In Places on the Run Ch. 03

There's a voice. Far away. Far away, but I'm floating. Floating on a very calm sea.

"Can you hear me? Open your eyes if you hear me?"

Everything's a blur, and my throat's raw. It burns, and that's all I can think of.

I feel a finger pinching my left earlobe. "John? Wake up, John!"

Open eyes reveal blurry light, indistinct moving forms. "How do you feel now?"

I try to talk but my throat! It's like a lava flow...then I feel ice pass my lips and I chew.

"Better," I croak. Someone wipes my eyes and things are clear again.

A surgeon walks into my cubby and looks at my chart, then he looks at me and walks over.

"Captain Anders? How're you feeling?"

I shake my head. "Not sure."

"Know where you are?"

"Not exactly where I'd like to be."

He chuckles. "Where would that be?"

"Back on my bike."

"Oh?"

"Back on my trip."

"Where to?"

"Everywhere."

"That sounds like a good trip. Okay, John, it looks like you're going to get off easy this time. Couple of isolated tumors, one was kinda big but it hadn't perforated the colon. Cells are, well, let's call it Stage I, and no nodes are involved. I think we got it all, and we did a simple resection so no colostomy bag for you."

"No kidding?"

"Yup. Generally speaking this is the way things'll go. Your oncologist will keep an eye on your labs for a while, maybe we'll do another colonoscopy in six months, but the good news is no chemo, no radiation. You'll be on a very restricted diet while things heal down there, but you ought to be back on the loose in a couple of months. You okay?"

I was crying. I mean crying like a baby, and the doc put his hand on my shoulder. It's hard to relate this kind of emotional upheaval if you haven't experienced anything like it before, but it's kind of like you've been led up to the steps to the gallows and they've just slipped the noose around your neck. The lever is pulled and you feel yourself falling – then the rope breaks and you land in red Cadillac convertible full of naked women. Life is sweet, life is limitlessly good again as the Caddie hurtles off into the sunset. In Sam's case no doubt one of those girls would be impaled on his pecker while he ate out the other, but to me it felt like nothing less than an epiphany.

"So, I'm going to..."

"Yup, you sure are. This is about as good as it gets, John, and I don't get to give many people news as good as this. Now, if you feel up to it, I'll go get those people waiting for you up to speed, and maybe we can get one or two back here to see you..."

Hell, I was still crying when the girls got back to recovery.

+++++

And I was home five days later, still on a bland liquid diet, still as confused as I had been about Rhea and Deborah, but something vast, vast and limitless as an ocean had happened to me in the hours after that procedure. I was in effect 'born again' – not in a religious sense but in my desire to experience life as I never had before. I wanted to live, to love, to see everything I possibly could and experience all the nitty-gritty aspects of reality I'd spend a lifetime avoiding. Sure, I know it sounds trite – and perhaps it was – but I was suddenly, and for the first time in my life, quite in love with the idea of being alive.

You can take waking up tomorrow morning for granted just so long.

+++++

Sam's was another story, however. He was always alive – in the truest sense of the word, out there everyday pushing the envelope of his existence to the very limits of his imagination. About a week after I got out of the misery ward he wanted to come over, telling me he needed to talk about life and love and, of course, motorcycles for a while. He seemed a little too excited, and I felt 'something was up'.

He'd given up his Porsche during the divorce and had settled in with a worthy substitute, a '69 Aston Martin DBS, deep metallic blue-gray with slate leather. I shuddered to think of the upkeep, but admired his willingness to embark on any path that led him towards wretched excess, and this latest car was certainly a testament to that willingness. Surely, I thought, he'd had to hire a full-time mechanic just to keep the the thing running, but I had to admit the car attracted all kinds of attention.

We sat out on the little flagstone patio in my backyard, deep in late afternoon shade, and he toyed with a beer while I looked at the goop I was supposed to be drinking. I'd have killed for a glass of orange juice, but that wasn't on the approved list just yet.

"What do you want to do about the motorcycles?" Sam asked, getting right to the point as he finished his first beer.

"What do you mean, what do I want to do?"

"Are you done with the trip?"

"Not unless the doctors tell me I can't travel anymore."

He smiled. "You mean it? You want to carry on?"

"Fuck yeah," I said, grinning.

"Well, that's a load off," he said, smiling his old smile, the same smile I'd first admired as a freshman in college.

We'd been best friends for forty years, and my guess is it showed. When he came into the recovery room after I woke up, he cried more than Rhea had. He was the one who'd contacted my airline buddies, and the one who drove me home from the hospital. I remembered his sullen reaction when Deborah intruded on our companionship in Croatia, the anger as he passed us that day on the road after she rejoined me. We were like an old couple, I thought, together so long we knew each other's every mood, and could anticipate each other's needs.

The idea of abandoning the trip had been bothering him, but he'd never said a word, and I assumed he didn't want me to feel any guilt if continuing didn't work out. I told him unless I heard otherwise I thought we should resume in late September, and that would probably work out better anyway as it'd be cooler by then.

He told me he'd been in contact with a few people that had made the trip between Turkey and India, and he had some good ideas about the safest way to make the crossing. We talked about all the possibilities, all the options he'd uncovered, and a few modifications he wanted to make to both our bikes, and he talked about going over before me to get work done on the bikes.

"What about those women in there," he finally asked, getting to the heart of the matter without wasting a word.

"Deborah's about got it worked out. Rhea's applying to Cambridge. A year there, then into med school. Deb will be nearby and can lend a hand while we're on the road."

I heard the back door open and close during this exchange, saw Deb coming out with a watered down lemonade, one of my few guilty pleasures these days, and she sat down by me.

"What if I wanted to come along on part of this trip?" she asked, and Sam looked at her, then at me with a kind of possessive uncertainty I found amusing, if not touching.

"Like which part?" I replied.

"From Athens to Turkey, maybe more?" she said.

"But your vacation time? Won't it be up?"

"I'm taking Rhea to Cambridge in next week. For an interview, and to get her settled before the new term begins."

"Assuming she gets in, you mean."

"Oh, she's in. Just a formality really." She sighed, looked at me for a moment. "Her transcripts are excellent, you should know. Brilliant girl, really. Why she didn't go on to school is beyond me, but there'll be no problem now. A year from now she'll be in one of the medical colleges, I have no doubt."

"And you? How would make part of this trip?"

"I've asked for a years sabbatical," she said, dropping the bomb out of the blue.

"I see," Sam said, his voice unsteady. "Just how much of this ride would you like to make, Deb?"

"As much as I can, Sam. Assuming I can get the time off and that I don't hold you two back. I'd like to go along for the ride, mainly to keep an eye on John. I want more time off, and once I've got Rhea enrolled I'm free. You know, I was enjoying the ride with you both and want to do some more. Besides, I've colleagues in Pakistan I'd like to visit, and who knows, they might be able to help us if something goes wrong."

"Uh-huh," Sam said, clearly neither impressed nor happy with the way this chat was going. "You know, once we leave Turkey there aren't going to be many hotels. We'll be in the rough most of the time..."

"And not many hospitals, either, Sam. Might be good to have a doc along, don't you think?"

"John's fine now, Deb. Out of the woods, right?"

She looked down, then at me. "Just call it insurance, Sam. My being along won't hurt your chances of making India."

"What about Rhea," I asked.

"She's thirty years old, John," she replied. "She's got to do this on her own. I'm getting her in the door; after that she's got to get the job done. No hand holding."

All the time I'm thinking...and you'll be with me while Rhea is thousands of miles away. You'll be taking care of me while Rhea studies. You'll be counting on me falling in love with you while Rhea falls in love with someone more her age.

I knew it. Sam knew it. And before long, Rhea would know it too. How would she be able to focus on her studies if Deb and I were on this trip together? How would Sam handle dealing with Deb day after day, for weeks on end? And did I need a physician leading me around by the hand, taking control of my life? If I did, should I even go?

"You know, Deborah," I began, "Why don't you count on coming along as far as Istanbul. Let's see how you feel then."

She looked at me with questioning eyes then, nodded her head slowly. Rejection wasn't her thing, I remembered, hoping she wouldn't take her anger out on Rhea. I looked at Sam; he was looking at the house, looking at Rhea, and I guessed he was thinking the exact same thing.

"Drink that lemon juice, John," Deb said without blinking an eye. "I don't want you getting dehydrated."

Sam excused himself, went into the house.

"Tell me, Deborah, why do you want to come along? Really?"

"I don't, John, not really. But I'm afraid something will happen to you if I'm not there."

"That's not a very good reason, Deb, and you know it."

"It's going to be a hard trip, John. You may not be ready for this type of exertion, not yet."

"And you might help me, how?"

She shrugged, just kept looking at me. "I want to be with you, John, in case something does."

"So, you're with me and Rhea is in school. You know, once upon a time you talked about helping her along, maybe have her work with you in the lab?"

"If she does well, sure. It might be good for us both, but John, I have no intention of coming between you and Rhea. None at all."

"Really."

"Really, John. She's so in love with you, and anyone can tell you're mad about her. Why would I step between you."

"Good question."

"I hate to say it, John, but you don't know me well enough to make these kinds of assumption. You have no idea what motivates me, do you."

"That's probably true. Should that worry me."

"Whatever I say won't change your mind, or what you think. Or Sam, what he thinks. But Rhea understands, John. Talk to her. She might help you understand, too."

"No, Deb, I want you to tell me what this is all about."

She looked at me for a long time, then finally she shook her head slowly as she looked down at her own shaking hands. "You can't run forever, John. Even you must realize that our pasts always come back for us, and there is a price to pay for ignoring her."

"What?" I said, but she was standing already, walking back to the house before what she said had time penetrate the cold mist of shock that had settled over my soul.

Sam came out a few minutes later, concern clear in his eyes. "What did you say to her?" he asked as he sat down.

"I told her I was concerned she was trying to come between us, I mean Rhea and I."

"Oh, shit. I bet that went over real nice."

"Yeah. Nice."

"What did she say?"

"She said my past is coming back for me, and there will be a price to pay."

"Fuck."

"You took that one right out of my mouth, Amigo."

+++++

For the next two weeks it was business as usual around the house. Deb tended to my recovery and never said another word about 'the past' – or the price I'd have to pay for some unknown transgression she remained unwilling to talk about. If Rhea knew what was up with all this, as Deborah seemed to imply, she sure didn't let on – and I didn't push the matter. Sam was at home writing most of the time, but one minute he sounded excited, the next unsure of himself and very upset about something. Even so, he came over every now and then with piles of maps and possible routes through or around Afghanistan and Pakistan, but Deb always hovered within earshot of those discussions – putting a damper on things.

If all I'd wanted was a nice, uncomplicated life in semi-retirement, well hell, this wasn't it, was it? Now it seemed Sam was afraid to come over and life was about as pleasant as living in a forest full of hornet's nests. Sitting there looking at all this nonsense unfold left me more confused than ever. I wanted a relationship with Rhea, but I was flying headlong towards my sixtieth year and she was about to become almost completely inaccessible as academic commitments took over her life. Deborah? Hell, who knew what was going on with that woman. I had no idea what went on in her mind, and anyway, I was pretty sure I didn't really want to know.

Then a friend, Rob Fellows, called. I'd flown 727s with him for years, first in Germany then later out of Kennedy. He'd transitioned to 767s years ago, and then moved on to the Flight Academy in Kansas City. He'd just talked with reps at a large company involved in the development of rockets, a private company not affiliated with NASA, that was planning to purchase several L-1011s. Was I interested, he wanted to know.

Hell yes, I was interested! Get your resume ready, he told me, and stand by for a call later that afternoon.

He called an hour later. The company was looking for five, three man crews. Probably be based in Arizona, maybe Alabama. As long as I was cancer free, that wasn't going to be an issue, and operations were due to begin within nine or so months. Flying under a different set of regulations than airlines, I'd be able to fly a few years longer. A rep was going to fly out to talk to me the day after tomorrow, but my qualifications were ideal, Rob said, and I ought to have no trouble getting in the door.

I guess that's the miracle of friendship. A helping hand when you least expect it.

Anyway, I didn't mention any of this to the girls, or to Sam. Superstition, I guess. I didn't want to jinx anything by talking about it, or mess up any of Rhea's plans.

Oh, yes, Rhea's plans. We were fast approaching her departure for the UK, Deb's too, yet I was fast approaching a decision point of my own, and I had to admit something to myself as pressures began building to please both Rhea and Deborah. I like being unattached. I liked being on my own, responsible to no one but myself. Yet over the past month I'd grown used to having one of these two women with me almost all the time. That was nice too, in a way, and the idea of being with Rhea was still an attractive option. But Rhea, with Deborah in the mix? I could feel all kinds of grief coming from that mixture. Still, it ought to have been easy to get Deb out of the picture – until she'd intervened and taken Rhea under her wing. Now what could I do?

Well, I thought, taking that job would provide an easy way out, wouldn't it? Let Rhea move on, get Deb out of my hair, start flying and within a few months everything would fall into place – again. Like I had so many times before, when girls started to push their way too far into my life, when they grew too close for comfort, I'd simply flown away – and now it appeared I could do that again, one more time. But was being alone again what I really wanted?

No, not really. But why all the sudden doubt? What did I really want?

I was watching an old movie on cable, a flying saucer 'epic' – a real masterpiece of 1950s flimflammery. Paranoia all the way, but the hero had his one true love by his side all the way through the story. Another channel, another movie, and there she was again, the ever faithful one true love by our hero's side. Is that what life's really all about, I asked myself. Man, woman, mortgage on a house, a dog, then a couple of kids? Had it always been that way? Is that all there is?

Then it hit me. Everything about life conspired to make me feel guilty for even considering a departure from such an ancient, time-honored script. 'Oh, he's just an old bachelor, a weird old Flying Dutchman, he's nothing but an old coot – no need to bother him.'

Sam called. He wanted to hit West Hollywood, hit some titty bars on Sunset and he wanted some company. Sure, I said, why not. Can't hurt, right?

I guess once upon a time a depraved heart could find anything it desired in West Hollywood, along Sunset Boulevard, America's Boulevard of Broken Dreams. Failed actors and actresses, down to their last dime and desperate, found ready cash in the back seats of the cars of those who'd 'made it big' in the city, and Sam had trolled these streets for so long he knew all the best places to visit. Not tonight. He was pensive, restless and sullen as we drove through Beverly Hills. He found a parking lot once we crossed into Hollywood and we walked a block to an old hangout, a titty bar that had been around since Mickey Cohen ruled these streets.

The place wasn't as run down as it should have been. Someone was dumping money into the operation, keeping it nice, and while the booze was overpriced the food was good. Inside there were several small lounges; there was a single stage in the middle of the smallish main lounge, and though it was vacant now the room was crowded with men – and a few women, too. Sam looked at his watch once, and again a few minutes later.

"You expecting someone?" I asked.

Still the distracted, sullen air: "Yeah. A girl. She comes on at six."

"Friend of yours?"

"You could say that."

"Anything else I need to know?"

He looked at me just as our drinks arrived – and as the lights dimmed – and there was real sorrow in his eyes. Then it hit me...all the anxiety I'd heard in his voice the past week was somehow linked to what was about to happen on this stage.

The little stage was circular, and apparently it rotated. I could still see men and women surrounding the stage as the room grew dark, then brilliant spots came on, flooding the stage with intensely bright light. There was a single cane chair on the stage, a small sofa and a tiny table by the chair. Neatly arranged on the table were dozens of sex toys, of every kind imaginable as far as I could tell, and suddenly, in the chair? The most incredible looking woman I guessed I'd ever seen.

Tall, flaming red hair, opalescent skin freckled intensely. Lingerie, jade with black lace trim, black stockings, very high heels, black, leather. A strap-on phallus mounted high, black and massive, and a brutal looking whip in the woman's hand. She looks alternately menacing and alluring, like the snake looking on as Eve handed Adam the apple.

Then a demure looking girl walked on the stage, bottle-blond hair and skin too long in the sun. White lingerie and fishnets over lucite platform hooker heels. The stage started to rotate slowly, affording everyone a view as events played out. The redhead pushed the blond down on the stage floor, put a foot up on the chair and pulled the blond's face to her vagina, into her deepest need. I watched, fascinated, as she ground her lust into the blond's face, her pelvis thrust forward obscenely, rotating slowly at first, then grinding with sudden fury. She whipped the blond, and I could see red whelps rising on the girl's sunburned skin, and suddenly I wanted to leave the room – but I couldn't.