Charlie rolled down the back door and followed her into the casino. It was one hour before audit time. The magic hour. Charlie ran to catch up with her and said, “Hold your horseshoe, wait for me.”
Denice hit Ramona’s speed dial number. “Hey, girl. We’re good for 20.”
Ramona replied, “No way.”
“Yes, way.”
“Stand by. Let me call the hotel.”
“Okay, hon. Have a nice day,” Denice hollered back.
Charlie flashed on what a smooth operator his new partner in crime had become. He wondered if this was the same woman who was Scoutmaster, PTA mom, and softball coach? Charlie and soccer mom, Denice. Husband and wife team wearing many hats. These days, with sunglasses and a disguise.
The next afternoon, they woke to the ringing of their cell phone. On the other end the caller said, “Looks like rain.”
Denice looked out the window of their hotel room.
“Yeah, it’s drizzling here.”
At the other end of the phone Ramona replied, “Can you hang at the Acorn until 5:00 a.m. tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“Page us.”
“Gotcha.”
“Pray for rain.”
Charlie, overhearing said, “If she’s on her knees, she won’t be praying.”
“Dammit, Charlie,” Denice scolded in disgust.
“All men are pigs, replied Ramona.”
“I hear ya, girlfriend.”
“Bye.”
“See you.”
Smugglers pray for rain, snow, and sand storms. Maybe an outbreak of Border Patrol E. coli. When the weather is bad, the men and women of the U.S. Border Patrol do what most police do – paperwork and scarf doughnuts. They do not stand in the rain or ask motorists questions like Where are you headed? Do you have any fruit? Is everyone inside the vehicle an American Citizen? Being that California is classified as an agricultural state, they monitor the coming and going of fruit, as well as illegal immigrants. But at their core, they’re Federal employees like the TSA, and at last check they had a 94% failure rate, and that was without standing in the rain. Border Patrol/fruit police.
It was a blessing from the smuggling gods. It was raining cats and dogs when they heard, “Mrs. DeVille, white paging phone. Mrs. DeVille, white paging phone, please.”
Denice stepped up to the phone, “This is Mrs. DeVille.”
“One moment please.”
CLICK
“Nineteen,” said a disembodied voice, and then the line went dead.
It was go time.
They moved quickly out the side entrance past the gas pumps, to the truck parking area. They jumped in and fired up the diesel engine, turned left onto the old Highway 8 down towards Jacumba, to make the connection. Forty miles an hour over the bridge, with the windshield wipers on high, Charlie flashed his brights three times and then the radio in Denice’s hand came alive.
“Nineteen for the ride, Crazy gringo.”
“Back at you, Wiley.”
The line of people was barely visible in the downpour, slipping and sliding down the hill behind the school. Denice jumped down, ran around to the driver side of the box, and pulled out the folding steps. As she opened the door, the first person arrived.
“Go, go, GO!”
It took less than 90 seconds to load them in. Denice jumped back up into the cab of the big yellow truck, now transformed into a combination bus and pool-side limo. Charlie started jammin’ gears, pulling out into the rainy night.
In the smuggling biz, it just doesn’t get any better than this. The radio came alive again. “Hey. Crazy white boy, you kiss Denice smooth on the lips for me. We set the world record today.”
Denice keyed the mic, “Wiley, you may kiss me your damn self when we get back.”
Charlie said, “On the cheek, those are my lips.”
“Be safe, my friends.” And then Wiley disappeared from the airwaves.
The rain came down hard as ever as they flew through the checkpoint.
“How ‘bout it, Wood Man?”
“Gotcha, bro. On visual.”
“Ten-four. Kitchen Creek exit?”
“Right behind ya, boss.” He handed the radio to Denice and shifted into overdrive, cresting the hill to the downside of the grade.
Denice spoke, “I think we’re cool, Woody. Just follow us for a while.”
“Ten-four, Mrs. DeVille.”
Denice looked over at her husband, “Remind me to tell that dumb-ass not to use my last name on the goddamn radio.”
“Check us out, baby doll. You hear Wiley? World fuckin’ record!”
“Stop it with the F-bombs, honey.”
“Sorry,” Charlie apologized.
“You have such a potty mouth.”
“That’s not potty mouth, babe. That’s a shit-eating grin.” Charlie’s bright smile spread from ear to ear.
The rain continued as they approached the Temecula checkpoint, spanning all four lanes of Interstate 15. The Maxima passed them going up the incline, two miles before the checkpoint.
“It’s clear, boss. Shut down tight. Not a soul in sight.”
“Well, rock on, Wood Man. Take us to L.A.”
“Ten-four.”
-- -- --
They pulled into the Century City Mall parking lot, having called Ramona after clearing the Temecula point. She alerted the families of the 19 people they had in the back of the truck. Pulling up to the Nordstrom’s side of the huge mall, you could not tell that there were 17 separate cars, SUVs and trucks, all waiting for the magic bus to arrive.
They backed up to the curb at the far reach of the lot. Ramona appeared in Denice’s window, as Charlie shut off the engine. Charlie opened the side door, and Ramona stepped up into the box truck.
Her clients were playing cards at the two tables, lounging in poolside chairs, and drinking cold Pepsi from the ice chest.
“Gin,” said one of the men, laying down his card. “You lose, vato.”
The smile on Ramona’s face was priceless. Or rather it was worth $9,500, plus a $500 bonus, for a cool ten grand.
-- -- --
Word had already reached the mountain. They had broken the record and returned victorious. Trading back the Ryder truck for the Maxima (not wanting it seen on the mountain) Elwood took it to his new place, along with 500 bucks and bragging rights. A victory dinner seemed in order, and their first choice was, of course, the Live Oak Springs restaurant.
It was still raining, but not as hard as when they were pulling in. The place was busy and so were Ron and Lily. Charlie and Denice were shown to a table by the window, and they placed their drink order. The hostess was new. Charlie asked her, “Will you please tell the chef that Mr. and Mrs. DeVille are present for an unparalleled dining experience?”
A few minutes later Ron appeared at their table, asking,
“Hey, guys, how are you?”
Charlie smiled, “Tippy-tappy, with a song in my heart. How about you and the missus?”
“We’re good. Speaking of good, I’ve got some freshly baked salmon steaks, along with fresh asparagus and white sauce, baby red potatoes with a dash of garlic.”
“Love it, sounds delicious,” exclaimed Denice.
Charlie smirked, “I’ll take 10 of those and a bottle of your best white wine.”
“I’ll have the waitress bring you a salad.”
“Okay. Hey, can we get a cabin? Have any vacant?”
Ron, rolling his eyes, said, “For you guys, no problem. I’ll have Lily bring the key over so she can say hi.”
Dinner was excellent as always. They finished a bottle of a tasty, Napa Valley Chardonnay, and a piece of key lime pie. Lily was as good with pastries a
s Ron was with the entrées.
Lily brought over the key to the honeymoon cabin, the registration form, and the dinner ticket. “Hey, you guys. Kiss, kiss.” she said.
“Dinner was scrumptious,” complimented Denice.
“Thanks. Don’t worry about the form, it’s just a tax thing. Just put your name and the date, we know who you are.”
Charlie filled out the form: Elvis Presley, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee. License plate number: DGY STYL.
Charlie included a one-hundred-dollar bill and a twenty-five-dollar tip. He then looked at his lovely bride and said, “You know, Pumkin, luck runs like a renegade and I’m feelin’ pretty enthusiastic about running-a-muck as a VIP.”
Denice, feeling jubilant, agreed. “A little time-out-of-mind sounds fabulous right about now.”
Quick on the uptake, Charlie reminded his wife, “Acorn has no VIP services, so flip a coin; heads Barona, tails Viejas?”
Denice called it in the air, “Tails!”
And tails it was. So it was a mad dash with the cash to the VIP Room at Viejas.
Here’s the deal: If your glass is half full...there’s room for scotch!
-- -- --
Charlie and Denice strolled into the VIP Room and there she was. Her name was Luwana, but the men called her “Luscious.” The women called her “that slut.” Denice called her “out of bounds,” seeing as she had parked her perfect posterior on the machine next to Charlie, who had, it seemed, made her laugh – a husky sound filled with sexual tension. The atmosphere around Luwana vibrated with it. Like a human tuning fork. Luwana emanated juicy pheromones that agitated Charlie’s gorilla just enough to rattle its cage.
The thing about Luwana that was most alluring was her scent. She smelled like night jasmine and good sex, slow-hand sex. Her essence made other women turn their heads and sniff the air, looking for the source.
She had a dusting of freckles below her dark eyes that pull you in, and this crazy little strut that turned heads. Sashaying through the packed casino like a little pink bulldozer, the crowd automatically parted at her approach. Just to watch her go by, hijacking your imagination, left you flustered – and if you were a man, a little frustrated.
Denice DeVille was not happy about any of it.
Seeing Charlie make Luwana laugh brought Denice’s irrational and aggressive green monster of misunderstood jealousy to the surface.
Denice plowed through the crowd and, standing behind Charlie with one hand on his shoulder. “I’m back honey.” She then turned to Luwanwa and added sweetly, “What’s up ‘Do-Ya-Wanna?’”
Charlie thought, Good lord, here we go again.
“My name is Luwana, ass-bite.”
“Can’t find any single men to flirt with?”
Charlie turned sideways in his chair and looked up at Denice, “I sat down next to her, so cool your jets, Dee,” trying hard to disarm the monster. But Denice heard none of it, deaf to the truth.
“Fuck that. Every time I turn around this tramp is making eyes at you.”
Charlie stood, hit the cash out button, collected his ticket, and said, “Outside. Now.”
Charlie was disgusted when Denice would not disengage her humiliating behavior, trying to cause a scene. Charlie grabbed her elbow and physically dragged her towards the exit.
“Charlie, dammit, you’re hurting me.”
“Not yet, but keep it up.”
“Stop it! You’re embarrassing me...”
Charlie hit the exit door with his right foot, pushing Denice into the cold night air. He let go of her elbow and, through clenched teeth answered, “Embarrassing you? What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m your goddamned husband.”
“You know that tramp was coming on to you,” Denice accused.
“So what?”
“So you’re my husband. And, for the record, it looked like you were having a pretty good time. You had a big smile on your face.”
“You’re acting like she was sitting on my face. You telling me I can’t talk to a beautiful woman unless you’re standing right there?”
“Oh, so now she’s beautiful?”
Exasperated, Charlie said, “This is stupid, I can’t believe we’re having this ridiculous conversation...again! Let’s get out of the doorway.”
Charlie took the lead and Denice followed. He found a bench and sat down. Denice sat on the other end. Charlie put a smoke to his lips, flip-click-flame. Offered it to Denice. She refused, but pulled one out of her purse. That spoke volumes to Charlie. Shaking his head, he waited a moment before continuing, clearing the anger, or at least trying to. “You don’t trust me. And that’s the shitty part, aside from the fact that we’ve been around this block a hundred fuckin’ times.”
“It’s not me, it’s her. She could give a shit less if you’re married or not.”
Charlie, trying to keep the anger under the surface, lowered his voice so she had to pay attention.
“Hey. Newsflash. I actually do give a shit. There’s a tan line on my ring finger.”
Sticking his hand up to her face, “See? This stupid shit has got to stop. You know I could give a shit less what people think. But when you act foolish, it makes me embarrassed for you. It’s humiliating for both of us.”
Denice exhaled a plume of smoke into the air, “Well, guess what? I’m not embarrassed. Everyone knows she’s a slut.”
The anger welled up in Charlie like a southern thunderstorm, “It’s not about her, it’s about you. You trusting me, godammit! I’ve never in all these years given you a reason not to. Not once!” Charlie angrily flicked his cigarette out onto the road.
After a minute, Denice said, “She makes me look stupid when you make goo-goo eyes at her.”
“Oh please, you’re acting like a fifteen-year-old. You’re a grandmother for God’s sake. And besides, just so we’re clear, it’s a compliment to you when a woman makes a move on me.”
Denice sat there, deaf, dumb, and blinded by jealousy. Charlie looked at his wife’s face, “You still don’t get it, do you?”
Silence.
“Another newsflash for you; this bullshit is why your first husband left you.”
“Fuck you!” Denice screamed.
“That’s the point. You’re the only one fucking me, in more ways than one!”
THE UNIVERSAL SMILE
Chapter 13
After some awesome makeup sex, the morning after the whole Luwana debacle came too soon. Sleepy-eyed and smiley-faced, Charlie and Denice rose in their Live Oak cabin to freezing wet sleet, almost snow. Having consumed each other and all the firewood the night before, they made their way to the car and down to the country store for some smokes. Also on their list: a little cheese Danish and two bundles of burn-the-captive-tourist firewood; six pieces for four dollars? What a rip-off. Charlie’s manhood was somehow challenged or maybe disrespected on some Cro-Magnon level. Being the hunter-gatherer and Alpha Male, buying wood from ‘Your Burnt Industries’ of Campo, California, made him wince.
Denice saw it. “Wipe that frown off your face, handsome. After last night, you’re still my stud muffin.”
Charlie stood there with the offending wood bundle and mumbled in his best Elvis, “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
The pimply-faced kid at the counter smiled, “I’m feeling a lot of love here today.”
“Good grief,” Charlie said under his voice. Misinterpreted comedy is such a waste. But that was in essence the vibe that surrounded Charlie and Denice. They were partners, yet opposites. When Charlie and Denice returned to the cabin, Denice began the next thing on her “to-do list” for the day.
“Move up off the bed honey, I need to make it up.”
Charlie didn’t move a muscle. “Why are you doing the maid’s job?”
&n
bsp; “Because for the next 48 hours this is our bed. It’s got to be cozy when we crawl in.”
“I’m sure the maid needs the hours.”
From inside the tiny bathroom Dee’s voice, sounding like it came from inside a cave, said, “This, this right here is what I’m talking about.” She entered from the bathroom carrying a pair of Charlie’s underwear with her thumb and forefinger.
“You won’t even pick up your dirty boxer briefs. You want a stranger to deal with your underwear for seven bucks an hour?”
“I leave a tip.”
“Not the point. Now get. Off. The. Bed!”
“Okay, but I’m not leaving a tip if you’re going to raise your voice. Hey, have you seen my smokes?”
But as lost as he seemed at times, it was just a case of a distracted mind. Charlie knew exactly what was going on. He knew what was required at any given moment. He was smooth and confident, and that made Denice feel safe. It boils down to absolute trust. It’s hard to find that person in a world of self-centered egomaniacs in a beauty pageant culture.
That’s why they made such an outstanding team, ignoring outside influences and never taking their eyes off the ball. Focus is everything in this business. It wasn’t Eye Of the Tiger, but rather Eye ON the Tiger.
After a cheap breakfast and plenty of overpriced wood, they pulled out of the store and noticed a very old, very disheveled Latino woman. She was walking on the wrong side of Old Highway 8. She had on a blue housecoat, the kind your great grandma always wore on Thanksgiving. It was extremely cold and she was shivering, looking down at her feet with each careful step. But what was most disconcerting was the blood on her legs from knee to ankle.
Denice’s reaction was immediate. “Oh my God. That poor woman’s hurt, and why in the hell is she walking in this rain? Look at her legs. Charlie, stop!”
“Okay, babe. We’re on it.” Charlie pulled out onto the road and up to the side where the old woman was walking and turned on his flashers.
Denice rolled down her window, “Are you okay, ma’am?”
The woman did not answer.
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