zero miles an hour.
 

Most of the vehicles surrounding us featured surfboards on top, bike racks attached to their backs and a wide variety of political bumper stickers. Cars jockeyed with each other to claim the lane that might be moving the quickest.
 

The reality was every lane was moving slowly. The commuters could have saved themselves future high blood pressure, doctors’ visits and prescription meds if they’d just stayed put and skipped the ‘I need to be one car ahead of you,’ horn-honking dramas.

And speaking of drama, I dove right in. “Do you think you could have been a little more creeptastic when I introduced you to Dr. Kelsey?”

“Let’s dissect ‘creeptastic.’ Dr. Kelsey is almost fifty years older than you,” Alex said. “He’s got you in a fancy suite filled with organic appetizers like hummus, tabouli, and organic energy drinks. His followers are hopped up on life, love, drugs and whatever else. They looked like they drank the Kool-Aid and can barely form coherent sentences, let alone retain memories of what they did five minutes previously.”

“So? A lot of people have short-term memory loss. By the way—who are you? Why am I in this car and where are you taking me?” I grinned.

“Touché.” He reached over with one hand tugged the bottom of my shirt and tickled my waist.
 

I squirmed. “Stop it!” I giggled and batted his hands away. My phone buzzed in my purse. I grabbed it, saw who was calling, hit accept and placed it to my ear. “Yay! Hi Nana! I’m so glad you called. What’s up?”

“Nothing, really. I just miss you. Do you think you might get home soon for a visit?”

I frowned. “I’m coming home when the semester ends.”

Alex shook his head. “No you’re not,” he said.

I shook my finger at him. “What’s going on? Something you want to talk about?”

“Yes. I want to know where you are?”

I held the phone away from my ear. “Where are we?”

“La Jolla.”

“We’re in La Jolla.”

“I was there once a long time ago,” she said. “Beach town close to San Diego. They called it the Jewel by the Sea. Lots of cliffs and beaches. Very pretty. Who’s driving you?”

“A nice young man. He’s respectful and smart and funny. I think you’d like him. Maybe you and Mom should come out for a visit? You could see the ocean again and we could eat guacamole and visit La Jolla. Besides, I’ve met some healers and I think—”

“What’s his name?” she asked. “The young man who’s driving you?”

“Alejandro.”

“He doesn’t have a last name?”

“Of course he has a last name.”

“So why don’t you tell it to me?”
 

“His name is Alejandro Maxwell Levine.” I heard her inhale. It was sharp and raspy. “You okay?”

“Never better. Is he Jewish?”

Alejandro shot me a questioning look. I shrugged. “Religion or heritage?” I asked.

“I don’t discriminate. Put him on the phone with me. Right now.”

My eyes widened. “My grandmother wants to talk with you.”

“Huh. Okay. Why not? Guess it’s only fair I get to meet your family,” Alex said and beckoned to me with his index finger. “Can you put her on speaker?”

I clicked speaker and extended my phone close to his cheek. My face was next to his face. Our shoulders were touching. I remembered what he tasted like when he kissed me. I remembered what he felt like the first time he caught me when I nearly passed out in the Grill. “Nana. You’re on speaker with Alejandro and me.”

“Alejandro Maxwell Levine,” she said. “Are you Jewish?”

“Half Jewish and half Latino,” he said. “But my parents raised me with both cultures as well as faiths.”

“You were baptized, confirmed and had a bar mitzvah?”

“Triple score,” he said. “You should have seen the presents.”

“Perfect!” She sighed and started coughing. “Hang on! Stupid allergies make me ferdrayt.”

“She’s learning Yiddish,” I whispered.

“You’re feeling dizzy? Confused?” Alejandro said. “Are you okay? Do you want to get off the phone?”

“You speak Yiddish too? Even better! No, I don’t want to get off the phone. I am fine. Just a little ver klempt. I am Sophie’s Bubba. My name is also Sophie Marie. You can call me Bubby Sophie. Even though my last name is Timmel, not Priebe. I don’t want you to get us confused. Hah!”

Alex grinned at me and pushed the phone away from our faces for a second. “I’ve got this,” he whispered. Pulled my hand that held the phone close to his face. “Yes, Bubby Sophie.”

“Perfect, Alejandro,” Nana said. “Are you in a romance with my granddaughter? You do know she is a shiksa, yes? It seems many young men of the Jewish faith will happily date shiksas, but not be serious about marrying them. Will this be a problem for you in the future?”

“Nana!” I hollered and collapsed back into my seat. I face palmed my hand into my forehead in sheer humiliation that only a family member could initiate.
 

Alejandro ran his finger over my cheek and traced my jaw. His fingers landed squarely under my chin that was collapsed in my hands on my chest. He gently lifted my head up. “Put the phone back toward me,” he whispered.

I blushed but did as he asked.
 

“Bubby Sophie?” he asked.

“I thought for a second I lost you.”

“You’re not going to lose me, Bubby. In fact, I can’t wait to meet you some day soon. In regards to your shiksa granddaughter? I’m crazy about her Wisconsin accent—”
 

“What accent?” I slapped Alejandro’s thigh with my free hand. He caught my hand and interwove his fingers between mine and pulled me close to him. Which meant I was practically sitting in his lap.

A man in a truck in the next lane honked, leered and said, “Get a room!”

I glared at him. “Get a life!” I struggled to flip him my middle finger but it was currently engaged and wrapped tightly next to Alejandro’s middle finger. He squeezed my hand and winked at me. “Ignore the assholes,” he whispered into my ear and turned back toward the phone. “I adore your granddaughter’s snarky sense of humor…”

I stuck my tongue out at him.