Truck Stop Jesus

by Storm, Buck

  “When was that? When did you get her?”

  “Nineteen seventy-three. Vietnam was over, and the US was trying to pick up the pieces. Heck, the whole world was picking up pieces. Chaos everywhere, you know? I’d been knocking around for a few years down there in the islands and figured, why go back? Why not just lay low, drink rum, play cards and mess around on an old boat? So I did. Let the planet solve its own problems without old Lan. Nobody missed me, and I’ve been sailing ever since. Me and Lazarus have seen this globe many times over.”

  “And Easy.”

  “Yup. Easy, too. Along with extra crew we pick up once in a while for longer crossings.”

  “That’s why you named her Lazarus. Because you raised her from the dead?”

  “You know the story?”

  “Only as of recently.”

  “Yup, thus the name. I think it fits.”

  “Me too. Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Rescuing us back in Agua Loco. You raised us up, too. They would have taken me. The woman—Crystal—I think she’d like to hurt me.”

  “You’re welcome. But don’t worry, you’ll earn your passage. Easy and me, we can sail this girl just the two of us, but an extra hand or two makes it easier. And more fun, frankly.”

  “I don’t know anything about sailing. I’ve never been on a boat before now.”

  Lan headed out of the stateroom toward the salon. “You’re on one now and no place to go. You’ll learn fast enough. You’re already doing better than your sick buddy up there.”

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  Lan chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “He’ll live. Not the first hombre to lose his tacos over that rail.”

  “He’s so nice. I feel sorry for him.”

  “Let me ask you—I couldn’t help but hear your conversation back in the harbor—you’re going back to LA? For a part in a movie?”

  “That was my agent that called just before Hollister rammed us. I got a part, a huge part. They want me back there right away. I have to start in two weeks. A read through. Do you know what that is?”

  “Heard of it once or twice, yeah.”

  “So I need to get back. Can we? Go back right now?”

  “We can do anything you like, darlin’. This isn’t a kidnapping. But you say two weeks. That gives you a little time. Why not let the dust settle?”

  “Well, that’s true … technically, I suppose. But I have to go sometime, and my agent is about to have a stroke. Why prolong it?”

  “Look, kid. I might be an old reprobate pirate, but I’m not blind. I don’t even have an eye-patch. Seems to me the answer to that question is up on the deck, tossing his cookies into the drink.”

  “What did you do? Before you found the Lazarus, I mean? Why were you in Puerto Rico?”

  Lan squinted an eye at her. “So you don’t want to talk about Doc—I get it. But I’ll tell you what, you’ve got two weeks; give me a day or two at sea before I take you back. Watch a sunset. Sleep with the sound of whales swimming beneath your pillow. All that Moby Dick stuff. Easy’s got a nice grouper on ice. He’ll grill it up, and you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven. I’ll even give you the Lan’s-sordid-life highlight reel. I got a sea story or two up my sleeve. What do you say?”

  Paradise again felt the roll of the sea beneath her. A gust of salt air breathed through the open door of the salon and brushed her face. “What do you want, Paradise?” it whispered.

  She smiled. “Just a day or two? You promise?”

  “Cross my heart,” Lan said.

  “And then we go back to shore?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then I say you’ve got a date for the sunset, Captain Ahab.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Dancing With the Princess of Luxembourg

  The breeze eased as the sun inched down toward the warm water of the Gulf of Mexico. Texas—or Mexico, maybe, Doc couldn’t be sure—lay in that direction, but the Lazarus had traveled far enough so that the sea now spread out on all sides with no sight of land or boat.

  As the waves died with the wind, Doc came to the happy realization that he might survive seasickness, after all, a sentiment that would never have crossed his nausea-addled mind half an hour earlier.

  Hallelujah, brothers and sisters. A miracle on the high seas.

  Doc hoisted himself to a sitting position on the bench where he’d been lying and leaned back against the rail.

  Oh, the rail … his nearest and best friend for the last half day.

  Finding his head and stomach fairly steady upon sitting, he threw caution to the wind and stood.

  The smell of grilling fish, onion, and pineapple reached him, and his stomach growled.

  “Hey there, Rip Van Winkle.” Paradise emerged from the doorway leading below deck. “Lan said the sleep would help. Did it?”

  “I think I might live to see tomorrow. That’s a new development within the last few minutes. And something smells good.”

  “You’ve got to be hungry. There’s certainly no food left inside you.”

  Doc cringed. “Not my finest hour.”

  Paradise pointed toward the bow of the boat where Easy manned a barbecue. “Easy’s barbecuing. I’ve been helping Lan in the galley. That’s a kitchen on a boat for you landlubbers.”

  “I know what a galley is.”

  “Don’t pout. It’s a nice evening, and we thought we’d eat out on the deck. Are you up for it?”

  “With fear and trepidation, but I’m in. Aren’t you queasy at all? Even being down below?”

  “Lan says I’m a born sailor.”

  “Huh. I guess I’m a born landlubber.”

  “You feel better now, though. You’ll be okay. Lan says you just need to find your sea legs.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open. Let me know if you run across them, too.”

  “Aye, aye. Listen, you’ve got to hear the story of this boat. It’s really amazing. Remember Banana Coast with Clive Granger and Madaline Lemieux? This is the boat!”

  A smile came unbidden to Doc’s face at the excitement in her voice, then he sobered. “Look, Paradise, I understand that you need to go back to Los Angeles, I really do. Believe me, I know what it’s like to have a dream. And I’m the last guy to stand in your way. I just want you to be safe, that’s all.”

  “I will be. Arnie says the studio will take care of everything. Even Burt can’t compete with them.”

  “Then it’s settled. We’re going to LA. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be an extra in your movie. I bet I could pull off a Confederate uniform.”

  “No, Doc. I’m going to Los Angeles. Not we.”

  “Hey, it’s still a free country, right? And LA’s part of it, last time I checked a map.”

  “Yes, it’s free. LA’s being part of it is debatable. But I can’t see you being there.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a change.”

  Lan emerged from below. “Back with the living, huh, Doc? Good to see your bow for a change. Lord knows we were getting tired of your transom.”

  “Transom’s the back of a boat,” Paradise said.

  “So I gathered,” Doc replied. “What’d you do, take a crash course?”

  “You up for some food?” Lan asked.

  Doc nodded. “I’m up for giving it a try. We’ll see how it goes.”

  “That’s the spirit. I talked Miss Scarlett here into staying afloat for a day or two. Wasn’t easy, either. Had to appeal to her romantic side. You know how these artistic types are.”

  “So I’m finding out,” Doc said.

  Paradise squeezed Doc’s heart with a smile as she turned to Lan. “And you have vast experience with people of the arts playing hermit on your floating hideout for the last fifty years?”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised, girly. Everyone from paupers to princes have graced the deck of old Lazarus.” Lan pointed a thick finger forward. “I once danced with the Princess of Luxembourg right there next to that mas
t. What a night! Full moon over the Aegean Sea. She had my heart, that one. I still look for her face in a crowd. I’ve ferried poets and missionaries, aid workers and rock stars. Keith Richards fell asleep one time up on the bow. Wrapped himself up in a jib cover and bam, out like a light. Some marina in the Bahamas, I think that was. He stayed with me over a week.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Doc said.

  Lan’s hair and beard glowed in the setting sun. “And now? Paradise Jones. Or should I say, Miss Scarlett O’Hara? As I live and breathe. Prettier than Vivien ever could have dreamed.”

  Paradise plopped onto a bench and tucked her legs under her. Doc couldn’t remember her looking so relaxed.

  “You talk like you knew Vivien Leigh. Was she one of your imaginary guests too?” Paradise said.

  “Vivien passed in ’67. Me and Lazarus hadn’t met yet. But you never know, girly, you never know. There are plenty of ghosts hovering around the edges. Now if you two will excuse me, I’m going to go play house with Easy and set a table on the foredeck. Doc, there’s a spare cabin for you right through the salon, then the first door on the left. You can clean up if you’d like. I threw your bag in there on the bunk. We’ll eat in fifteen minutes or so. Sound good?”

  Doc and Paradise both answered in the affirmative, and Lan moved off along the deck to where Easy was arranging a white cloth over a long table.

  Gulls screeched and circled overhead. The boat lay still on the water. No sail aloft. No engine running. Lights strung along the rigging bathed the scene in a soft glow.

  “You look happy,” Doc said.

  Paradise looked at him for a long moment before answering. “I don’t want to think tonight, okay, Doc? My brain is tired. My heart’s tired, too. But I guess so. In this moment, I am happy. No Burt. No Hollister and Crystal. Just the boat and the sky.”

  Breeze touched her hair. She must have showered and changed her clothes while Doc slept. Shorts and a loose blouse, both white. Her feet were bare—very un-Paradise Jones.

  “You’re beautiful,” Doc said.

  “You really need to stop saying that.”

  “You don’t like it? I say what I feel.”

  “Have you ever been on a boat before? Out at sea like this?”

  “I said, I say what I feel. You’re beautiful.”

  She surprised him by reaching for his hand. “Doc, you’re special. You really are. And you mean something to me. A lot. I have feelings for you, but not how you’d like me to. Please, I appreciate your help. Everything you’ve done. But I haven’t led you on. You know who I am. You know what I have to do. And it’s not a life for two. At least not now.”

  “That’s just it. I do know who you are. Maybe better than you do.”

  “Everything I’ve dreamed of, Doc. Everything I’ve wanted since I was a little girl. That’s what’s waiting for me in Los Angeles. Don’t you see? I’ll matter. I’ll mean something. I won’t be just an atom floating. I won’t be lost anymore. I’ll be somebody.”

  Defeat pressed and Doc stood. “I think I’ll take Lan’s advice and clean up. I could use it.” At the door leading down to the salon, he paused and turned. “You already are somebody, whether you know it or not. And to me you don’t just mean something—you mean everything.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  The Life and Times of Landon Prescott

  Paradise stared at the opening where Doc’s broad shoulders had been moments before.

  Don’t think. Don’t feel. Not tonight.

  Truck Stop Jesus reflected the fading rays of the sunset off his plastic frame. “Really?”

  “Really what? Wait … no … I don’t want to hear it.”

  “What do you want, Paradise?”

  “For you to quit asking me stupid questions. I don’t want anyone to ask me questions tonight.”

  “What do you want, Paradise?”

  “I’ve never been on a boat before. I’m glad this is my first one. It has to be the most beautiful boat in the world.”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  “Well, I love it.”

  “I was on a boat, you know.”

  “When? An Olds Eighty-Eight doesn’t count.”

  “There was a storm. I spoke to it, and it calmed. You’ve heard the story?”

  “That was the real Jesus. Not a plastic one. Are you the real Jesus?”

  “Are you the real Paradise?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, you’re not. But she’s close. Just like me. I’m close. I’m always close.”

  Opposite the last vestige of the dying sun, a thin edge of the moon broke the watery horizon, sending a silvery trail toward the Lazarus.

  “I don’t want to feel tonight.”

  “Too bad. We always feel.”

  “Even you, my little plastic buddy?”

  “Especially me.”

  “I suppose that must be true when I think about it. At least, the real Jesus must feel—if he exists.”

  “What do you want, Paradise?”

  “I want to be famous. I want to matter.”

  “You matter to me. More than the stars. More than whole worlds you’ve never seen or even dreamed of. I love you. Be famous to me. Be famous to him.”

  Hope surged, then faded just as fast. “But you’re just in my head. Aren’t you? Just in my head?”

  “Of course, I’m in your head. Now open your heart.”

  “This is crazy. I bought you at a truck stop. You cost $5.99. On sale, too. I’m losing my mind, that’s what’s happening. Ash always said I would, and now I am. I’ve gone over the edge just like Burt’s car.”

  Paradise stood and stretched. The water lay like glass against the hull of the boat. Air warm on her skin. She closed her eyes and let her mind drift.

  Paradise Jones. A boat called Lazarus. Gulf of Mexico. Planet Earth. Universe …

  “No, Paradise,” Truck Stop Jesus said.

  “No? What do you mean, no?”

  “You’re wrong. Very wrong. You didn’t buy me … I bought you …”

  “Paradise!” Lan’s voice rang loudly in the still evening. “Rustle up Doc. Time to eat.”

  Saved by the bell. Relief and disappointment thumb-wrestled. “Okay. Coming.”

  Doc emerged through the doorway. “I heard him.”

  Doc’s hair was wet and combed back from his face. His brown eyes caught the light. He really was handsome.

  Stop it … Don’t think. Don’t feel …

  He put his arm out toward Paradise. “Shall we?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not tonight,” Doc said.

  Lan and Easy had pulled out all the stops. The table presented as beautiful as any posh LA restaurant. White tablecloth. Silver. Real crystal.

  “Wow! Do you always do this?” Paradise asked.

  “It’s not every day we have a famous movie star onboard, right, Easy?” Lan said.

  Easy’s face blended into the dark, but his eyes and white teeth shone. “That’s true, boss. Sort of. Only the best tonight, huh?”

  “What do you mean by sort of?” Paradise said.

  “These place settings have been part of this old girl since they splashed her in oh-five. We only bring them out on special occasions,” Lan said.

  Centerpiece on the table, a platter of grilled grouper gave off a wonderful aroma. Brown rice, grilled onions, pineapple, and a spinach-tomato salad rounded out the meal. Lan insisted on serving everyone. When all had a full plate before them, Lan held out his large hands. “As is tradition, let’s thank the good Lord for his provision.”

  “Tradition?” Paradise said.

  Lan laughed. “Even Keith Richards bowed his head on the Lazarus, sweetheart. No exceptions.”

  Prayers complete, light from the boat danced on the water. A very slight breeze gently rustled the tablecloth. Paradise took the night deep into her lungs. From below deck, Spanish guitar drifted up through open hatches and into the air. Stars, brightly visible
even through the hanging lights strung through the rigging, spread themselves to all points of the compass.

  “I’ve never seen stars like that,” Paradise said. “The sky at night in Los Angeles glows. Brown and orange. You don’t see stars very often.”

  “A whole other world out here,” Lan said. “Nothing like open water. Especially when it’s calm like this.”

  “It’s like a lake,” Doc said.

  Lan poured cold water from a pitcher into his glass. “Uh huh, at the moment. But don’t let it fool ya. The ocean can change on a dime. She’s a fickle lady.”

  Evening moved on. The big grouper whittled down to bones. Music and laughter lingered and blessed.

  “Lan,” Paradise folded her napkin and laid it across her empty plate. “You were going to tell me your story tonight, remember?”

  Reflected light danced in the old man’s eyes. “I knew Vivien well, you know. I read something later about her being bipolar, but I never saw that side of her. I found her to be a gracious woman.”

  “Vivien?” Doc said.

  “Sure, Vivien Leigh. Scarlett numero uno,” Lan said.

  “How did you know her?” Paradise said.

  Lan pulled a pipe and package of tobacco from his pocket. He filled, tamped, and lit it with a silver lighter. He set the lighter on the table. It had an oblong, polished piece of turquoise ornately embedded in the side. He blew smoke into the night, and the sweet smell of vanilla and figs mingled with sea air.

  “Hey’a, boss?” Easy said.

  “Right, forgot. Used yours last time, didn’t we?” Lan tossed the tobacco package to Easy, who produced a short, stubby pipe of his own.

  Lan puffed again. His voice rolled deep and rich. “All right then, my story for what it’s worth. Let’s see, to start with, I was thrown into this world in nineteen hundred and thirty-five—sinner head to toe. To save you from hurting your brains with math, that makes me a ripe old eighty years young. Grew up around Austin. My given name was Clarence Gene Hardy. Strange, I haven’t thought about that name in a long, long time.”