Cash

by Hildreth, Scott

  “This is incredible. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was here,” she said. “Does it have a name?”

  “Sunset Cliffs is what they call it. From where we’re sitting to all the way over there.” I pointed several hundred feet north, toward another section of stone that jutted out over the beach. “I’ve been coming here for twelve or thirteen years and solving problems.”

  “What kind of problems?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the western sky.

  “The kind that can’t be resolved on my bike.”

  “I might be crazy,” she said. “But I’d guess that thing can solve about anything that might come up. I love riding on it.”

  “Sometimes riding isn’t enough,” I said.

  “When my parents died, I went to Joshua Tree. It reminds me of this place. There’s no ocean, but it’s as serene.”

  “I have to force myself to remember your parents are gone,” I said. “I can’t imagine losing my mother.”

  “Tell me about her.” She looked at me. “If you want to.”

  I rarely got a chance to talk about her to anyone other than Ghost and Baker, and they weren’t as interested in hearing about her as I was to talk.

  I fixed my eyes on the horizon. “She’s older than you might think. Sixty-two this year. She grew up in Northern Ireland. Belfast to be exact. She married her way into citizenship. Tied the knot with a man she didn’t know, just to get away from the fighting between the Catholics and Protestants. When I was a kid, she told me stories of the Peace Walls, and how Catholics lived on one side, and Protestants on the other. She said that there were Catholics that had never spoken to a Protestant, and vice versa. Her parents raised her to embrace all races and religions. When they were killed by a bomb blast, she decided she’d had enough of the fighting.”

  “That’s awful,” she said. “I’m so sorry she had to grow up exposed to that anger.”

  “She’s not.” I shook my head at the thought of my mother’s optimism. “She says it caused her to embrace her convictions. She raised me to be open-minded, and not to hate someone because of who they prayed to, or what they looked like. She said there’s only one God, and that there’s just a lot of different understandings of how pray to him and who he or she might be. We’re all after the same thing, according to her.”

  “She sounds like a smart woman.”

  I grinned. “She is. She came here with her husband. After ten years, she hadn’t got pregnant. Wanting a family, and convinced she was infertile, he left her. A one-night stand with an oil field worker who was passing through proved he was wrong and produced her only child. She changed her name back to her maiden name before giving birth to me, so I could be Irish.”

  “That’s an awesome story,” she said with a smile. “Do you ever see her?”

  “At least once a year.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Great Falls, Montana.”

  “How far away is that?”

  “Thirteen hundred and thirty miles if I ride to her house. Thirteen fifty to the cabin.”

  “Do you ride your bike?”

  “I do.”

  It felt good to share my mother’s existence with someone other than the men in the club. She was the only woman I was close to, and I’d spent a lifetime believing she’d be the only one I’d ever care about.

  I now questioned my beliefs.

  “She had you when she was thirty-one?” she asked.

  “Thirty. I’ll be thirty-two in six months. She had me late in life. She’s convinced I was a miracle baby. I told her there are a lot of women who have babies much later in life but arguing with her is like arguing with a rock. She’s stubborn.”

  She shifted her gaze to the ocean. “Do you want kids?”

  I laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve always hated women. You’re cool, but you’re the only woman I’ve ever met that I can be around for longer than thirty minutes without getting a headache. Having kids is the last thing on my mind. Why?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I’d love to be able to have kids,” she said. “I wasted my chance by being married for so long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m past my prime.”

  “Hell, you never know,” I said.

  “Actually, I do. I’m six months into menopause.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m unable to have kids. On the upside, I don’t need to worry about birth control.”

  The thought of having children in my life made me itch. “I guess the birth control thing’s a plus.”

  “What about marriage?” she asked.

  “What about it?”

  “What are your thoughts in it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Growing up in a house with only one parent and having four friends that either had no parents – or one parent – made me kind of look at marriage as a joke. What about you?”

  “It’s a sheet of paper that’s as worthless as the lies that are printed on it,” she said.

  “Sounds like we’re in agreement on that.” I nodded toward the horizon. “You’re going to miss it.”

  She turned toward the ocean and gasped. “I know why they call it Sunset Cliffs. This is going to be amazing.”

  As she gazed out at the horizon, I admired the contour of her face. I’d never seen anyone as beautiful as she was. Her beauty was so much more than what could be seen. Each day seemed to expose another quality about her that I found remarkable.

  I never would have imagined a woman being an active part of my life, but then again, I never knew women like Kimberly existed. Spending a day without her was a thought I didn’t want to think about.

  It was time for me to take the big step. To take our relationship tit he next level.

  I brushed her hair behind her ear with the tip of my finger. “Before the sun sets. I want to ask you something.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the multi-colored horizon. When the sun disappeared behind a cloud – just above the horizon – she glanced at me. “Okay.”

  “Goose is having his Friday deal on Friday, and I was wondering if you might want to go. Baker’s Ol’ Lady will be there, so there’ll be at least one person you can talk to besides me.”

  “Goose is the guy down the street?”

  “Yeah. The one that was there the day I smacked Tito.”

  “What’s the Friday deal?”

  “It’s a deal he has every Friday. It’s not mandatory, but most of us go. It’ll be a chance for you to meet the fellas. Give ‘em an idea of why I’ve been missing for the last month.”

  She looked at me and smiled. “Sure. I’d love to.”

  “Goose is a good cook.”

  Her eyebrows raised. “So, we’re going to eat there?”

  “Yeah. That’s what it is. Barbeque. Beer. Margaritas. He smokes meats. Sometimes he fries a turkey. He’s been known to make some pretty good tamales, too.”

  She chuckled.

  “What?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Getting information out of you is close to impossible.”

  She was right, but I didn’t agree with her. I didn’t disagree, either. There was a time and a place for arguing, and Sunset Cliffs during sunset wasn’t it.

  Sitting so close to her I could taste the sweetness of her perfume, I sat and watched the sunset. As the orange sphere disappeared behind the wall of water, only to be replaced by an indigo and pink sky, I gave thanks for Kimberly’s existence – and for my ability to be in her presence without doing anything stupid.

  TWENTY-FIVE - Kimberly

  I glanced around the twelve hundred square foot boutique. Compared to what else San Diego had to offer, it wasn’t much. I’d always dreamt of having a nursery, but knew I’d never be able to afford one.

  So, I settled for a shoe store. Some of the sandals had floral patterns on them. For the time being, tha
t would have to suffice.

  “I’m going to have a sale starting next Monday,” I said. “Let’s use the same signs we used last spring.”

  Tisha nodded. “The flowers?”

  “Yes.” I said, gesturing toward the plastic tubes that sat in the corner of the stock room. “The flowers.”

  “Okay.”

  Tisha was a slender vegan that didn’t have the love for shoes that I did. She did, however, have great work ethic. In three years, she hadn’t missed a single day’s work. I trusted her to open, close, and supervise all the part-time employees.

  Her choices in clothing and persistent use of sandals left me wondering if she’d go barefoot if I allowed it. Wearing an off the shoulders transparent beige dress and a pair of Billabong Rory vegan-friendly slingback sandals, she looked like she should be working at one of California’s many pot farms.

  She followed me to the sales floor, and then looked at the displays with disgust in her eyes.

  “Do you hate shoes?” I asked.

  She turned toward me and wrinkled her nose. “Truthfully?”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Sure.”

  “I mean. Kind of. If I didn’t have to wear them, I wouldn’t.”

  I picked up a Stuart Weitzman Nudist and admired the fabric of the strappy stiletto. “I’m surprised it took me this long to ask. I’ve been wondering.”

  “You’re not mad, are you?”

  “I don’t care.” I smiled and placed the shoe on the display. “You’re a great employee, and that’s all that matters.”

  She smiled in return. “Thank you.”

  I faced her. “Are you still seeing that guy that rides the motorcycle?”

  She walked to the window and peered out at the street. “Trent?”

  “The guy with the beard,” I said.

  “They’ve all got beards.” She glanced over her shoulder. “No. I’ve been seeing another guy. He doesn’t ride, but he’s got a beard. I think we’re about done, though. He’s kind of needy.”

  She seemed distraught. I regretted asking about her former lover and offered an apology, of sorts. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s okay.” She meandered to the far display, picked up a strapless sandal, and massaged the sole with her thumbs. “I miss him. It sucks.”

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Tisha. I’m sure you’ll meet someone that will appreciate you for who you are.”

  She looked up. “Thanks. Why did you ask about him? Trent?”

  “Oh.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just wondering.”

  “Is something bothering you?”

  “No. I was just. I started seeing a guy. Kind of seeing a guy. This guy was riding…” I cleared my throat. “I’m screwing a guy that rides a motorcycle, and I was wondering if you had any advice about men on motorcycles, that’s all.”

  Her face lit up. “That’s awesome!”

  “What’s awesome?”

  Her eyebrows raised. “That you’re getting laid.”

  I wondered how she knew I hadn’t been getting laid but feared asking. I fought the urge to grin, but only partially succeeded. “Yeah, it’s been pretty fun, so far.”

  “How long have you been, you know?” She wagged her eyebrows. “Seeing him?”

  “I met him thirty-five days ago. We had sex the first time thirteen days after that. We’ve been steadily going at it ever since.”

  She smiled. “Excited much?”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s cute that you’re counting the days. He must be pretty cool.”

  He was much more than pretty cool. It seemed he shared my beliefs on many things that so many others didn’t. He was completely contrary to the man I would have seen myself with as a young woman, but now that I was older, he seemed to suit me very well.

  I wondered what changed. Why accepting a man like Cash came so easily now yet seemed so out of place when I was younger?

  Marvin was a finance major and a nerd. At the time, I was convinced he was exactly what I needed. I decided it was the failed marriage of a man who wore a suit to work every day that caused me to seek a relationship in someone who was the polar opposite of him.

  “He is.” I looked at her and grinned. “He’s way cool.”

  It was nice to talk about him to someone other than Jennifer. I realized I was fondling a wedge and set it aside as if it were on fire.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I can’t stand those things.”

  Her eyes knitted together. “What?”

  “Wedges. I want them to out of style. They did once. It needs to happen again.” I glared at the display. “I wish I could change things.”

  “There’s so much I wish I could change,” she said. “Don’t even get me started.”

  “With style?” I asked.

  “With everything. This guy I’m seeing, for one. He’s so…he cries. All. The. Time. What happened to men being men? I want a man who makes me feel like he can smash the face of all the creeps that creep on me. James wouldn’t smash a grape, let alone a guy’s face. I want a man who makes me feel like I’m a woman. Trent did that. James makes me feel like I need to be ready to protect him.”

  I chuckled. “I think Cash would smash anyone’s face who looked at me cock-eyed.”

  “His name’s Cash?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “That’s awesome.” She pulled a sandal from the display and studied it. “Does he have any friends?”

  “He’s got a few, but they’re all pretty hard-core bikers.”

  “Hard-core bikers are loyal,” she said. “All you’ve got to do is fuck ‘em, feed ‘em, and never ask questions about what they do when they’re gone.”

  “Can I ask what happened with Trent?” I asked. “Why that didn’t work out?”

  She shrugged. “I forgot the last part of that three-part rule. I guess that’d be my only advice. There’s the life they live at home, and the life they live when they’re gone. Don’t ask questions about what he does when he’s away.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You said he’s hard-core,” she said. “Does he ride in a club?”

  “He does,” I responded pridefully.

  Her gaze fell to the floor. After a long pause, she looked up. “Yeah. You’ll need to remember that last part, for sure.”

  TWENTY-SIX - Cash

  Smoke poured from the homemade barbeque grille’s stack, enveloping the eave of the roof before filtering into the evening sky. The members of the MC stood shoulder-to-shoulder on Gooses’ deck. While they listened intently, Baker’s Ol’ Lady, Andy, stood in the center of the group telling a story.

  Baker was the only member of the club that was in a relationship. His Ol’ Lady was a once-in-a-lifetime find. Although trusting her didn’t come easy, I now saw her as an asset in Baker’s life, and, in turn, mine.

  His persistent introduction of her into outside functions involving the club made sure we were able to make own decisions regarding her worth, and it seemed everyone agreed.

  Baker’s Ol’ Lady was solid.

  I proudly paraded Kimberly toward the group, stopping a few feet shy of the deck’s edge. “Everyone, this is Kimberly. Kimberly, this is,” I pointed at each person as I named them. “Goose, Tito, Ghost, Reno, Baker, and Baker’s other half, Andy.”

  Kimberly stepped onto the deck and introduced herself to everyone, shaking hands like a politician on parade.

  After Kimberly exchanges niceties with each of the men, Andy pulled her aside and talked for a few minutes. Then, they stepped off the deck. As they wandered through the ornately decorated yard, I grabbed a beer and gestured toward Goose with the bottle.

  “Appreciate ya, Brother.”

  He gave a nod. “Appreciate you two taking time to stop by.”

  Baker glanced at the women, and then at me. “Damn, Cash. That girl’s a looker.”

  I sipped my beer. “It ain’t about looks, Bake. She’s a good woman. She makes me think about shi
t I ain’t never thought about. She might change me.”

  “A leopard cannot change its spots,” he said. “You’ll always be you. She’ll either have to accept you or walk away.”

  I raised my middle finger. “Fuck you.”

  Reno stumbled across the deck, and came to a stop at my side, almost toppling over in the process. He was obviously drunk. I wondered how he made it to the barbeque without wrecking his bike.

  “Damn, Brother. You drunk?” I asked.

  His eyes met mine, but he didn’t respond. After staring blankly at me for a moment, he shifted his gaze to the yard.

  “Invested in some scam,” Ghost whispered. “Took him for fifty grand. He’s been over here drinking since three o’ clock, drowning his sorrows.”

  “He needs to stop with that get rich quick shit,” I said. “Real estate is where it’s at.”

  Ghost cocked his head to the side and pressed his index finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

  I nodded. “Gotcha.”

  “She’s as fine as frog’s hair,” Reno murmured, slurring half the words. “She a Filipino?”

  I shot him a look. “A what?”

  “A Filipino.” He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “She looks like it.”

  “No, she ain’t a Filipino. She’s a fuckin’ San Diegan, or whatever the fuck people from here call themselves.”

  He craned his neck to take another look. “Looks like a Filipino.”

  “Don’t matter how many times you say it, she ain’t Filipino.”

  “Is she that chick that you were telling the story about?” he asked, his voice ten octaves louder than it needed to be. “Swallowed your schlong like it was a buttered breadstick?”

  I glanced over my shoulder, making sure she wasn’t within earshot. “No. That was someone else. And, if you’re going to be a rude prick, I’ll just ride right back up the block and eat leftover lasagna.”

  “She lives down the street, don’t she?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “It is her,” he snapped back, half shouting. “I fucking knew it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to advertise it to the whole neighborhood, you fuckin’ dip-shit,” I whispered.

  He glanced at Kimberly, and then shook his head lightly. “She’s got some big fucking titties, that’s for sure.” He shifted his eyes to me. “You play with those big fuckers when she’s slobbering on your dick?”