Chapter 12. Mad Max - The Punishment

Max was awakened by a call from Adrienne.

After hello’s, Adrienne began, “My mother’s here with Alesandro. She wants to talk to you about something.”

Not wanting to sound too eager, he asked, “Sure, but the restraining order?”

“Never mind that, Max. I want to see you.”

“Your mother came all the way from Biarritz to see me?”

 “Yes, to see you.”

He’d been curious about Alesandro and wanted to meet him too. Because her mother was there, the obsession returned, and his imagination ran wild. He pictured himself at an altar putting a cheap ring on Adrienne's finger with the blessing of her fantastic family. Now that he’d let go, perhaps his prayers were being answered.

“When do you want me to come by? I’m off for a few hours.”

He parked the bike on the street and buzzed the gate. Adrienne greeted him warmly with an affectionate embrace while Alesandro, and a dignified woman in her eighties awaited him at the dining table. Alesandro stood, and, when Max awkwardly reached out to shake hands, Alesandro held out his left and nodded; his right arm immobile. The atmosphere was thick to Max. Adrienne sat next to her mother. It had the feel of a business matter... like being called on the carpet with witnesses.

“I’m honored,” Max had to restrain himself from saluting, “Adrienne has told me about you.”

Alesandro spoke, barely acknowledging Max, “This is Mme Fournier. Please sit with us a minute.”

“Oh, please, Alesandro, this is my mother Johanna.”

Max sat across the table from Johanna and Adrienne. He was unable to make small talk as they sat at the table silently for several minutes as she appraised him. She opened tersely, “We know Nick is the one who assaulted Adrienne. It is clear to us that he is an animal.”

She paused, eyes searching Max’s face for a response.

He had nothing to add as he felt the same about Nick. What came next was unexpected and drove a nail deep in his heart.

“You will stay away from Adrienne. She has enough problems. You may not be as crude as Nick, but you are no saint.”

“But Max is my only friend,” Adrienne protested.

“If he is your friend, he will respect our wishes,” she put a hand on Adrienne’s shoulder.

“But mother, he isn’t the problem. He’s the only friend I have that is clean and sober.”

“Clean and sober?” Johanna scanned Max’s face and continued, “Sure. Maybe. But how long will he be. A month... a year... How long? Do you know? Does he know? How many times have you lied to us about your own sobriety?”

Max decided not to defend himself because of the AA phrase, we cease fighting anything... or anyone... something like that. Even though he had Adrienne on his side he saw the truth in what her mother was telling him.

“I have other business to attend to and can’t stay here to watch Adrienne. She has agreed that Alesandro is going to be living here. At any rate, we don’t have a restraining order on you at this time but, if I hear you have put one foot in this door again, I will.”

“Damn it! Alesandro is not my prison guard,” Adrienne pushed her chair back, a steady stream of tears began down the contour of her cheeks. She was ready to bolt from the room but stopped, realizing she had nowhere to go.

Alesandro handed her a tissue from the box that was already on the table, evidence of an already tearful morning. She sat back down.

“What about Nick?” Max asked. Nick’s absence at the table was conspicuous, the elephant in the room, and Max thought that he ought to have been there. “Is he also banished?”

Adrienne cried, “If that fucker comes around here, I will be the one to kill him!”

Max did as he always did when he was upset, he went to the Amtrak and bought a ticket. This time it was a short round-trip ride to and from San Lois Obispo. Train and Greyhound rides helped him to console the smothering lead weight in his chest of the smothering blues and, if the train was on time, he could catch a meeting at the Alano Club upon returning. He sat by a window with the ocean view on the way there, had lunch in SLO, and returned on the mountain side of the coach for the ride back. Whatever troubles he had were out of his mind by the time he got back. Max felt that any ride out of town was a better remedy than a shot of Jack or going out of his mind with grief and anger.

He was early back in Santa Barbara at the Alano Club and took his usual seat on the bench against the wall. It is called the Shoe Bench by some old timers. The Shoe Bench was called that for all the sneakers, loafers, and slippers that hang there. He liked it there because he could see everyone coming or going and no one could sit behind him. One of his favorite young women, Teresa, a scrawny hippy-freak type redhead, sat next to him. He liked her but suspected she was gay. Besides, she was way too young for him.... or rather, he was too old for her. Jimbo was one of the people she was friendly with and Max liked having an innocent connection like that.

After the usual “Hello” and “How have you been doing?” greetings, she suggested, “We should go for coffee at RoCo after the meeting.”

“I’d like that very much,” Max leapt at the opportunity to get to know this woman. She was an oddball with unshaved armpits, unkempt and wild red hair that exploded over and around her face and matching bright green eyes. She usually wore man-beater tank tops and sweats covered by a hoody, but Max had seen her after she got off work in black slacks and a white dress shirt.

Max loved anyone, especially young women, whose lives had already taken them off the beaten track. Most of the newcomer young women were hell bent to find a man. It was as though their identity was immersed in owning a partner of substance. They’d previously hooked up with some real losers, abusers, or otherwise cosigners of their bullshit in their drinking and drugging years and one way or another, within the first few months of sobriety (in AA, NA, CA or any other A). These would hook up with the sober, or not so sober, version of the disease. These had joined a social club in AA. But the rare ones like Teresa were committed to centering on the spiritual core of the Fellowship.

The RoCo was near empty but they sat outside. Curious about her interests, Max asked the usual questions.

She answered his queries with pride, “I’m a computer geek, it could be said.”

“Okay, I like that. I’m kinda new at it. A computer’s not much more than a word processor to me.”

“You’re a writer?”

Max was normally shy about talking about his passion, but there was something about how Teresa’s pride evoked the same spirit, so he was eager to share it with her, “Yes, how did you guess?”

“You seem to me to have a demon inside that needs to be let loose,” she observed.

“Really, is that a bad thing?”

“No, not for you. But I have something else I wanted to talk about. I’m an intern at the PD. I heard about the bullshit at the Baker house... more than rumors.”

“So much for confidentiality.”

“Yes, I know. There are no secrets there except the ones they want to keep. I have a friend that works close with Detective Ryan. Ryan isn’t a bad cop, but he has secrets and so does Dan Richards.”

“Thanks, but why are you telling me this?”

“Ryan can be good. You can actually trust him. He fills me in sometimes. Like he needs someone to know his shit. Believe it or not, he respects you.” She stopped abruptly before Max could ask any more questions.

Officer Richards had just entered the doors with another officer. That wasn’t unusual and didn’t alarm Max because the RoCo was a stop for nearly every cop or construction worker in town. What did cause him to pay attention was the way Teresa reacted to their presence.

“In case you have more trouble, here’s my card,” she rose from her seat leaving her coffee cup three quarters full, “I have your number. I’ve gotta go.”

She passed Richards on the way out. Max watched Richards leer at her and make a comment to the other officer while patting his arm pits. The officer guffawed.

Max got up and left while they were still in line at the counter. Nudging the other officer, Richards turned to face Max as he passed, “You have a hot date there Mr. McGee?”

Max ached to respond but couldn’t put in words the disgust he felt for Richards, so he proceeded to the door.