Bike Week Blues

by Mary Clay

  One of those suitcases would hold a full-sized adult and was plenty big for anyone other than Penny Sue. Of course, everyone didn’t buy a complete wardrobe every time she took a trip or met a new boyfriend. “I’ll slip on some shorts and run down to Chris’ Place. Sandalwood candles. Anything, else?” I asked, giving Penny Sue a hard look.

  “Okay, no smudge sticks. That sage absolutely stank, didn’t it?” Penny Sue giggled. “Can you imagine the smell when Shrewella burned it with cayenne pepper?”

  “Telling her that was mean,” I said.

  “You went along with me!”

  “I know, and I feel bad about it. Poor old thing might have choked to death.”

  Penny Sue poked my arm. “Admit it, you don’t like her, either.”

  “She is a little persnickety.”

  “Persnickety? She’s a stuck-up, old prune. She’s the one who made all the trouble for me with the police, the last time I was here.”

  I wanted to remind Penny Sue that she’d done a good job of making trouble for herself by waving her gun around, but didn’t. This was one situation when it was best to let sleeping dogs—or Southern belles—lie.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Ruthie was content to stay by the pool and read the newspaper. With all of the commotion, she was behind on world events and must have felt lost. She was also probably happy to have some peace and quiet. Ruthie was a person who typically meditated twice a day, which was impossible with Penny Sue, Chatterbox of the South, around.

  I slipped shorts on over my swimsuit, while Penny Sue put on a lacy, black beach cover-up. Cover-up was something of a misnomer—see-through was more accurate. Oh, well, it’s the beach and Bike Week, I thought—anything went.

  We piled into my car and headed down Flagler to Chris’ Place. It was evident a half million tourists were in the area, I had to circle the block four times to find a parking space. Luckily, my Beetle was small and maneuverable, allowing me to share a space in front of Chris’ Place with a Harley. “Your car could never have done this,” I gloated.

  “Hmph,” Penny Sue replied as she struggled to lever herself out of the car. Once again, I had to pull her up. “It’s not my fault,” she complained. “You parked too close to the sidewalk. This car is for dwarfs. It truly needs an ejector seat. Get one next time, so real people can ride with you.”

  I ignored her comment and studied the bricks on the sidewalk. Flagler Avenue, like many restored districts, sold commemorative bricks to help finance the street’s restoration. While most bricks contained family names and proclamations of undying love for people and New Smyrna Beach, two positioned in front of the shop were standouts. The first proclaimed, Starpeople Landing Zone! That’s the portent Ruthie interpreted to mean that Chris’ Place held answers for us on our last visit. The other was a new one I’d bought, but Penny Sue had never seen. “Look.” I pointed to a brick in front of the window.

  “The DAFFODILS Were Here,” she read aloud. “I’ll be darned. When did you do that, Leigh?”

  “Christmas. I was feeling lonely and ordered it while I was here buying presents. I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

  She gave me a hug. “That is so sweet. In spite of everything, the last trip turned out good, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, that’s the first and only time I’ve been on CNN,” I said wryly.

  We stood to the side as four women in biker garb left the shop. About our age, they all wore pouch belts in lieu of purses. “That seems to be the in thing,” I observed.

  “Those are so good looking. Bigger than mine. Excuse me,” Penny Sue called, chasing after them. “I really like your belts.”

  “The fanny packs?” a slightly graying woman asked.

  “I hate that phrase, but, yes. Did you buy them around here?”

  The lady chuckled. “I know what you mean. Doesn’t make sense, does it? You don’t wear the darned thing on your fanny, or at least I wouldn’t.” She turned to her friends and grinned. “I’m not sure there’s one big enough for that. Anyhoo, we bought them at the department store over by Publix.”

  “Bealls in the beachside shopping center?”

  The woman nodded.

  “Thanks so much,” Penny Sue drawled.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Roswell, Georgia.”

  “Thought so. Nice place. I lived there for many years. Well, y’all,” she said with special emphasis, “have a nice day.”

  “You, too,” Penny Sue gushed with double the normal drawl. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to me and said in a normal voice, “Let’s go to Bealls after we get the candles.”

  Chris’ Place was packed, primarily with pseudo-bikers like Penny Sue, judging from the new leather smell and the Rolex on the wrist of a petite woman at the front counter. She was making over a black and red feathery doll with a mirror for a face. “This is the Goddess of Hot Sex,” she exclaimed to her friends. They all crowded around her.

  Penny Sue almost knocked me over to get to the counter.

  “Think I should buy this?” the woman asked playfully.

  “Why not?” one of her friends said.

  For a moment I thought Penny Sue might snatch the doll from the woman’s hands. Instead, she bent over the case, studying the remaining goddess. “Leigh,” she hissed. I hurried to her side. “The only one left is for Success.” She pointed at a yellow and orange feathered doll with a round bead in the middle of the forehead—the position of the third eye. “This might help us find Rich, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t think the doll would do a thing, one way or another, except lighten her wallet. Still, it was eye-catching and certainly couldn’t hurt. If nothing else, it might work like a lucky charm to build her confidence. “It’s cute, buy it.”

  One of the sex goddess’ friends moseyed over, eyeing the last doll.

  Eyes narrowed, Penny Sue informed her, “That’s mine. Chris,” Penny Sue called loudly, “I’ll take this remaining goddess when you get a chance.”

  Chris hurried over as soon as she finished with her customer. “Penny Sue, it’s been a long time. How have you been?” Chris removed the goddess from the display.

  “Pretty good,” Penny Sue replied absently, reading the instructions for the doll. “What kind of candles should we burn with this?”

  “Yellow,” Chris said.

  “How about sandalwood?” I asked. “That’s what we came for.”

  “That scent is good to set a meditative mood. Yellow is the color for success—the scent isn’t important.” Chris led us to a candle display where she picked out a sandalwood candle and a yellow taper.

  “That’s not enough—give us four of each.” Penny Sue turned to me. “I don’t want to come up short like we did with the sage.”

  I suppressed a grin. Penny Sue went whole hog after everything—I was surprised she stopped with only four.

  “Anything else?” Chris asked, putting the items on the counter.

  “Do you have The Book of Answers?”

  Chris walked to the bookcase. “Yes, one left.”

  “I’ll take that, too.”

  We stowed the stuff in the backseat and headed for the Indian River Shopping Center. Wonder of wonders, we found a parking space close to the side door of Bealls. A chalkboard on the sidewalk caught Penny Sue’s eye on the way into the clothing store.

  “Cornmeal fried oysters with Florida caviar and a spicy sauce. That sounds heavenly. Look, Mojo Marinated Pork Chops.” She wiggled her fanny. “Just what I need, to get the ole mojo revved up.”

  Oh, boy. I wasn’t sure Fran was ready for this.

  Penny Sue took a step back and checked the neon marquee over the entrance. “Spanish River Grill. Why haven’t we been here before? The food sounds terrific.”

  “I found out about it only a few weeks ago. It’s a secret locals hope tourists will never discover.”

  “Fran’s been so nice, let’s bring her here for dinner to
night. My treat.”

  “I’ll split it with you.”

  “No, you won’t,” she barked. “This whole thing with Rich is my doing; the least I can do is buy dinner for the good friends who are helping me.”

  I held up my hands signaling no argument. She was getting a little cranky. Besides, she was right.

  Bealls had a whole rack of bike belts, as the sales clerk called them.

  “That’s a much more civilized term. A man must have named them fanny packs—no woman would have been so stupid.” Penny Sue picked one up and examined it. “These are nice. Glove leather and two pouches.” She turned it over. “Actually, three. Look, there’s one on the inside.”

  “Designed for tourists who want to keep their money and credit cards out of sight. I guess it’s a combination money belt and purse,” I said.

  We bought four at a good price, in case Frannie May liked the inside pouch design.

  Penny Sue suddenly fanned herself. Forget the garbage about Southern belles glistening and glowing—she was sweating like a whore in church. “Let’s swing by the health food store across the street. I think I’ll try that black cohosh.

  “Black cohosh, Omega 3, 6, 9, and vitamin E should take care of it,” the sales lady advised.

  “Does it come in a single pill?”

  “This one’s pretty close.”

  Penny Sue mopped her brow. “Give me five bottles.”

  The clerk did a double take. “Five? Did you notice the price?”

  She wiped her top lip. “I don’t care, as long it works.”

  “It’s not instantaneous. It takes a while to get in your system.”

  “Well, let’s get on with it!”

  Penny Sue bought a bottle of mineral water and took three pills before we got back to the car.

  “How do you feel?’ I asked.

  She took a big swig of water. “Like someone lit a blow torch under me and I’d smack anyone who got in my way.”

  Honestly, I hoped the pills kicked in fast. Double fast. Maybe even triple fast. I started the car. “Your testosterone—which most people don’t realize women have—is out of balance with your estrogen. It’s the testosterone that gives so many older women a ‘kick ass’ attitude. Your body chemistry is essentially the same as an eighteen-year-old male.”

  She looked straight ahead. “Yeah, but I’m a lot smarter.”

  Uh oh, not the time to provoke her. “I’m talking general tendencies.”

  She threw down two more pills and chased them with a long drink of water. “One thing’s for sure—Rich is my soul mate, and I’ll kick the butt of anyone who stands in my way, including Vulture, and especially Red.”

  I put the car in gear and checked the rearview mirror. “Look, isn’t that Sidney going into the health food store?”

  Still swigging water, Penny Sue glanced over her shoulder. “Yes, I believe it is.”

  * * *

  It was after five when we got back to Fran’s. Bikers were everywhere—some in convoys a mile long—turning our five mile trip into a thirty minute game of dodge ’em. Fran and Ruthie were sipping Manhattans out by the pool when we finally arrived. “Let me fix you one.” Fran went to the outside pool bar, returning a moment later with two plastic glasses graced with palm trees.

  I raised my glass. “To Fran, the perfect hostess,” I swept my arm wide, “with the most incredible view.”

  Fran eyed the packages Penny Sue had dropped on table. “A little shopping, eh?”

  “Look what we’ve found.” Penny pulled out the bike belts and passed them around. “It has a secret inside pocket. Isn’t that neat?” The others agreed and thanked her for the gift. A gust from the inlet blew through, toppling the bag with the feathered goddess so its head popped out.

  “Should I ask?” Ruthie said with a big eye roll. “What in the world is that? I assume you’re not planning to pluck a chicken for dinner.”

  Penny Sue took out the doll and handed it to Ruthie. “It’s a Magical Goddess of Success.”

  Ruthie giggled as she examined the yellow and orange feathered moppet with spindly arms and a button in place of a third eye. Her brows drawn together in a straight line, Fran peered over Ruthie’s shoulder. Fran took a sip of her cocktail. “I’m Catholic. This isn’t voodoo, is it? You’re not planning to pray to this pagan idol, are you?”

  “Absolutely not,” I said, jumping to Penny Sue’s defense. “It’s merely an amulet, a good luck charm. A way to focus your attention on a positive goal.”

  Pointing to the label of instructions, Ruthie handed the doll to Fran.

  “Hold your hands over the doll and envision the Universe supporting and fulfilling your desire for success,” Fran read.

  “The success I want is to find Rich before the police do. If he doesn’t turn himself in, I’m afraid he’ll get caught in the middle of a shoot out,” Penny Sue said as she opened the other bag. “See, we burn these candles to set the mood. That’s it. Basically, a meditation.”

  Frannie May took a sniff of the sandalwood. “Smells good. I can go along with this, as long as we’re not praying to this thing and there’s no pin sticking.”

  “No pins, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  We stretched out in lounge chairs, enjoying the picturesque scene of the sun dropping into the waterway.

  “Anything good in the news today?” I asked Ruthie. While I was not in her league as a news junkie, even I was feeling out of touch with the world. Between the bikers and Klingons, I felt like Alice in Wonderland where everything was topsy-turvy.

  “This is the largest Bike Week on record, and accidents and injuries are at an all time low. Officials speculate it’s because the bike crowd has gotten old and finally given up their wild ways. Oh, and tomorrow afternoon is cole slaw wrestling. That’s supposed to be the high point of the week.”

  “I’ve heard of it, but never been. Carl and his buddies go every year,” Fran said.

  “I think we should go,” Penny Sue piped in. “What could go wrong in the daylight? Besides, if it’s the big event, Rich may be there. This could be my big chance.”

  Rich. Penny Sue was like a starving dog who’d latched on to a bone. There’s no way she was going to give it up. “Is the rocket still scheduled to go?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  Ruthie nodded. “Day after tomorrow, in the morning. They haven’t announced the time yet.”

  “I’d like to see that.” I glanced at Fran. “We could go over to the condo and sit on the deck. As long as we don’t take Penny Sue’s car, there’s probably no danger.”

  “Depends on the time. If it’s dark, we’ll ask Carl to go with us.”

  “The Middle East is the usual mess,” Ruthie went on. “Attacks, counterattacks, you’d think the people would get sick of it and call a truce.”

  “It’s gone on so long,” Frannie May said sadly, “it’s become their way of life. The people over there don’t know how to behave differently. Things probably won’t change until all the old leaders die off, taking the past and all the grudges with them. Hopefully, that will happen soon.”

  Ruthie picked up the paper and turned to the second page. “There was another hijacking of military weapons, this time in Georgia, not far from Atlanta. Homeland Security is afraid terrorist groups are planning a big attack.”

  “How in the world can a military shipment be hijacked? Don’t they have guards?” I asked.

  Penny Sue shook her head. “You’d think so. Probably an inside job—Al Qaeda sympathizers.”

  “This terrorist thing is getting very scary. I never realized how good we had it in this country. Now, I feel like I have to look over my shoulder all the time,”

  Fran chuckled. “If you’d grown up in a big city, you’d be used to looking over your shoulder.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Penny Sue said. “By the way, I want to treat everyone to dinner. I’ve never been to the Spanish River Grill and would like to try it.” She glanced at
Fran. “You’ve already done too much cooking. Please, say yes.”

  “Fine with me—it’s a great restaurant. I was going to make an antipasto for the boys to eat when they get back from their battle. I can whip that up in a jiffy and let it chill while we go to dinner.”

  “Where are the guys?’ I asked. “We saw all the cars and bikes parked next to Carl’s workshop.”

  “Long gone. This is it, finally, victory in the Battle of Khitomer,” Ruthie said with a twinkle in her eye. “They were so excited—it was really cute to watch. They were like a bunch of kids with a new toy when they rolled out the Bird of Prey. They spit-polished spots and slid it into the water as if it were a baby dolphin. I hope they win. There will be some mighty long faces, otherwise.”

  Penny Sue’s face brightened. “I know,” she almost shouted. “We’ll do a success meditation for the Klingons. Couldn’t hurt, right?”

  Fran smiled. “Asking the Universe for help is okay, I think. But, we’d better do it fast, because the battle will start at dusk.”

  We drained our cocktails and went upstairs to the kitchen. Frannie May began throwing together a little antipasto—she’d pulled out a two-gallon salad bowl—while Penny Sue and Ruthie set up our goddess paraphernalia in the middle of the kitchen table. They placed the yellow candles in an arc behind the goddess, aligned four chairs facing the doll, and lit a few of the sandalwood candles around the room to set the mood.

  By then the salad was finished and we took our seats.

  “Wait,” Fran instructed, hustling through the great room off the kitchen to the master suite. She returned wearing a necklace with a heavy gold cross and a large Crucifix which she put in place of a wreath on the wall. “I’m Catholic,” was all she said.

  “Ruthie, will you do the honors?” Penny Sue asked, passing her the instructions. “Let’s affirm the Klingons, first.”

  “What do we do?” Fran asked with an edge of anxiety.

  “I’m going to read this plea that the Universe support Carl and his friends’ desire for success in the battle. Then, we stack our hands over the goddess and silently envision the guys being happy, jumping for joy, giving victory calls—you know, whatever they’d normally do if they’d won the battle.”