by Robert Rand
As soon as he saw the headlights moving in and out of traffic, the cop had dropped his car into drive. The car that had registered the 85 on his radar was now in front of him, pulled to the side of the road. As he approached the driver of the yellow Corvette, he asked her to step out of the car. At first, upon seeing the advanced stage of her pregnancy, he thought she might be heading to the hospital. When she told him that she was just driving around he noticed that her words, though not exactly slurred, were thick and that her eyes were bloodshot and glossy.
“Have you had any alcohol tonight?” he asked, as she handed him her drivers’ license.
“Men!” she exclaimed, “Fuck all of you! Give me my ticket and get out of my face!”
This little redhead had fire, Officer Sutton observed. Then he asked her if he could look inside the car.
“Do whatever you’re gonna do and get done with it!” she replied as she crossed her arms in a gesture of disgust.
“If you’ll just wait over on the sidewalk, this shouldn’t take very long.”
She stood where the cop had pointed, arms still crossed, adding a tapping foot to show her impatience.
Officer Sutton then began searching the black leather jacket that was lying in a heap on the passenger seat. Inside the front right zippered pocket, he found the remaining methamphetamine. He approached April and asked to see her arms. She held them out for his inspection. Under the bright Krypton bulb of his Mag-light, Officer Sutton saw a single fresh puncture midway down her right forearm.
He pulled out his handcuffs and told her, “I’m placing you under arrest for driving under the influence, child endangerment and possession of methamphetamine.”
April was stunned. As the cold steel clamped around her wrists she said to the cop, “I’m pregnant! Do you think I’m so horrible that I’d risk hurting my baby?”
“Before you say anything else, you have the right to remain silent…” he recited her rights from memory.
After calling for a tow truck to impound the Vette, he notified dispatch that he had one pregnant female en route to the hospital for a pre-booking medical evaluation.
It was nearly four hours after April left the house that she was finally able to call home. Sullivan answered on the first ring. “Hello, April?” the concern was evident in his voice.
“Now that you know how it feels to sit alone by the phone waiting to hear from someone you love, why don’t you get your ass down to the Palm Springs City Jail and bail me out?” She was sarcastic, but her poorly concealed fury that boiled just beneath the surface told him that she wasn’t lying about being in jail.
“How much is bail, sweetheart?” he asked gently.
“What? You’re not going to ask me why I’m in jail – of course not, why should you since you damn well know? The bail for this shit that isn’t mine is ten thousand.” She slammed the phone down.
Sullivan called his lawyer first.
“Hello?” he answered on his home line.
“Esquire, it’s Rourk. April’s in jail.” He quickly explained that he had left some speed in the car and April had been popped for it. Vasquez told Sullivan that he would arrange for payment of the bond in order to get April out of jail.
“Thanks, Esquire,” Sullivan offered.
“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for that sweet young woman who was stupid enough to marry you.”
For the second time in less than ten minutes, Sullivan had a phone slammed down by the person he had been talking with.
His next call was to the bond company. After a conference call between Sullivan, the bond agent and Vasquez, the bond agent promised to have someone meet Rourk at the jail within the next half an hour.
Sullivan’s next call was to Yellow Cab.
April wouldn’t talk to Sullivan during the cab ride from the Palm Springs Police Department to the impound lot where the Corvette had been towed. When he tried to get her to get out of the taxi, she refused.
“Go get your precious little car. I’m going home” she snipped, then slammed the door of the cab and asked the driver to drive on.
Sullivan went through the paperwork and payment at the impound lot. Following an hour of bureaucratic red tape, he was, finally, on his way back home.
At the house, he was expecting a huge fight. An argument to which he would concede immediately. What he found was worse.
Sullivan was greeted at the door with a warm smile and April’s tender kiss. He tried to apologize. “April, sweetheart, I am so…”
She interrupted him with a “Shush” and a slight shake of her head as she turned away from him and walked into the dining room.
As he followed her, he noticed the delicious scent of April’s clam sauce. Her linguini and clam sauce was one of his favorite meals, and the one she liked least to prepare. His guilt was increasing with each step toward the dining room.
“Sit down, Honey,” April practically purred as she pulled out the chair at the head of the table for him. The antique china that had belonged to his mother and the Waterford Crystal had been arranged at the table for the two of them. April kissed him on his grizzled cheek, and then lit two tall white candles.
“April…” the pleading evident in his voice, as he began once more.
Once more, she stopped his attempt to apologize with a “Shush!” and a smile that was pure sweetness.
April went into the kitchen and retrieved a large tray with several covered silver serving dishes on it. She set the tray on the table and began opening dishes and serving their contents onto the China. The linguini and clam sauce Sullivan had already caught scent of, with its heavy garlic aroma, was coupled with cauliflower that she had baked in a ricotta cheese and basil sauce. Garlic bread and, for him, white wine, while she filled her glass with chilled water.
Dinner was exquisite in presentation as well as taste. April guided the conversation as if she were a seasoned Ambassadors’ wife, steering clear of sensitive issues, complementing Sullivan on his returning healthy appearance. She was gracious and loving. She remained effusive toward Sullivan, telling him several times how much she loved him and how important he was to her life. His guilt increased with each word, each bite and each smile.
When dinner was done, April took Sullivan by the hand and led him to their bedroom. In the doorway, April turned to face him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, looked up into his eyes and asked, “Will you kiss me?” in her most alluring voice.
He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers as his arms took her into the shelter of his embrace. The kiss began as a tender touch, but quickly grew in its intensity. He slid his tongue into April’s mouth, wrestling with her tongue, tasting her taste. Sullivan could feel his manhood growing hard as his desire to make love to his beautiful wife grew. He started pulling at her clothes, eager to touch her naked flesh.
April pulled back suddenly and put her hands on Sullivan’s chest. He looked down into the fury that now glowed red within her eyes, caught off guard by her sudden change. She didn’t exactly change in appearance, like Dr. Jeckle’s Mr. Hyde, but she developed a cold hardness in her voice that was reminiscent of Al Pachino’s Tony Montana in Scarface.
“Tonight you came home and I showed you how someone treats the person they love. You disrespected me, you hurt me and you embarrassed me. That is not showing me that you love me. I had a blood test yesterday and today I get arrested for using dope because of your bullshit. Go learn to love again” she said through her angry clenched jaw, then pushed him back and closed the bedroom door in his tear stained face.
As he stood, staring through water filled eyes, at the closed door, he could have sworn he heard “You fuckin’ cock-a-roach” at the end of her speech.
Sullivan walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of Finlandia from the freezer. He poured three fingers into a lowball glass and brought the glass to his lips, but didn’t drink. Slowly, he set the glass down on the counter and asked himself “What the Hell am
I doing?” He stared at the glass that still had his hand wrapped around it, for a long time. How much time, he had no idea. Finally, he took the glass and set it upside down in the sink, pouring its contents down the drain.
He walked back down the hall and turned the knob on the bedroom door. He was grateful it wasn’t locked. Inside the room was dark, save for the glow from the red digital reading on the bedside alarm clock. In that darkness, Sullivan stripped down to his Speedo-style under shorts, then climbed into bed. He found April lying on her side, dressed, he could tell from touch, in her flannel nightgown; the one he teased her as having been stolen from his grandmother, as it covered her from wrist to ankle and held absolutely no sex appeal. He slid his left arm under her neck and pulled himself up against her before wrapping his right arm over her, resting it in the valley between her belly and breasts. He kissed her hair, breathing in the fresh scent of her shampoo.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Didn’t think you would have the balls to come back in here tonight,” she tried to sound hard, but she pulled his arm tighter around her, and then added, “but I’m glad you did.”
“April…” he tried again.
“Shush. Go to sleep” she interrupted.
Chapter 21
“That’s the deal and, for your wife’s sake, I suggest you take it,” Ralph Vasquez, sitting behind his beautifully restored antique partners desk, said to Sullivan Rourk.
He had fought for the past two weeks to persuade the Deputy District Attorney in charge of Sullivan’s prosecution to allow his client to plea to the charge in exchange for a suspended prison sentence and felony probation. The prosecutor wouldn’t budge.
“Six years in state prison.” Sullivan was dismayed at the prospect. “How much time would I do on six years?” he wanted to know.
“About thirty-six months, and it would probably be at some minimum security camp” was the answer Vasquez gave.
“And they’ll drop the charges against April, no probation or anything? She’s done, right?” Sullivan wanted to be sure.
“They aren’t interested in April. They know it was your dope – they want you.” Vasquez told him.
“Okay. As long as I can put off going in until after the baby is born, maybe a month from now, you know, to let April get adjusted to the baby and all.”
“I can handle that,” replied the lawyer before asking, “About my fee. When do you think you’ll be able to pay it?”
“I’ll have it for you tomorrow morning” Sullivan told him as he rose to leave. “Thanks, Esquire. I’ll see you in court at ten. I’ll bring your money with me.”
It was nearly 5 p.m. when Sullivan arrived home. April sensed something was wrong the moment he walked in the door.
“What’s wrong, Honey?” she asked, looking up into his eyes for a clue as to his worry.
“It’s okay, nothing to trouble yourself with right now. We can talk later. My friend, Frank, and his grandmother should be here anytime”, and as if to emphasize his statement, a sleek black 1968 Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the house. As Sullivan gazed at the pristinely restored and heavily customized car, with it’s limo black windows and paint, April hurried into the kitchen to check on dinner.
Frank. walked up to the door with a tiny old woman clinging to his arm. She walked with the slow deliberate steps of the aged, but held her head in a regal manner in defiance of the years that had laid claim to her.
Sullivan opened the screen as they approached, stepping aside to make room for his guests to enter. “Good to see ya” he said, “This must be your grandmother.”
“Sullivan, this is Granny” Spanky offered in way of an introduction.
“You can call me Lee, young man. It is a pleasure, I’m sure.” Her voice carried a no-nonsense authoritative quality to it that didn’t allow for argument. If she said to call her ‘Lee’, then that is what you would call her.
They walked into the living room and sat down, Spanky and Sullivan on the sofa, while Lee sat in a Lazy-Boy facing into the house. Before Sullivan could offer drinks, Lee Zigan’s eyes widened with surprise. She smiled and nearly shouted “My dear Lord, Helene! Honey, where have you been?”
Spanky looked from his grandmother to April and back before saying “Granny, that’s not…” but he was interrupted as April spoke.
“Hello, Granny.” April smiled, and then said, “How have you been, Spanky?”
“I figured you was dead!” The big biker’s face split into a grin.
“You know each other?” Sullivan asked no one in particular, but everyone at once.
Lee ‘Granny’ Zigan moved with a speed and grace that belied her years as she rushed to embrace April. Spanky was up and had his massive arms around both of them. After a moment, he let loose of the women and they all took turns adding to the story of how they had come to be acquainted.
Years earlier, April had been a teenage runaway, cold and hungry. She was scraped and bruised after jumping from a moving car out in Lancaster. She had hitched a ride with a guy in Los Angeles who said he was going to Santa Monica. She fell asleep soon after getting into his car and when she woke up, she was alarmed to find out that they were on Sierra Highway in the desert town of Lancaster. She told him to stop, but he kept going. He slowed down for a red light near Avenue K, but began to accelerate when it turned to green. That’s as far as she was willing to go. Scared to continue on the ride, she pulled up the door handle, shoved the door open and leapt from the car as it reached the midway point of the intersection, rolling, bouncing and skidding along the rough asphalt. The driver immediately tromped on the accelerator and fled.
Waiting at the red light was an old lady in a 1971 Dodge Demon. Seeing the girl fall, or jump, or be pushed from the moving car, the old lady pulled her car into the traffic lane to block any cars on Sierra Highway from hitting the girl. The girl picked herself up out of the street, hobbled over to the old lady, and asked for help. “Damn kid” the old woman muttered, then told her, “Get in, child, so I can take you to the doctors.”
Granny had taken the 16-year-old girl with the fiery red hair to the emergency room at Lancaster Community Hospital. She lied to the nurses and said that the girl was her granddaughter and provided her with the insurance information that belonged to her real granddaughter. Following the long hours in the ER, the girl was cleaned, bandaged and released. The old lady waited through it all, much to the surprise of the hollow-eyed girl. They walked out to the Dodge. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a place to stay, child, so I reckon you’ll be coming home with me for a spell,” the old lady said to the girl. When she got no reply, she looked over at her. There was a bandage wrapped around her head to keep a gauze pad in place above her right eye, another, smaller bandage on her chin and left side of her jaw. Her right arm was locked into an ‘L’ by a plaster cast, and a single teardrop rolled down her left cheek.
“No need for them,” said the old lady, as she reached out and wiped away the tear with a gnarled, arthritic knuckle. “My name is Artha Lee Zigan, but don’t you ever let me hear the name Artha come out yer mouth. You can call me Lee or Granny, whichever you prefer.”
After a moments’ hesitation, the girl said, “I’m Helene,” then broke into tears of gratitude. Granny held the girl calling herself ‘Helene’ while she cried. Helene finally managed a sniffle and a ‘thank you’, and then Granny was able to drive home.
At Granny’s house, Helene was introduced to the rest of the household, a cowardly pit bull mix named Marmaduke, a willowy blonde girl of Helene’s age named Lisa, and her sister, older by a year, Vicky.
Lisa and Helene became instant best friends. They shared a room and, in time, secrets, dreams and desires. Helene stayed and became a part of the family. Spanky would come and go with the wind, checking in on his sisters and Granny whenever he was at either end of his roller coaster of extremes. One week he would take everyone shopping in the Valley down below, spending money like no tomorrow. The very nex
t week he might come by, hungry, tired, and broke, for a meal, sleep and a loan.
Helene never talked about her past and the Zigan family never asked. They accepted her and loved her for who they saw.
Lisa and Helene got themselves mixed up in smoking g pot and drinking alcohol. Helene fell for one of the local bad boys, excited by the dangerous image. Then, one evening, she walked in and found Lisa in his bed. She left and never returned.
Helene had been working part time at a women’s wear store. She checked into the Valley Motel on Sierra Highway and two days later found herself in jail. She had lied about her age. Instead of the juvenile hall in Sylmar, she was taken to the Sybil Brand Jail in Los Angeles. When she was released with probation and diversion, she took her meager savings and got on a Greyhound to Palm Springs. To her sister’s. To her real sister’s. A sister who would never sleep with her boyfriend.
“How is Lisa, Granny?” April asked.
“She passed on of an overdose a week after you left, Helene,” she said gently, but not without pain.
“Oh, Granny, no!” April began.
Spanky interjected, “That boyfriend Lisa stole from you, he gave her a shot of tar heroin. When she fell out, he just rolled her up in a carpet and dumped her out by Tumbleweed’s place at 90th West and Avenue L”
“How horrible!” April put her hands to her mouth as she sat on the edge of the coffee table next to where Granny had re-taken her seat on the Lazy-Boy.
“Did the guy go to jail for doing that?” Sullivan asked.
Spanky looked him in the eye and the words he spoke chilled Sullivan’s blood. “Screw with me or mine and you’ll be beggin’ for a cop to come help you. No, he didn’t go to jail. I sent that punk straight to Hell.”
Granny reached out, patted her grandson’s arm with a thin, heavily veined, liver-spotted hand and told him “Shush!”