by Layla Wolfe
Maddy looked at me over the top of her shades. “What about all your Jewish heritage, all that Yom Kippur stuff you used to do? You just turned your back on that?”
I shrugged. “I guess so. It just didn’t apply to me anymore. That’s my mother’s faith—and my dad’s too, I guess.”
My old friend had a sly grin. “What do you think of Knoxie? He’s buffed up, huh? I mean, he always was a smoking piece of man candy, but the past several years he’s really hit the weight lifting and jiu-jitsu circuits.”
Again, I shrugged. Of course I had noticed how handsome Knoxie was. What difference did it make to me? “We’re not really cut out, or I guess you might say trained, to notice the opposite sex like that.”
Losing her grin, Maddy exhaled loudly. “Bellamy! Do you know how programmed you sound? You sound like a robot reciting a bunch of crap you’ve been brainwashed to think. You’ve got hormones just like every other woman your age. If you didn’t get even slightly aroused when sleeping in Knoxie Hammett’s bed, then fuck me dry, lady! You’re not just programmed—you’re halfway dead with one foot in the grave!”
I instantly felt bad. I wanted my old friend to like me. Of course it had occurred to me before that we were seen as weirdoes by the white vs. purple crowd, the Arizonans. I’d been back down into town several times over the years to shop for things like ginger, brown rice, olive oil, things we didn’t grow on the farm. Of course Shakti wanted us to go to the dentist and stuff like that, so I wasn’t a complete recluse. I’d heard the whispers about my purple clothes—I’d heard the muttered oaths of “whacko” and “nutjob.” I’d even seen some of Knoxie’s biker buddies, the sort that hung around The Bum Steer, do a double-take when I walked by. I tried to hold my head up high, but like every young woman, I wanted to fit in, to belong. That was why I had moved to the ashram to begin with!
I swung my legs so I was sitting upright on the chaise lounge. “Maddy. I know some of the things I say might sound as though I belong to a cult—”
Maddy didn’t even let me finish. She even whipped off her shades to cry at me, “But you do, Bella! You do belong to a cult! In the free world everyone can’t possibly all share the same beliefs down to the last rule and regulation! You sound like a bunch of robots all reciting the same stale crap you’ve been force-fed. I’m sorry, but that”—she made a wide sweep with her palm facing the deck—“whatever it is you’ve got going up in that canyon, that’s a cult, Bella. This whackamole takes your children away from you, tells you you need to get penetrated in order to relive some past trauma? In my book that’s rape, pure and simple. That’s just a fucking flimsy excuse to get into a ton of chicks’ pants all at the same time and seem holier than thou while doing it. You worship him for raping you, Bella!”
I was shocked. I didn’t know what to say. I felt like my BFF had stabbed me clean to the heart with treachery and betrayal. I actually gasped in surprise that Madison would have the balls to say this shit to me. Hadn’t she married the President of an outlaw biker club? Weren’t they supposed to be off the beaten path, marching to a different drummer—well, outlaws? They must know what it was to be scorned, laughed at, discriminated against. I squeezed my locket photo of Shakti in my palm, nearly crying at Maddy’s sudden outburst.
“Maddy! I don’t know what happened to you in that biker club, but rape is not a consensual act. I fully allow my master to bond with me, to help me through catharsis, to resolve my abandonment issue—”
Maddy slapped the soles of her feet onto the deck, too. “What makes you think it was my so-called biker club that had anything to do with this? I’m just speaking the opinion of a normal, healthy, well-adjusted woman who only allows men to stick their dicks inside me if I’m in love.”
“Well!” I snapped. “Some things sure have changed since Coyote Buttes!”
I was the one who stormed off first. I took my umbrella drink with me and stood by the deck railing gulping it furiously. How dare she? She had no idea what went on in Bihari! Just as I had no idea what’d happened to her to make her so sensitive to the subject of rape, she had no concept what was and wasn’t consensual up in Merry-go-round Canyon.
I huffed and puffed as I stared out at the sandstone buttes. Clouds were coming fast and furious. I normally loved the way they raced over the desert, creating mutating shadows across the baked layers of sediment. Now I was just fuming.
Bihari was my home, the only family I knew. I had only spoken once to my mother Carol since moving up to Bihari. A “big mom” at Bihari, a severe woman named Poona had encouraged us to ask our families for emergency money, so I had. I now realize what a big mistake that was. That big mom was gone now, because she had other ideas that maybe weren’t so sound. But before Shakti changed the rules, they prodded us to ask families for money, so we did. Boy, what a mistake. Carol had shrieked the roof down, called me a psychopath, and told me she never loved me. I was an oversight, a misjudgment in birth control, a result of one too many daiquiris while dating my dad. She screamed how glad she was to be free of both me and my sister, and don’t ever fucking use her phone number ever again.
While staring blankly out over the desert floor, I was surprised by hot tears that burned my eyes. I hadn’t cried when Carol had rejected me, but I cried now because my former BFF from my teen days was calling me a cult groupie?
I was afraid to shut my eyes because I knew the tears would carve deep channels down my cheeks. So I stared blurrily in the direction of Bihari, trying to see Madison’s point of view. It probably sounded insane if looked at in in a certain way. Our therapy sessions had some bold and innovative techniques. One man who was paralyzed by claustrophobia had couch cushions piled on him while people sat on top of them, to help him face his fears. Specific terrors were provoked. I watched once as a tank full of gopher snakes were set free among a group. The idea was that if you could face your biggest nightmare and emerge the other side safe and sound, you had triumphed.
But I also knew a lot of people who never confessed their fears for this very reason. One girlfriend had never told anyone about her fear of heights, afraid of being pushed off a cliff. And I know for certain Bodhisattva had never confided his terror of mice. They just weren’t ready to confront it, to move on.
I was, although that wasn’t the only reason Shakti bonded with me. He was constantly manipulating me with his fingers, cleansing my lower chakras, siphoning out the bad energy, flooding me with good. I wasn’t in love with him like Madison was with Ford. That was love of a lower order, romantic love, juvenile love. Shakti wasn’t my spouse, he wasn’t my father, he wasn’t my son—he was my guru, and it was all on a much higher plane. My love for him was so elevated it was like air that didn’t weigh me down with earthly concerns.
“I’m sorry, Bella. You can understand why I feel this way. I just want to see you safe and protected, like I am.” Madison was standing behind me, gently taking the empty glass from my hand. “Ford and I have a traditional marriage. You don’t. That’s all. I don’t want you thinking I’m judging you.”
I casually wiped my eye with the back of my hand, not daring to turn toward her. “But you are judging me,” I tried to say casually. I only wound up sounding like a snotfaced baby. It was true. She was judging me, just as I was judging her lifestyle. There was no way around it but to agree to disagree. I finally turned to face her, attempting a smile. “Maddy, you’re my best friend on the outside. I don’t want to fight. You found your way in life and I found mine. We both found salvation in totally different ways.”
Madison wasn’t about to give up. “But you do realize they tossed you out with the bathwater, along with those bums. They drugged your beer before herding you onto a bus with other undesirables. There was a reason for that, Bella. And I don’t want you going back until we find out what it was.”
Fair enough. “I’d like to know what the big mistake was, too. I’d like to complain to my master—maybe one of the drivers made a huge mistake, one of the daimyo who pu
t me on the bus.”
I could tell by her lopsided grin that Maddy didn’t believe a word of it, but she’d play along, for now. “Yes, there’s got to be a way to get through to someone. You seriously can’t remember anyone’s cell number?”
“Not a one. A few people have them, but since I don’t, how would I memorize anyone’s number?”
“Well, we’ll send someone up there. Someone will get through. We’ll get you your own phone tomorrow. Now, my dear. Let’s go inside.” I thought she was warning me that I had drank too much alcohol. But really we were about to head back into her glamorous chef’s kitchen and make more drinks with umbrellas. “What do you do at your compound when you’re not…doing therapy?”
“I plant trees, I help make peanut butter, but mostly I repair motorcycles.”
Maddy turned to me, her mouth an O. “You’re fucking kidding. I just remember you riding around on the back of John Sansing’s little Suzuki. You repair them now?”
“Or the back of Charlie Mooney’s pasta rocket. No, I’ve got my own Harley now. That’s what I really enjoy working on, although there are only about six other Harleys in the ashram.”
Maddy put our empty glasses down on her granite counter. “That’s amazing, Bella. I always wondered what happened to you, how you’d turn out. I know I vanished too, so I’m a fine one to talk.”
“You vanished for a good reason—to get your nursing degree.”
Madison was mysterious. “I guess that was the end game, although it wasn’t the reason I left so suddenly. Oh, well. It all turned out for the best. Now, I’ll make more QuiQuis and we can talk about how hot Knoxie Hammett is.”
“He seems to be a tattoo artist.” I had admired Knoxie’s carved body in a remote, art-loving sort of way, but it just wasn’t in me to get sexually aroused. All of those responses had been deadened by the filthy, unruly boys I’d messed around with as a teen. I certainly hadn’t been hot for any of them. And in the ashram, sexual response was something…different. It had more to do with chakras than cock rings. “Why do you keep talking about him? Are you trying to set me up or something?”
Madison put an innocent look on her face as she pressed the orange segment onto the electric juicer. “Not at all. I just think it was a great favor he did for our club, going out there and rounding up all the street people. Oh, and you.”
I shrugged. “He seems nice enough. He’s not a member of your biker gang?”
“Club. No, he’s not, although we’ve tried to corral him for years. He marches to his own drummer. He just got divorced and went through a black phase, and I think he’s coming out the other side.”
“Yeah,” I said listlessly. “His apartment sure is crap for an older guy.”
“I’ll tell you a secret. I think he might finally patch in.”
“Patch…in?”
“Join The Bare Bones. He said as much to Ford. Without his wife to hold him back, I think he’s ready to live more fully.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Maddy? You act as though I’m a citizen of Pure and Easy. Like I care what goes on in the community.”
Maddy put down the orange half and looked levelly at me. “Well, I want you to be a citizen, Bella. I have to be honest. I don’t like the idea of you up there being ‘penetrated’ by any fucking one. And I’d love to have you back. We had some good times. And we could use a good Harley wrench. My brother Speed’s been doing all of the club’s bikes, but he’s overwhelmed with fixing the equipment out at The Citadel. That’s where Illuminati Trucking is housed.”
“So the truth comes out. You need my services,” I joked.
“Among other things. I basically want your company, Bella. Speaking of, where’s your sister Virginia? I never hear of her either, and I admit to googling her name. Did she marry and change her name?”
“Marry? No…She’s fine. She’s in Tucson working at a bank. Oh, don’t add too much tequila to mine. I’m not used to drinking the hard stuff, only beer.”
I was lying, of course. I knew I’d been developing a habit of lying to cover up to white party members about things that went on at the ranch. But with Maddy, I was just weary of being judged. I’d had my daily quota.
She was part of the life outside. And a lot of what went on inside was difficult for them to understand.
CHAPTER SIX
KNOXIE
“Well, you can’t very well lock her up like some kind of warped Jeffrey Dahmer.”
Knoxie snorted in his partner’s direction. “Wasn’t Dahmer already warped? So that’s kind of implied when you say Jeffrey Dahmer.”
Adrian Shirk was laying his ink bed flat to convert the headrest into a face cradle. He had a new client in half an hour who wanted an unusual design on his back, so Knoxie had stopped in to The Missing Ink to sketch out some ideas for Adrian. The guy allegedly wanted a frog, a tongue, a razor blade, and a needle. The overall emotion he wanted to create was “I’m in pain.” Knoxie was doing some biomechanical sketching as suggestions for Adrian. A bright green poison arrow frog on a razor’s edge would definitely say “pain.”
“What I’m trying to say is, you can’t keep her away from her little culty thing. If you try to do that, you’ll have to handcuff her to the radiator, and then you’re just as bad as those Fruit Loops.”
Knoxie grunted, sifting around in his cup for a fluorescent green pencil. “I know. But I can’t in good conscience let her go back to ‘her people.’ Not when they’re the ones who dumped her on that plateau.”
Adrian stood tall, his mouth a thin line. His mouth was often a thin line, so it was difficult to tell what he disapproved of now. He resembled one of those paintings of children with the huge eyes—all pupils and eyelashes, with a dash for a mouth. He enhanced this alien ragamuffin look by adding at least six upper ear beads apiece, a septum hoop, and a couple of brow barbells. His face bristled like an extraterrestrial urchin, innocent and menacing at the same time. Adrian had a master’s degree in astronomy from Texas A&M, and Knoxie still wasn’t fully versed on how he’d wound up an ink slinger. He was also their resident body piercer.
“I understand. But what’s to stop her from sticking her thumb out on the road and showing a little leg to get a ride back up to Merry-go-round Circle?”
“Canyon. And I think people stopped showing leg for a ride in those thirties black and white movies.” Adrian wasn’t too up to speed on popular culture—other than video games and Lord of the Rings movies. “No, we can’t stop her, that’s for sure. But Maddy’s going to try.”
Adrian compressed his lips. “Oh, what’s she going to do? Bribe her with a new IPhone? Things she can’t get in her prison camp? Chocolate Yoo-hoo drinks, tube tops, and platform shoes?”
Knoxie chuckled. “Actually, yeah. We did discuss dazzling her with technology. I don’t know who she’ll call on her new phone, but after seven years on Devil’s Island, an old version of Pac Man will probably look exciting to her. You should’ve seen her glued to my TV hunting show.”
Adrian’s eyes became rounder. “Devil’s Island? You think they worship, you know, the Prince of Darkness?”
Knoxie sighed. “No. Devil’s Island was that desert island Papillon was stuck on for years. I think he escaped on a raft made of coconuts or something.”
“Well. Unless they suddenly grow palm trees up there in Merry-go-round land, I hardly think your hippie girl can build a raft.” Adrian sometimes took things too literally. “But she does sound like she has a lot in common with you. Harleys and all.”
Knoxie’s pencil tip broke with a loud snap. Embarrassed that Adrian saw him being tense—Adrian took note of everything—Knoxie nonchalantly stuck the pencil into the electric sharpener. “I suppose. I doubt she’ll be up for any sort of romancing for a long, long time. She’s been kind of twisted by her experiences. You wouldn’t believe how indifferent, callous, sort of unaware she is of her own self, her own feelings, and boundaries. Hey, sounds sort of like you.”
Adrian glar
ed at Knoxie. He ripped some antiseptic wipes from a container and fussily rubbed his ink bed with it. “Nobody’s like me, we all know that. And speaking of romancing, you’re the one who should be staying away from the ladies. You’re a forty-year-old man, a well-respected father of two. You should be acting like it instead of whipping your Bilbo Baggins around on film for the whole world to see.”
Knoxie chuckled and plunged back into his frog sketch with renewed confidence. He loved Adrian’s euphemisms for sexual terms. The astronomer-piercer himself was a strange combination of eunuch and asexual moon man. After their first meeting years ago at Hell City, Knoxie had assumed Adrian was gay, with his thin skeleton and his caustic, hypercritical demeanor. He had a fussy little old lady’s way of housekeeping, too, which was why Knoxie hadn’t moved in with him after his divorce. Adrian had an almost Asperger’s level of anal retention when it came to how his flour tins were placed and what to eat on which days of the week. That lifestyle was completely incompatible with Knoxie’s freewheeling way of life.
While Adrian wasn’t gay—he didn’t seem to really have a grasp of what that was—he wasn’t straight, either. He was in some in-between amoebic zone, some asexual single-celled state of being. Knoxie had never known Adrian to even kiss anyone else, and he freaked at being touched.
Knoxie said now, “I know you’re mortified that I’m waving my Donkey Kong around in public. But remember. The only people buying the films are the ones who want to see my hanging chad.”
Adrian furiously rubbed down his chair. “Rex Havox, indeed. It’s not just film where you shouldn’t be displaying your internal spinal massager. It’s real life, too. What are Sage and Cameron going to think when they come to Pure and Easy to visit and you’re balls-deep in some sexploitation actress—and not even being paid for it? You’re setting a fine example.”