Bikers and Pearls

by Vicki Wilkerson

  Marvin brought in their food. The chili was deliciously spicy, but she continued to be distracted by Bull. There’d be no organized reason for them to see each other after the rally. And he hadn’t really asked her out for anything that hadn’t been related to Ben’s fundraisers. “What’s wrong?” Bull asked between bites of chili.

  “Nothing.” Really, it was everything. She forced a smile, but her heart was draped in sadness. She hadn’t yet told him about her father’s three heart attacks. No matter how she spun it in her mind, her parents couldn’t deal with the motorcycles and his past.

  It was going to end. She knew it.

  Crank started the meeting. “Okay, this is our last gathering before the rally this weekend. First thing I want to show you is this.” He held up the Summerbrook Gazette.

  There she was again. Front-page news. A picture of her accepting the keys from Bull and the biker team and the check from the golf tournament was there for all to see. But this time, she had an authentic smile, and she was genuinely happy to be there. Let the entire world see her. It was all for Ben.

  “I want to put this in perspective for you. The whole golf tournament only netted around twenty-five hundred dollars. That is until Bull gave up the car and he put in the team’s winnings.” Crank tossed the paper aside. “Now for the really good news.” He held up the rally’s sign-up sheets to the crowd. “We exceeded our goals. Bare minimum, we’ll bring in twenty-five thousand from the rally.”

  The group erupted in cheers and shouts.

  Well, wasn’t that something? A group of Easy Riders came up with ten times more than a group of uppity ladies and golfers. Though they had predicted it the entire time, the realization of it hit her in her stomach. Hard. She was so glad she’d stayed to help. To be a part of the success.

  She watched Bull as he clapped. The lines that framed his smile deepened. Some emotional tide within her was drawn to some invisible lunar pull within him. They were as one at that moment. Unfortunately, their fusion had an expiration date.

  They could share a bowl of chili together. They could work on the rally together. But they would never spend a leisurely afternoon with her parents under their magnolia trees followed by Sunday dinner. With all the work that she had done on herself, she knew this had to come to an end.

  Chapter Fourteen

  April rolled out of bed at six the morning of the twenty-seventh. It was the first day of the two-day rally for Ben.

  After she took her shower, she picked up the black T-shirt that said STAFF on the back and put it on. It matched the pair of black jeans she had bought yesterday on her way home from work.

  Before she walked out the door, she checked her phone one last time. Still no call from Jenna. April would be at the square in a few minutes, and as soon as ten o’clock rolled around, she was going to stop by Enjoliver! to see why Jenna had been so out of touch.

  She was supposed to be helping April and lending moral support. Good thing her friends at the Humanity Project had come through.

  As April drove and meandered through the blossoming town, she couldn’t believe the traffic—and the lack of parking. She had to stop her car eight times to allow pedestrians to cross in front of her. The police had an area of Main Street cordoned off with bright yellow tape. The lights on the cruisers blinked as the officers directed traffic. Finally, she found a spot.

  Bull spotted April and came walking toward her. “Good morning.”

  She surveyed all the motorcycles around her. She started to embrace him like she did when she greeted her fellow volunteers at the Humanity Project but instead she touched his arm.

  April was not prepared for her reaction to all the bikes. Energy buzzed in the air. The hair on her arms stood up. This was going to be way more difficult than she had imagined.

  “You want to walk over for a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she replied, and they started to stroll.

  They passed a woman wearing leather pants. In springtime in the South? April wondered how hot the lady was.

  As they meandered through the crowd, she noticed a lot of biker T-shirts. Most were black, and many had Harley-Davidson insignia on them.

  “Don’t other companies make motorcycles?” she asked.

  He smiled. “That’s a touchy subject amongst some of these guys. Yeah. Honda. Yamaha. Others as well. But they’re not American made. This group of people is very patriotic. Harley-Davidsons are made in the good ole U S of A.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t thought about it like that before,” she said.

  They walked by a beautiful woman with deep red hair who had on way too much makeup and black fingernail polish. She had on a T-shirt that read Born to Be Wild. How appropriate. An appropriate slogan for April, however, would have been Born to Be Mild.

  At a tent near the front, Bull took two coffees from a table. “Cream and sugar?” he asked.

  She nodded as she looked at some of the religious art items on the table. Everybody under the verdant canopy had on a shirt that had a biker slogan on it. Posters with motorcycle sayings hung on the back walls of the tent. Several easels held framed pictures. One depicted a winged man on a chopper, and it read Heaven’s Highwaymen.

  Another had bright rays of light beaming down from the clouds onto bikers headed off into the sunset. It read Ride to the End.

  Though they were not exactly her glass of skim milk, they were actually very beautiful. Bull handed her the warm cup. “Let’s look at the motorcycles in the show.” He started walking.

  “I was thinking,” he said. “About after the rally. We don’t really have any plans.”

  She looked away and took a deep breath. This was the talk they’d been needing to have for a while now. The talk that was the white alligator in the room. Where she’d have to deal with her father’s condition. And her fear of the motorcycles that surrounded her. The fear that was gripping her throat and heating up the back of her neck. “I know. What I don’t know is where this could go.”

  “What do you mean, where it could go? We could have dinner. Go for rides.” He stopped. “I could meet the rest of your friends. And parents.”

  She looked around. Her words were tied in knots. Like her stomach. “I’m like a duck in a desert here. What do we really have in common? Besides working on this rally? My father’s had three heart attacks. They retired away from here to escape the stress. I can’t park a motorcycle on his doorsteps and tell him to deal with it.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry about your dad.” Something twitched in his jaw. “Maybe we could figure something out later.” He grabbed her hand. “Well, let’s enjoy the rally. For now.” He pointed in the direction of a sign and touched her back. “Let’s go.”

  She took a deep breath and followed Bull. She’d come this far. She simply couldn’t see how she’d ever get over this last hurdle.

  “First off, we’ll look at the special entries.” He led the way to an area cordoned off with car lot flags. “These can be a riot,” he said.

  The first entry was a three-wheeler entitled Hunting Machine. It was a conglomeration of hunting paraphernalia attached in various ways to an old chopper.

  Bull chuckled. “Would have been heresy to mess up a Harley that way.”

  A gun rack was mounted to the sissy bar. Raccoon tails were hanging off the handlebars. Deer horns were attached to the front of the bike. Turkey feathers hung from the back fender. And a giant-sized holster held a shotgun on the right side.

  “Who built that? Davy Crocket or Jeff Foxworthy?” she asked.

  He grabbed her hand and smiled. “Wait till you see the next one.” He led her on. “This trike is called The Saturday Night Camping Special.”

  The cycle had a lightweight aluminum frame attached that created a canopy over it. From the frame hung old pots, pans, cups, and other well-worn kitchen utensils. A trailer hitch mounted on the rear of the bike held a barbecue on wheels. A rubber chicken hung out the back of the grill. In case the camper preferred fis
h, a cane pole and net were secured to the roof of the metal beams. To top it all off, firefly lights blinked off and on all around the top of the monstrosity.

  “That, I’m afraid, is an insurance nightmare.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Looks like a wreck on wheels to me.”

  He leaned down and spoke softly into her ear. “I wouldn’t want a child of mine to be frightened by such a thing. Would you?”

  She shivered at his words. Or the warmth of them on her ear. “So, you want a family one day?”

  “Of course, don’t you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “One day.” She stared at him while he was checking out the bike. He’d probably make some child a good father. And some other woman a good husband. She didn’t want to think about that, though. She couldn’t think about that.

  “Okay. Now for the real bikes,” he said, and he walked away from the sideshow.

  Taking a sip of her coffee, she remained a few paces back as he stepped up to the first entry.

  He brushed his hand over the big metal part that held the gas behind the front wheel. It was burgundy with orange-and-yellow flames painted on it. “This is a Harley-Davidson Road King Custom.” There was a look of admiration in his eyes. “Buckshot hand control levers and chrome belt guard. Just beautiful.”

  The temperature inside her rose—from the coffee. And the black get-up she was wearing. She pulled at the neckline to allow some air to cool her body’s reaction to the motorcycle.

  “Great bike, man,” Bull said to the guy who was sitting in one of the chairs behind the metal ogre with two wheels.

  “Thanks,” the man said. His forearms were covered in tattoos. Barbed wire around a crown. A heart with more wire around it. And a cat. Go figure.

  Bull and the owner talked about trim rings and other terms she hadn’t heard of before. The language sounded foreign to her. The two men shook hands, and she and Bull continued their stroll. Boy, was it getting hot.

  He stopped again. “This one’s called a Fat Boy.” He squatted down to get a better look at something. His golden-streaked hair had as much sunlight gleaming off it as the bike.

  That same sunlight was making her uncomfortable. And she could feel one of her headaches coming on. No matter how much she wanted to push through it, though, motorcycles would always be an obstacle between them. Even if she could overcome the heat of being around them, her parents couldn’t. There was no middle ground. Anywhere she could see in the sea of cycles.

  The machine before her was black and had rivets trimming out every inch of every piece of leather. The owner walked toward Bull, wearing a jacket that had more rivets on it than the bike. He had to have been burning up. It was way too warm, and it was still early in the day. She checked her watch. Almost ten and almost time for her to check on Jenna. She could use the excuse to escape the motorcycles.

  Bull said, “Sweet ride.”

  April took a step closer to try to see some kind of “sweet” in it. She wanted to appreciate at least a small piece of what Bull saw. It was very shiny.

  She startled when she heard a loud boom followed by a deafening rumbling.

  “Your little woman ain’t used to the noise yet, is she?” the man asked.

  “Not yet,” Bull said, putting his arm around her shoulder.

  She could never be. And she wasn’t his little woman, either. Little—maybe. Woman—definitely. But his woman? She was trying so hard to be okay around the motorcycles; however, she was failing, and she knew she’d have to be around the machines to be with Bull. That would be step one. Step two would be even more difficult. Find something beyond the rally that they had in common. Step three would be impossible. Have her parents understand his past and what they saw as a dangerous future for her.

  “Looks like the passenger rides around the square have begun,” Bull said.

  “Yeah, I’m gonna take Terminator here and give about ten rides or so around eleven,” the man said. “Gonna raise even more money for that poor boy.”

  Bull smiled.

  She thought about the time and money these good people were giving up for Ben. And nearly every dime was going into the boy’s fund. She loved what the bikers were doing for Ben, but motorcycles were still dangerous, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get beyond that fact.

  “Let’s walk over to the build off,” Bull said as he took her hand.

  “Don’t we need to be doing something for the rally?” she asked. She felt moisture on both her palms—the one wrapped around the coffee and the one covered by Bull’s strong grip.

  He rubbed the top of her fingers with his thumb. “I think you’ll find that these guys may not look like it, but they’re the most organized group of people you’ll ever meet.”

  “I can see that,” she said.

  He continued walking. “They have everything under control. As each person attempted to join us, he got a copy of the restrictions and wasn’t allowed to actually register until he agreed to the requirements by signing.”

  “Wow. That was pretty easy. I thought I was going to have to stand in front of everybody and say something and cause a riot,” she said. She let out a breath that seemed to have been held in for weeks.

  He stopped and turned toward her. “You would’ve done that?”

  “I would have,” she said. “I’m glad you guys were watching my back on that one.”

  They both laughed.

  His eyes caressed every part of her face, and then he gazed beyond her, like he couldn’t look any longer. “You amaze me.”

  That was good. At one point she had frustrated him, confused him, and had even made him angry. Amazing him felt great.

  When they finally made it across the square to the build off, an announcer on what looked like a covered lifeguard’s chair was providing a running commentary on the progress of the builders.

  “This is where all the real action is,” Bull said. His face lit up.

  She dropped his hand and lagged a step behind him as he made his way down the line.

  “Look at that spoiler on that Roadster,” he said pointing to one of the bikes.

  She turned her head in the direction of where he was pointing, but she didn’t know what a spoiler was.

  He walked along the line of motorcycles. “Look at those chrome discs on that V-Rod,” he said.

  More than ever, she realized she came from a different world. She spoke a completely different language and was from another culture. She was surprised, though, at how much she was learning about all the accessories and motor part things.

  “This next motorcycle is a tribute bike—some call them memorial bikes. The old man and his son are paying their respects to the man’s wife who died recently.” The machine had red seats and saddlebags. The name Rose was written in script everywhere it would fit. April walked a bit closer. The woman’s birth date was inscribed on the front fender and her death date on the back.

  There was sadness in the old man’s eyes as he polished pictures of roses on the tank. It reminded her of the streaks of blue upon her own heart since Miss Adree’s death. He looked up and smiled at April. The bike was one of the most touching things she had ever witnessed. A memorial motorcycle? It was far more meaningful than a barren gravesite or a cold, rock-hard tombstone. The bike was dynamic and personal and the old man would probably ride it everywhere he went, taking his wife’s memory with him. It moved April. Imagine that. A motorcycle had touched her.

  She wished someone would do something like that for Miss Adree. April still missed her so.

  Bull motioned with his head and said, “Wait till you see the next one.”

  She looked to her right and almost couldn’t believe her eyes. There was a beautiful woman in skinny jeans kneeling beside a bike. She had a pink ribbon in her short, blond ponytail. Her hair danced as she helped the man beside her tighten some kind of screw or nut on the machine they were working on. April took a step closer and couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “Jenna?”r />
  Jenna jumped up. “April,” She took out a rag she had stuffed in her back pocket and wiped her hands. “I was going to call you—”

  “You didn’t tell me,” April said and tried to draw in a breath, but her chest tightened and a piercing bolt shot through her head.

  “You remember Hogan,” Jenna said, placing her hand on the man’s shoulder.

  The man stood. It was Hog. Clean cut and without his mullet. But that wasn’t the most shocking thing. Jenna was working on a motorcycle.

  “What are you doing?” April asked. The sun bore down on her head. She shouldn’t have sipped that cup of coffee.

  “That’s why I didn’t call you. I’ve been helping Hogan with this build off,” she said. “I’ve been getting home late every night. Too late to call.” She grabbed April and pulled her a few paces away. “I’ve been with him every waking minute since the tournament.” Jenna smiled and whispered. “It’s like we’re inseparable or something.”

  April didn’t know what to say to her friend. Her insides trembled when she thought about Jenna riding on the back of that bike.

  “I’m okay.” She hugged April, pulled back and held her at arms’ length. “Everything’s going to be fine. Hogan is such a gentleman, and he’s very protective. He won’t put me in any danger.”

  “But—” April had no words. She glanced up at the sky and then back at her friend.

  “We spent all last Sunday together. He brought white roses to the boutique on Monday. Daisies on Thursday. I’ve eaten every lunch and dinner with him since—” She hesitated. “Are you going to be okay?” She waved her hand in the air. “Bull, I think we need to get April under some shade.”