Chapter 6. A Conversation without Words

Max was working on his motorcycle in the shade of the orange tree in front of the old van he'd dubbed “Furthermore”, as a tribute to Ken Kesey’s Merry Pranksters, when Adrienne got to his place. That tree had sweet and juicy oranges, better, sweeter, than anything that could be bought in American grocery stores. She pulled a ripe one off the tree and opened it up with her thumbs, sucking out the juice… missing Southern France.

Smiling, Max looked up and said, “Love to watch you do that, Fu.”

She spit out a seed, “I know. You are perverted and like to watch me suck.”

“Ooooh, don’t get me excited, girl,” he went back to changing the chain on the bike. It wasn’t a big bike… a small Honda. It was his Rebel.

She knew nothing about motorcycles, but remembered Rémy once had a Harley. Though Rémy was a big man, he looked silly on it: like a banker trying to look like a bad-ass… definitely not a Hell’s Angel type. He wasn’t that committed. He was more of a halfway kind… a Purgatory’s Angel.

Max was another story altogether. Though he dressed and looked a little on the rough side, he wasn’t a bad-ass either. He just looked okay on any kind of bike. She was only asking because she liked him proud and defiant, “Why don’t you ride a Harley, Max?”

“I ride a Honda because I can’t afford a Harley.”

“I know, I drive a Ford Taurus wagon because…”

“C’mon girl, you could afford any car on or off the market.” He grinned, “You know how you can spot a lawyer on the road, eh?”

“No, how?” she answered, knowing she was being set up for an observation or a joke.

“He’s around fifty on a Harley wearing all the Harley leathers,” he sneered. “Those machines have been priced out of my reach by these fuckers. They want to have what they had no balls for when they were busy making money and becoming bored with themselves.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. My brother had one.”

He started the motor, checked the chain, and adjusted a bolt, while it was running. He looked so sure of himself… so professional. She admired that about him. To her, he was like the old-time Humphrey Bogart, Gary Cooper, and all the American men she saw in the movies as a kid… able to fix almost anything.

“The only way I could afford one now would be to either get a good job or sell drugs,” he showed a row of nice teeth… a toothy grin but with one missing on the side of his mouth. She’d once asked him what happened to it and he said it had been knocked out.

“Where did you learn to fix bikes?” She knew the answer. She was just doing her best to show that she was as proud of him as he was of himself.

His sky-blue eyes twinkled, “Where did you learn to be so damned sexy?”

“It comes natural… with the territory, maybe eet eez zee ac-cent… eh?” She poured it on.

“Some are born with it and some have to work at it,” he answered spontaneously.

She enjoyed teasing him. He always came back with a good one and they had some good laughs together in the past… back when he was drinking. The wrench came off the nut he was adjusting, and he cursed, “Damn. See, that is how I lost this tooth.”

“I thought you said it was knocked out in a fight.”

“That was just to impress you.” Again, he pointed to the gap in his teeth, “Truth is I am too slick to get hit in the face hard enough to have my grill cracked.”

“Oooh, I am impressed alright,” she cooed, “You never lost a fight…”

His mind went back to the hooch in Costa Rica. He never spoke of it with anyone and nearly put the past away, “I didn’t say that,” he took a stance and they shadow boxed, “I just never get in a fight with someone that’s bad enough to do that.”

“You are a champion fighter?” She posed like in the old boxing posters.

“No, I am a champion coward.” He faked a couple of jabs at her stomach, “I get in fights with people I know I can beat and stay out of the way of those I know I can’t.”

He danced, backing away like Mohammed Ali, “Fly like a butterfly and flee like a rabbit.”

She came at him like John L. Sullivan. He pretended he was backed-up on the ropes and curled his fists up against his chest… she feigned a punch… he grabbed her hand, pulled her to his chest in his arms. He kissed her on the lips. No tongue… He knew that, ironically, though she was French, she didn’t like French kisses. Pressing her lips to his, she held on to him and let the affection flow as they stood there embracing. She never wanted to let go but, when she did, he didn’t insist.

She casually remarked, “that is the way you are with me… you just back-off knowing…”

“Knowing what? Knowing better after being burnt so many times… the boundaries?”

She didn’t know. There is a knowledge that is intuitive… it has no logic… it can’t be taught… when to go… when to stop, when to plow right through… like the belligerence of a blank canvas… the act of painting.

“Are you okay?” he asked to get the attention of her distant eyes.

“Yes and no…”

“What do you mean? Yes and no.”

“Okay, we put away Papa. I am not over that yet.”

“As you ought not be. Give yourself time to feel it go.”

“Rémy cornered my mother and I hardly saw her at all.”

“Rémy, your brother?” he realized she was changing the subject, but he also knew from experience that letting go was easier said than done Hadn’t he struggled hard to let go of the sorrow of his own past?

“Yes, luckily for me he was in Paris with Mama most of the time, and I was able to get clean before they got back,” she fidgeted.

“You want to go for a ride? You’ve never been on the bike,”

She realized he wasn’t asking because, before she knew it, he was on the porch and coming back with a couple of helmets.

“Here, you’ll look cute in goggles,” he handed an old set of biker’s goggles to her and she put them on.

“Hey, do I look like a pilot? … Amelia Earhart?”

“Yes, you do; a World-War-One, flying Ace!” he proclaimed.

“I feel light-hearted,” as she spoke, she realized that she hadn’t felt this way since riding with Alesandro.

“Light hearted or light headed.”

“Who cares, I’m ready to go anywhere!”

They took off out of the yard onto the sidewalk… and he gunned it onto the street. She held on to him against the acceleration.

Even though his little Honda purred, rather than roared like a Harley, they still couldn’t talk or hear without shouting while riding. She couldn’t joke around against the sound and the rush of the wind caressing her face. She held onto him thinking, “Sometimes it is best to have a conversation without words.” An occasional shout of glee was enough, and all is said with their bodies leaning in tandem as they swerved around corners on the mountain roads around Santa Barbara. She held more tightly to him, the smell of oiled leather… “This is exactly what I needed for a homecoming.”

Up on Camino Cielo, the bike rolled into a turnaround and stopped at a place Max told her was special to him. It was off the road, a hike back a half-mile or so. The place is an amphitheater circled with boulders. He pointed to one, “See, that is a hippopotamus.”

“Yes, I see.” It looked just like a hippo with its mouth open wide looking up from the Nile. “I’ve heard of Lizard’s Mouth, is that it?”

“No, that’s on the other side facing the ocean. When my daughter was a year-old our friends came with us up here to picnic and celebrate her birthday. I love this place…haven’t been here since then.”

She thought he looked sad and wanted to comfort him. “What is your daughter’s name?”

“Ariel.”

She’d hardly ever heard him talk about his daughter, “My horse in Biarritz is named Ariel.”

“She just graduated from high-school that last June.”

Saying nothing more for some time, they looked down from where they sat on top of a boulder at the view of Lake Cachuma in the distance below and beyond.

“What happened with Rod when you went home? Is he still in your retinue?”

“No, I threw him out. Did you know he kept a shotgun under my bed after you broke his jaw?”

“No, but I hoped you’d throw him out when he finally pressed charges.”

“I found the shotgun under the bed and I asked him, ‘What the fuck is this?’ like he was going to shoot someone? He just said that he kept it there in case you came back around.”

“A brave man.”

“So, who’s your lady friend?” she asked coyly.

“What lady friend?”

“The one you were humping the… you knew I was there, you bastard, didn’t you?” She elbowed his arm.

“I saw your car, but I wasn’t sure until I heard it pull out of the driveway,” he smirked a gapped-tooth smirk at her.

“Shame on you, you bad boy: I was going to let you get lucky that night.”

“Should I say, thank you?” He put his hands together, Namaste style.

“You still haven’t told me who she was.”

“Just a girl… a friend, you know.”

“What is… how you say it now, a friend with bienfaits?”

“Benefits? Yes, but I don’t even try to get too close to her. Know what I mean?”

“But why, fucking isn’t close?” she chided.

He paused, looking out at the expanse before saying flat-out, “She uses.”

Adrienne was more than a little jealous, “But that doesn’t stop you when I’m fucked up.”

“But, that’s different, I’m in love with you, girl,” he admitted.

She hoped he meant it but dreaded that he meant it. She could sense that he wanted to say he was still in love with her. Almost completely detached, he seemed to say it without any hope of his deeply felt affection being rewarded, then, or ever.

“It’s just to get your rocks off then?” she accused him, getting nasty.

“You ought to know better than me,” he sounded bitter.

She thought of his poem and didn’t say anything more. She couldn’t let him know how much it hurt. Despite her longing, it was beautiful to watch the sunset from there. It was starting to get cold. She shivered, dreaded the ride back to town in her light windbreaker.

He saw her shiver and took off his leather jacket, “Trade?”

“How gallant… But no, I’ll just hold on close to you.” She teased, “Riding behind a man is the most fun a girl can have outside of bed.”