by Storm, Buck
“Got it, thanks,” said Doc.
“So where’re you headed next?” Doris said.
“Brownsville, Texas. Supposed to meet a guy there,” Doc said.
“What kind of guy?”
“Wish I knew.”
“You in a hurry?”
Doc nodded. “Yeah. But maybe not as much of one now that those two aren’t breathing down our necks.”
“Real couple of lovebirds. Hollister and Crystal Finch. I can hold ’em in the nest for a few days, but that’s about it. Anyway, long enough for you to get to Brownsville. Why don’t you stay till tomorrow? The Rio Kings are playing again tonight.”
Doc tried to get a read on Paradise. “What do you think?” he said. “You up for another night on the town? Except there’s not really a town …”
She smiled. “I could be talked into it, if you try hard.”
“Okay then. We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Doc said.
Doris moved on to talk with Hap a few tables away.
“What would you have done?” Paradise said.
“You mean tonight? Stayed here or waited till morning? I don’t need an excuse to dance with you,” Doc said.
“No, if she would have come after you. Crystal—with the bat.”
“I’m not sure. Gotten nailed with a bat, I guess.”
“You weren’t scared?”
“I wasn’t not scared. But you needed help. Like you did back in Paradise. Doesn’t matter whether I was scared or not.”
“You mean you had my back.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Sailor, I think you hit one over the Green Monster.”
“Four-fifty if it was a foot.”
Paradise sipped her Coke. “Because we’re on the lam.”
“Yup.”
She finished the Coke and stood. “I’m going to rest awhile. I have to make sure I can keep up with the Swing King.” Her eyes met his. “Thank you, Doc. I can’t go back to Burt.”
“You’re welcome. And you won’t.”
Doc watched her go, then turned at the sound of a chair scooting out. Hap stood over him.
The big biker spun the chair around backwards and straddled it. “Made a couple of calls to some friends in Cali. Your buddies over in the jail are the real deal. Bad news—especially the woman. She has a rep for hurting people, man. The police are looking hard for Paradise, too. You’re okay out here in the boonies for a day or two, but once you get on into Texas, you really have to keep it low.”
“We’ll be careful. We just need to get to Brownsville. I’m gonna try to make it there by tomorrow night. Then on into Mexico.”
“Doris says you have someone getting you across the border?”
“Yeah. A guy named Lan. Friend of a friend.”
“Can you trust him?”
“I trust the friend. Trust him completely. That’s good enough.”
“Look, there’s something else. Her stepdad, this Dr. Simmons guy, has offered a big chunk of a reward for her return. Fifty grand. That’s a lot of cash, man. The kind that makes even friends think twice, you know? I’d be careful, amigo. Don’t trust nobody.”
“What about you? You’re not tempted by that much money?”
“Me? I got everything I want right here. What would I do with fifty grand? Besides, I like a good love story.”
“Thanks, Hap.”
Hap leaned over and slapped Doc on the shoulder. “You got it, Red Sox.”
Later, Doc met Paradise at the door of her room. She wore a black, off-the-shoulder dress. How in the world did she fit all those clothes in that one suitcase?
Doc gave a low whistle.
“Lauren Bacall,” she said.
“Paradise Jones,” he answered.
“Shut up, Doc.”
He offered his arm. She took it.
The Rio Kings thumped, and the Manhattan filled with people of every age, shape and size. Once in a while, Hap left the stage to the other musicians and danced with either Paradise or Doris. Doc’s heart thrilled at the sound of Paradise’s laugh. On one particularly slow song, she hugged Doc so tight her strength surprised him.
“Thank you, Doc,” she said.
Whether for the rescue or the dance, he wasn’t sure. He answered by holding her a little tighter.
They danced till midnight, then retired to their rooms. Doc lay awake for a long time, hands behind his head, thinking of her just a few feet away. He imagined he could hear her breathing through the wall.
Rain came just before he slept.
The early desert sun followed the rain with an act of its own, drawing the pungent odor of sage and earth out of the brown hills and into the fresh-scrubbed morning air. Doc knocked on Paradise’s door, and she answered, suitcase in hand. Across the road, the bent Mexican woman once again sat on her bench and prayed toward the whitewashed shrine. Doc noticed Paradise watching her as he loaded the bags into the trunk of the Olds.
“What do you think she prays about?” Paradise said.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you pray? Talk to God?”
“Sometimes. You could too, you know.”
Her eyes shifted to the dash of the Olds where Truck Stop Jesus smiled in the morning sunlight. “I’m not sure … Maybe I already do. Sometimes.”
Hap and Doris came out of the Manhattan to see them off.
Doris tossed Doc a couple of black T-shirts. “A parting gift from Manhattan, New Mexico.”
Doc shook one open. It said I Spent a Year at the Manhattan Bar One Weekend.
Hap removed his leather vest and dropped it around Paradise’s shoulders. “This one’s yours to keep, kid. You earned it yesterday.”
Paradise put her arms around the big biker and hugged him tightly. She pulled off the vest and traced The Rio Kings patch with a red nail. “Are you a band or a motorcycle club?”
Hap laughed. “Lines tend to get a little blurred out here.” He put a thick arm around Doris’ shoulders. “Does this lady enforce the law, marry people, or sell makeup? It’s fuzzy.” He turned to Doc and handed him a cell phone. “Only one app loaded on this, Doc. There’s a tracker on the Crown Vic hidden a heck of a lot better than the one they put on the Olds. If they follow you, you’ll know it. I doubt they will, though. A trucker buddy of mine is giving their tracker a lift to North Carolina.”
Paradise hugged Hap again. “Thank you. And thanks for helping me. I’m not sure what to say. Thank you isn’t enough.”
Hap shrugged. “You just said it. Now get down the road. And when you get back this way, we’ll have a few more swing songs in the repertoire.”
“It’s a date,” Paradise said.
Doris handed Doc a lined piece of paper. “Directions to get you to Texas. Back roads. Be careful, huh, Red Sox?”
“We will. And you’re sure you can hold our California shadows long enough for us to get to Brownsville?”
“No problem. Court can’t even hear their case for a few days. I have to run up to Truth or Consequences to see a lady about a makeup order.”
“We owe you one, Doris. A few, actually.”
“Go Yankees.”
Doc laughed. “Yeah, go Yankees.”
The Olds’ engine rumbled as they left the Manhattan. A four-way intersection—four possible directions. But the right road stretched before them, both literally and figuratively. Somewhere up ahead, a guy named Lan waited for them. And in the rearview mirror, the Mexican woman still prayed in front of the gleaming shrine.
Maybe she’d toss one up for him and Paradise.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Kermit, Texas
The Texas border town of Kermit welcomed Doc and Paradise with a water tower painted green and adorned with massive, one-dimensional ping-pong ball eyes. A fitting tribute to the amphibious star that shared the town’s name. Billowy white clouds rolled across the sky. Doc pulled into a Dairy Queen to stretch his legs and find something cold to drink. Paradise borrowed his cell and di
aled Ash’s number. Her friend answered on the fourth ring.
“It’s me,” Paradise said.
“You know I’ve been worried sick. Where are you?”
“Traveling. Hollister and Crystal are in jail. At least for now.”
“Burt’s psycho trackers? How did that happen?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You with the ballplayer?”
“How did you know?”
“I think it’s romantic. Are you okay?”
“Yes. And it’s not romantic. Except maybe the dancing. That’s kind of romantic.”
“What dancing? Spill, sister.”
“Nothing to spill.”
“C’mon. It’s me.”
“It’s not like that. He’s helping me, that’s all.”
Was it? Was that all? There’d been a couple of times on the dance floor last night …
“Yeah, okay. I get it, no details,” Ash said. “Listen, Eve calls me every thirty seconds, asking if I’ve heard from you. She’s actually worried sick. Why don’t you call her?”
“Maybe I will. I don’t know.”
“Just do.”
“I said maybe.”
“Uh huh. So what’s it like out there in the big bad world, just you and the ballplayer who’s only helping you and you don’t have feelings for him so help you God on a stack of Bibles?”
Paradise squinted her eyes against the sun and looked up at the giant Kermit water tower. “I could really use a turkey on rye from Cantor’s. You know there’s only a few months before they’re supposed to start shooting Gone with the Wind?”
“Tell me about it. Arnie’s going berserk, calls a gazillion times a day. If you don’t get back soon, I swear he’s gonna lose his mind.”
“Have they announced who got the part yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but Arnie’s been talking to them. He still thinks you’ll get it—so do I. And what if you do? What about Burt? Will you come back?”
“I can’t think about it. Besides, if I really got it, I would have heard by now.”
“Maybe, maybe not. So who are you wearing today?”
Paradise caught her own reflection in the Dairy Queen window. “I don’t know, that green dress. You know the one.”
“The Elizabeth Taylor? Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound good. You love that dress.”
Paradise focused past her reflection and watched Doc as he placed his order. He laughed at something the girl behind the register said.
“Maybe once in a while, I’ll just be me. Or maybe half Elizabeth and half me.”
A long pause on Ash’s end. “I don’t think that’s a bad idea, but … what’s going on? You don’t sound very … I don’t know … you.”
“I just need to get home. Back to LA. I’ll be fine. Everything feels so strange right now.”
“Paradise, it’s okay. Relax a little. LA’s not going anywhere.”
“Even if they were going to give me the part, I’m sure this thing with Burt has messed it all up. What does Arnie say about that? And don’t forget, you were the one who told me not to leave LA in the first place.”
“You know Arnie. Always a spin. He’s been selling the studio on the publicity angle. Kind of a Free Paradise Jones sort of thing. And I told you not to leave LA because I was worried. But now it seems like things are changing. I don’t think they’re bad changes either.”
“Why do you say that?” Paradise said.
Doc backed through the Dairy Queen door with a bag and a couple of Styrofoam cups in his hands and headed for the Olds.
“Because you’re only half Elizabeth Taylor.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“Ash, I have to go. We need to get on the road.”
“’Kay. Say hi to Red Sox for me.”
“Bye, Ash.” Paradise hit the end button and handed the phone to Doc.
“Everything okay?” he said.
“Everything and nothing. It seems impossible, doesn’t it?”
Doc’s eyes searched her, a line deepening slightly at the edge of his mouth. “What does? Escaping from crazy bounty hunters? Finding the answer to a three-hundred-year-old puzzle? Or an almost-movie star driving through Texas with a nobody like me?”
Paradise turned her gaze up and shielded her eyes with her hand. “The sky. That it could be so blue. Deep, dark blue, like water. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“Yeah. The sky. That was my next guess.” He held one of the cups out to her. “I got you a malt. Strawberry. Did I guess right?”
“Close enough, but I’m a chocolate person.”
“In that case,” he held up the other cup, “I got you a malt. Chocolate. Did I guess right?”
Paradise took it. “Nail on the head, sailor.”
In the car, Doc sipped his malt and made a face.
Paradise squeezed ketchup on an onion ring. “You don’t like strawberry?”
“Of course, I do. Who doesn’t? Strawberry malts are the reason I get up every morning.”
She handed him the onion ring. “Two chocolate fugitives on the lam. Here, onion rings make everything better.”
“You bet. Breakfast of champions.”
“Except it’s afternoon.”
“Never argue with Paradise Jones. So listen, I figure if we take back roads, we have between ten and thirteen hours or so to get to Brownsville. That’s if we push straight through and don’t stop except for gas. I think we should just go for it tonight.”
Paradise handed him another onion ring. “Okay. You’re not, you know.”
“I’m not what?”
“A nobody.”
Lines deepened on both sides of Doc’s mouth. “Know what I think? You like me.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just the chocolate malt talking.”
Doc guided the Olds south out of town, and the country spread out before them, brown and hard. Occasional pump jacks dotted the landscape, bobbing their big, dinosaur heads up and down with dogged persistence as they sucked oil from the West Texas depths.
“Jim Sharp is from Kermit,” Doc said. “One of the greatest bull riders of all time. Jake and I saw him ride once.”
“Why in the world would anyone ever do that?”
“Ride a bull?”
“Name a town after a Muppet.”
“Pretty sure the town came first.”
“Well, why would they, then? Ride a bull?”
“Why would someone want to be an actress? Or hit a baseball?”
“The Green Monster, right?”
Doc nodded. “Mostly. We’ve all got one.”
Paradise leaned her head back. Truck Stop Jesus smiled at her.
“What?” Paradise said.
“Nothing,” Jesus answered.
“You want to know what I want, right?”
“I already know what you want. I’m just waiting for you to figure it out.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? We’ve already talked about this. Anyway, stop being a dead horse.”
“You mean beating a dead horse.”
Paradise shrugged. “Either way, lousy news for the horse.”
“Okay. I’m patient.”
“Oh, brother. You’re as impossible as he is, do you know that?”
“All things are possible.”
“That’s exactly what I mean …”
Doc’s cell rang. He picked it up off the dash and looked at the incoming number. “Los Angeles, I think.” He handed it to Paradise. “Is it your friend?”
Paradise looked. “No. It’s Arnie, my agent. Ash must have given him this number.”
The ringing stopped. Ten seconds later it started again.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” Doc said.
“Maybe …” Paradise contemplated for a few seconds, then answered. “Hi Arnie, what’s up?”
Arnie’s affected Brooklyn accent slammed off
the satellite. “Don’t you dare play cute. Do I even want to ask where you are?”
“You could, but I won’t tell you. And I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Do you realize what’s at stake here? The studio’s asking questions. I can’t keep holding them off, Paradise.”
“I can’t come back right now. You know that.”
“Look, here’s the straight dope. I just got word that Scarlett is down to three girls. And I think the producers are leaning toward you. They like you for this, you understand? But your being MIA isn’t helping. It’s like I’m juggling cats here!”
“Do you think I want to be out here? I don’t have a choice, Arnie. I don’t want to go to jail. What’s hard to understand about that?”
“Yeah, okay. Listen, I talked to Burt. He’s agreed to drop the charges if you come back. He’ll take payments for the car over time. Heck, you’ll be able to write him a check for two cars when you get the part. All he wants is for you to come back and stay in the pool house where you can all be a family again. Does that sound so bad? Free rent in Malibu?”
“No, Arnie. He started it. He came on to me … don’t you understand? That’s why he wants me back there.”
“Look, kid, it’s all a little blurry, you know? He’d been drinking … You were tired … Call it a misunderstanding. I promise it’ll be okay. Burt promises, too. Just come back and let’s seal this movie deal, okay?”
“It’ll be okay? What’s the matter with you? Are you deaf? The man tried to molest me! It will never be okay, Arnie.”
“Paradise, quit being dramatic. We all have a lot riding on this deal.”
“All? Is that why you want me back? Just so you can get your commission if I get the part? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend, Paradise. But I’m also your manager. It’s my job to take care of you. To help you know what’s best for you which, frankly, you almost never do.”
Paradise glanced at Doc. “I’m being taken care of at the moment.”
“Look, let’s back up. Take a rewind, okay? So don’t live with Burt. Maybe I can talk him out of that. Just come back. I’m telling you, we’ll work something out. Just get back here.”