The Pick-up Chapter Four: Oceanside Shadows
The 101 Café was all chrome edges and grease-scent, a shrine to coffee strong enough to float a socket wrench. Lucky eased the Knuckle into a slot out front and flicked off the ignition switch, the pipes cutting sharply to silence, the air carrying aromas of gasoline, sea salt and hot tar. Home-away-from-home, again.
Aviana spotted him through the window before he even cut the engine. She always had sister-sight, unshakable. She tossed her apron over one shoulder and pushed through the door, all wide smile and wary eyes.
“About sweet time,” she said, arms wrapped hard around his neck. “Two years, Lucky. You forget that family don’t wait forever?” He grinned, sheepishly, and let her scold.
Over her shoulder, another figure leaned against the counter. Dark hair, hip cocked, eyes glittering with equal parts challenge and mischief. Oreanthe. Hornee. with two e’s. “Look who finally crawled back from whatever ditch he’s been laying in,” she purred, voice thick as motor oil, “Didn’t think you had the stones to show your face around here, Lucky.”
Still grinning, he slid into a booth. Both women followed, family on one side, unfinished fire on the other. He felt the weight of it, the debts and bloodlines pressing in; a thousand roads behind him, all of them ending right here, over cooling coffee and the ghost of burned out love.
### Meanwhile – San Diego Ghosts
She had arrived at the gates of the navy brig little early, so she wandered around the parking lot, sneaking tokes from the joint she had started on the trip here. She stopped in an empty doorway, stubbed out the roach and peeled it, scattering the remains to the breeze blowing through the lot.
Then, at exactly 8:00 AM, she braced her shoulders and marched up to the visitor entrance. The sign on the door stated "Push button and identify yourself." She pressed the button to the right of the door handle and stated clearly "Patricia Tomastic to see Jonathon Friend." After a brief pause there was a metalic buzz as the gate slid open. A metalic voice from the speaker said "Take a seat on the green bench and await further instructions." She complied.
After another short wait, a door on the opposite wall opened and a rather large female, dressed in hospital greens waved her into the brightly lit room. "Undress and sit there.", she said, indicating the edge of the examination table occupying most of the room.
Raven removed her clothing and placed them, with her purse, into the plastic basket by the table. Then she slid her butt up onto the cold, uncomfortable, fake leather top.
Another green clad tech type came in and removed the basket with her belongings.
The first woman, who might as well have had "Dyke" tattooed on her forhead, looked Raven over appraisingly. Then she gazed straight into her eyes and said "Don't worry, love, I'm into skinny blonds.", and grinned a big, broad grin.
Raven relaxed a bit to that grin, and gave a brief smile back. "Me too," she replied, not quite truthfully.
The body search was brief and non-invasive. It was over quickly, and before it was finished, her belongings were returned. She dressed slowly, aware that both of the techs were watching her appreciatively. She shivered slightly before slipping into her top, aware that she was appreciating the attention.
The door opened again, admitting a female, uniformed, M.P., equipped with a batton and handcuffs who escorted her to the visitor center where she was again frisked, and her purse searched.
Then she was seated in an alcove of stainless steel with a bullet-proof glass wall with a two-way speaker built into it and a large slit where the metal table met the glass wall. Obviously for passing paperwork. There was also a rather redundant telephone on both sides of the glass for more private communication. Right!
She had been watching the second hand go around on the large wall clock at the back of the cellblock. Four minutes and twenty-one sec
onds passed and the inner door opened to admit a much dishevled Jonathon.
He looked around, spotted her, stepped forward and sat down. He didn't say a word. Just sat and stared at her dolefully. She lifted the telephone receiver. After a couple of seconds he did the same. She didn't wait for him to speak.
"I don't care what you have to say," she began, "Im here to have you sign divorce papers and to return my car keys, nothing else." she finished, and started poking through the papers in her clutch.
"Patty" he said, "No divorce. And before you go off half cocked, you don't need a divorce. Pastor Dan filed the paperwork right after you left. He said you told him the marriage was never consummated and that that was grounds for an annulment."
"As for the car, as soon as you signed up for this visitation, I passed the keys off to the desk of the Officer of the Day, along with the registration. You can pick them up on your way out."
"But I just don't understand how the annullment works. We had lots of sex, lots of times."
"Yes" she responded, "before the ceremony we had lots of sex. But not after. In the eye of the church, a marriage is not consummated unless intercourse is performed after the vows are spoken."
"OK. I guess I understand now" he replied. "Maybe we could try again?"
She looked him dead in the eye and stated coldly “My name is now Raven, and if you know what's good for you, you will stay far, far away from me.”
He just turned away and stumbled to the exit.
She stood and pressed the intercom button. "We're done here", she stated and waited for the door to slide open. She didn't look back.
Once outside, she fired up another pinner joint, the peacock feather trembling in the wind.
She was free now, but with a freedom she didn't know what to do with.
She had been married. At least in her mind. Maybe not to the right man and not for the right reasons, but the marriage had added a new dimension to her existence and that dimension had been annulled, had never happened. But she was free...
The Plymouth sat waiting in a storage lot nearby. The once diamond black paint dulled by time and weather, but still gleaming in memory. It could be restored. It would glow again.
She slipped behind the wheel, her fingers tight on the leather wrappings, her feet finding the pedals. She keyed the ignition, whispered "Goodbye", to whom or what she had no clue, as she turned the key to the right and felt the starter motor spin the flywheel until the plugs sparked and the engine rumbled awake as if it had been waiting for her all along to unleash the Fury.
Somewhere up Highway 1, fate sat with its feet up, smoking a joint, smiling, and waiting for the inevitable reunion.
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