Multiplex Fandango (7 page)

Her karma was so screwed up that she'd spend several lifetimes making up for it.
She ran up to Bob, reached down and gripped his ankles, then simultaneously pushed him forward as his Fubu sneakers lifted off the floor.

If there was a Heaven this was his only chance.

If this was his H
ell, he deserved it.

Suki didn't even look as he collided in mid-air with a wheel chair descending from the twenty-second floor.
She didn't do Heaven and she didn't do Christmas, but she promised herself that she'd return sometime next year and take a dip in the Jesus Pool, if nothing more than to listen to Maven and maybe chat with Bob.

She sat down in a chair facing the open balcony window and listened to the screams of the dying and the wails of the witnesses.
She didn't move until dawn.

***

Story Notes: I saw a picture once of a swimming pool with a picture of Jesus on the bottom. I wondered to myself who would want to swim in such a thing. Was it disrespectful? But then I saw other pictures of children splashing, a woman lounging, and a man standing on the edge smoking a cigar, ignoring the fact that a
40-foot
Jesus was beneath them. I had to wonder what it would be like swimming in such a pool. This was written as much to answer that question as it was for those people who steadfastly believe that if they do enough good at the end of their lives, it makes up for a lifetime of being bad. Su
k
i vaguely resembles my sister. It’s true I was thinking of her when I wrote this, especially her sense of humor, but my sister is a much nicer person than Su
k
i. I love this story. I think it’s one of my most honest.

NOW SHOWING ON SCREEN 3

Fugue on the
Sea
of
Cortez

Starring Tom as the wandering soul,

June as the woman he shouldn’t have

and the giant shrimp as the elder god

“This does for vacationing alone in
Mexico
what The Hills Have Eyes did for Recreational Vehicle travel.”

–
The Salted Morgue Gazette

In Smell-O-Vision

He'd traveled from The Panama Canal to Puerto Peñasco listening to a soundtrack created to drown the memories of his own cowardice.
Dangermouse, Van Halen,
AC
DC
and Madonna reinvented themselves in a thunderous
Crazy-For-Those-About-To-Rock-Might-As-Well-Jump-Material-Girl-We-Salute-You
crucible where he was the strong, confident cavalier that he’d always wanted to be since he’d grown-up reading about the scions of Shannara, improbable hobbits and Stainless Steel Rat space heroes.
Really nothing more than vapid electronic musings, fugue voices that carried him along on an expository
stretto
until his escape
chute
landed somewhere else where the women were fine, the liquor was cheap, and his conscience had a way to escape.

“
Uno mas, por favor
.”

The bartender wordlessly slid another frozen margarita over from the platoon of drinks he’d prepared for the afternoon rush.

“
Gracias
.”
Thomas Greely Jones relished the icy tequila, so far the only deterrent against
Mexico
’s molten heat.
He gazed out the window and watched the boats returning from a day of shrimping, the air above them swirling with pelicans and gulls eager to steal the day’s catch.
White-skinned tourists lay on the beach in front of their resort hotels, their drinks served by malnourished, brown-skinned locals.
Rich white kids skipped along the water’s edge, their boogie boards slipping across the waves in mad gyrations, oblivious to squalor, their only concern the moment and the now.
Farther out to sea along the azure waves of the
Sea
of
Cortez
, a dozen swimmers treaded water, their gazes locked on the horizon.

All seemed as it should be except for these twelve swimmers.
For the life of him, Thomas couldn’t figure out what they were about.
The waves of the
Sea
of
Cortez
were the most languid of the sort.
The swimmers didn’t have diving apparatus, as one would expect a group such as theirs to have, perhaps waiting for pickup after a long day of coral snooping?
What were they doing?
Why were they treading water when they could turn, swim and easily make the shore?
He was about to ask the bartender, his mind already searching for the words in Spanish, when
she
walked in.

Mid-twenties and blonde with an athletic build, she wore flip-flops, black shorts and a black T-shirt with the slogan
Army of One
emblazoned across the front.
Her hair hung halfway down her back.
Elfin features surrounded a freckled nose.
She reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t place it.
She found a seat by the window, kicked off her flip-flops and drew her feet beneath her.
She stared at the sea, the dozen swimmers, and the horizon, her furrowed brow the only expression on a face that could raise a nation.

Then he had it and his heart sunk with the memory.

Her expression reminded him of his mother's when he’d told her he was going AWOL.
Away Witho
ut Leave
was the official term, and she hadn't begrudged him his decision, although he could have sworn she could see inside him.
Her eyes had never been accusing, but had held him in their inquisitive rays as she tried to plumb the depths of his conscience to determine if it was something she’d done which had caused such a heroic malfunction.
He’d told her what he’d told his First Sergeant when he’d called that final time before he turned his back on the red, white and blue.
"I’m a conscientious objector.
I did my time in hell.
I spent one tour in the box.
I saw things no kid should ever see.
Limbs blown off.
Sucking chest wounds.
Bodies shattered from IEDs.
I shouldn’t be forced to do it again while other kids live safe, happy lives."
Thomas was a mechanic and had been promised that if he’d re-enlisted he'd be assigned to
Fort Carson
,
Colorado
.
But no sooner had he found a place to stay and grabbed a season pass at Breckenridge than his unit had won the
Iraq
lotto and been awarded an all expense paid ticket back to the sandbox.
His unit had left for Ramadi, his friends had gone to Hell, and he'd left for
Panama
.

The bar began to fill after she arrived.
A few honeymooners, some snowbirds from the RV Park off of
Oro Del Mar Beach
and some ex-Pats back from a soccer game soon turned the gloomy interior into a den of laughter and light.
Everyone seemed to be having a good time except her.
She finished one margarita and stirred her empty glass with a straw as she gazed at the ocean.

Thomas saw his chance.
He grabbed two fresh margaritas and sat down beside her.

“Thought you might be thirsty.”

She continued to stare at the sea.

“After all, you are in a bar,” he added undeterred.
He’d been in
Mexico
for nearly two months, and although he’d seen other women, this one intrigued him the most.
Perhaps it was her shirt and the possibility of sharing fear that pulled him towards her.
Army of One
.
What a screwed up motto.
He didn’t even know what it meant and he’d lived the life for three years.

Long moments passed before she finally spoke.
“I come in here for the view.”

The Black Dolphin held the high ground on a rocky promontory overlooking
Bahia de Sonora
on the
Sea
of
Cortez
and indeed had a spectacular view.
Only the lighthouse above the bar boasted a better one, but it didn’t have a happy hour so it didn’t count.
He pushed the sweating margarita glass closer to her, hoping his offer would be the olive branch he needed to get her talking.
She took it, drank slowly and resumed her vigil, moisture beads on the outside of the glass slipping across her knuckles and onto the table.

Something about her gaze told a tale of loss in the making compelling him.
“Is everything okay?”

“Sure.”
She nodded vaguely in his direction.

“My name is Tom.”

“June.”
She held out a hand.

He took it.
“I wonder what they’re doing.”

She glanced at him for the first time and he felt the weight of her gaze.

“Those twelve in the water, they just seem to be floating out there and I can’t see the reason for it.”

She frowned.
“Perhaps they have their own reasons, something you wouldn’t understand.”
Her voice
held a trace of Southern accent –
Georgia
or
South Carolina
, maybe.

“They seem to be waiting for something,” he said, trying desperately to keep the conversation going.

“What do you think that is?”

Her question hung in the air, until finally he was forced to admit, “I really have no idea.”

“That should make you happy, then.”

He cocked his head at her odd response, a ready smile in case she was making fun of him.
But she was s
erious.
He polled his conscience
to see if this one was really worth it.
He’d love to find a way to get into her heart, or into her pants, if nothing else but for the sport of it.
But were his efforts worth the trouble?
Her responses were odd and disjointed.
Either she was crazy as a loon, or there was something more going on than he could see.

“Listen, I’m hungry.
Want to join me for dinner?”

“I’m not who you think I am,” she said.
“You don’t want to be with me.”

There it was again, such an odd answer to a simple question.
Still, he grinned.
“I'm just looking for some company.
It's been awhile since I had a conversation in American.
If you can trust me for an hour or two, I promise to keep my hands and feet outside your safety zone.”

And then the most glorious thing happened.
She smiled briefly transforming her face into the girl she’d most surely been before she'd been beset by whatever events had placed her here.
She caught him once again with her gaze.
“Just remember that I warned you.
I come with lots of baggage.”

He held out his hands.
“We’re just having dinner.
I can handle it.
Come on, I heard that there’s a tapas bar that makes great shrimp tacos just down the street.”

As they stood to leave, a boat arrived to pluck the dozen swimmers from the ocean...only there seemed to be less than there was before.
Thomas counted ten, then shook his head.
Where had the other two gone?
He must have missed them, or miscounted, or something.

***

Dinner was fabulous.
But that was the end of it.
She bade him goodbye before the dessert came and rushed from the restaurant.
By the time he’d paid their check and hurried after her, she was nowhere to be found.
He went to bed longing for her.
The next morning he awoke gasping.
Mixed with dreams of a diaphanous mermaid and an undersea behemoth, he'd imagined her weighty gaze holding him down beneath the waves as he struggled to breathe.
He showered for an hour, way past the end of the hot water, determined to wash off traces of the dream.
By lunch he’d almost forgotten the drowning.
By happy hour, he looked forward to seeing her again.
June Enright from
Spartanburg
,
South Carolina
.
He’d decided that the dream was just that, a dream.
It meant nothing and was little more than his synapses dealing with alcohol, shrimp and the idea of love.

***

She came in at the same time as the day before.
She began to head for her usual seat, but hesitated when she saw him.
She stared a moment, then lowering her head in embarrassment, smiled and joined him.

“Where’d you go last night?” he asked.

“I had to be somewhere.”

“Immediately?
By the time I paid, you were nowhere to be seen?”

“I was in a hurry.”

He began to say something else, but her sigh stopped him cold.
He waited a moment, but could tell by the arch of her back that she didn’t want to get into it.
Instead of pressing her, he ordered a margarita for her.
She drank, her eyes on the sea.
Only occasionally did she look at him.
Increasingly her looks at him became fonder.
He wasn’t sure if it was because of his silence, or if there was a more real connection between them.
Strangely he found himself both accepting and wanting.
A far cry from the predator he knew himself to be.
He’d given himself to this woman and found himself emotionally dependant on her glances and decisions and it oddly pleased him.
And it was his private wistful smile that he hadn't even realized he’d revealed that gave him away.

“What is it?” she asked.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I don’t know.
Perhaps it’s you.
Maybe it’s me.”
His truth inspired him.
“I barely know you and all I can think is that I want to know you better.”

She blushed, hiding any further reaction in her drink.

This encouraged him.
They’d talked about the mundane the previous evening, relating disconnected stories of friends and things they’d seen on their travels.
Nothing revealing.
Nothing personal.
Now he wanted to get to know her as a person.
He wanted to discover why she’d chosen this backwash Mexican resort as a hang out.
He wanted to know about her Army shirt and what it meant to her.
He wanted to know why she’d come to him and blushed.
Forgotten were some of her first words
—
You don’t want to be with me
.
He was so wrapped up in the process of falling in love, his only thought was how she thought of him and what he wanted to be so she could love him too.

By the end of the evening, she’d cast off broad chunks of her armor, revealing a young woman she'd admitted not having seen for a long time.
She'd told him her story, and in the catharsis of the telling, wept over the murder of her friends.
Ann, Susan and Gretchen had evaporated in an explosion of light and flame when their HUMMER had struck an IED.
June had been in the second vehicle and, although she'd left without a scratch, her soul had been shredded by the event.