Buddy (Cathedral City Part 4)

He knew it. He knew he should have paid more for the sign. He'd been pinching pennies for years just to buy the store, never mind adding the gas pump. But, he realized too late, you just shouldn't cut certain corners.

Buddy was just closing up when he heard the faint sizzle of the "Q" and the "u" burning out.

Now, in bold neon, his life's work was called "..icky Mart".

He shut the cash register drawer and leaned against the counter. He'd done everything right. The station was located next to a freeway entrance. He kept it clean and well stocked, even adding more health conscious snacks. He made sure the prices were reasonable and he was always polite. Always.

He'd been brought up that way. Manners were important in his family. And hard work. Being sensible and playing fair.

His whole life he'd played by the rules and all he had to show for it was the icky mart.

Eight years ago he thought he'd had it made. He'd known Becky since second grade and from the moment he saw her and her shiny red hair he'd felt like she was the one for him. They got married in her parents backyard when they were both twenty four.

He'd taken good care of her, he never doubted that. He'd done his best to love her well.

But Becky wanted more out of life. Or at least that's what she told him. "I want more, Buddy. I don't want to just sit around this dusty old town until I die. Don't you want more? Don't you?"

It felt to Buddy like she was pleading with him.

He'd told that he did, that's why he'd been saving up for the Quicky Mart. He told her his plans to add a gas pump and how that would bring in more money. That they could finally afford to move out of their apartment and buy a little house. Maybe even one with a pool. She'd looked at him like he was speaking Japanese. Just staring at him. Or past him. She left two days later.

For a while he'd waited for her to come back, but after two months he'd boxed up what she'd left behind.

He never knew how much Becky had liked to read. Half of what she owned were books. It made him feel sad for her. He never realized how big her dreams really were.

Buddy had dreams, too. Just different dreams, he guessed. He loved Cathedral City. He'd grown up here, just like his mom and dad had. He loved the look of the desert mountains at sunset, and the dry winds that blew.

And, if he were being really honest with himself, which he tried very hard to be, he didn't miss Becky all that much. Oh, he missed her company. Someone to have breakfast with, go to the movies with, someone to sit out on the porch with on a warm, cozy evening. But he didn't really miss Becky, the person. He felt awful for that.

Buddy knew that he was waiting. For what, he wasn't sure, but there was an itch inside. Maybe that's what Becky had felt.

Buddy thought that once he'd opened the Quicky Mart, once the pump was installed, he'd feel more at ease. That his soft ache would end.

But now, here he was, low on funds, with a burned out sign. Living in the same apartment that he'd first rented with his runaway wife, boxes of her left-behind books stacked in his carport.

He felt stupid even thinking about it, but years ago, when he saw the movie, Ghost, it had affected him. It was silly, it was Hollywood magic, but it had made him yearn for a love like that. He knew he didn't have anything like that with Becky. But Buddy was nothing if not practical. His life was solid, that's what counted. That was real.

Yet somehow, the movie stayed with him. To love someone that powerfully. Not out of duty, or responsibility, but from your heart. Because you had no other choice. How would that feel?

He stashed what little cash there was in the safe, wiped down the counter and shut off the radio. He still couldn't get that Lita Ford song out of his head.

What he needed, he told himself, was a good night's sleep and some straight thinking. He had to stop it with the romance. Buddy laughed to himself. Ghost. Good thing he hadn't told anyone.

He was just shutting off the lights when he saw her. Standing next to the gas pump. A couple of suitcases in the backseat of her Camry.

Buddy couldn't take his eyes off of her.

And then it happened. She turned her gaze toward Buddy, standing all alone in his dimly lit store.

He could feel his pulse race. And, more than that, his lonely, hopeful heart felt full for the very first time in his life.

They stood there, these two strangers, their eyes locked on one another, the heat of the desert night surrounding them.

Because they had no other choice.

Rainey (Cathedral City Part 3)

She swam her last lap then stepped out of the pool. The night was warm with a soft, perfect breeze. 

This was her favorite time to swim. She loved standing outside, slightly out of breath, watching the city lights blink on until Los Angeles became a bright, ridiculous carpet.

She stood there for what seemed like forever, wondering, like she’d be doing a lot lately, when things had started to go so bad. 

Was it the decision to move to Hollywood fourteen years ago? Fourteen? God, she felt old. That’s what happens in this town when you have more looks than talent. You get old really fast.

So, she'd married Charles. It seemed like the perfect solution. He was successful, rich, and kind of handsome in the right light. He got invited to all the A-list parties and she loved getting dressed up. 

When they were still dating he’d have one of his assistants deliver a box from Barneys or Neiman’s and inside would be the perfect dress. Sometimes he’d include shoes. How did he know her sizes so precisely, she’d wondered. How could he have guessed her favorite colors or fabrics? Back then, she figured it was due to his devotion, his attention to her every word. 

Fourteen years later she knew the truth. He’d called her agent. Rather, he had one of his assistants call her agent. They’d been only too happy to tell all of her secrets. A client of their’s dating a producer of his caliber? That was the brass ring!

They were married six months later. He was getting to that age. He needed to get married. A man in his fifties can look a little shifty with nothing but a string of twenty-something’s on his arm. The one thing Charles could not afford was to look vulgar.

She was the right girl at the right time.

She suddenly realized she couldn't think of the last time she'd seen him. He’d been in France and Italy on “business” and from there…she honestly couldn’t remember. 

At some point they’d both dropped the pretense of trying. They slept in separate rooms, often separate homes, and, like now, separate countries. 

She had truly believed all this would be enough. She’d grown up in a trailer. Literally. A trailer park. 

Her mother was a ruined beauty who’s hope for anything but her daughter’s future had run out years before. But they had both seen stars, and the moment it was legal, Lorraine (now, Rainey) headed to L.A. 

But the town was much tougher than Rainey had expected. She was one of thousands of pretty girls. Thousands. She didn’t know how to make herself stand out. It was exhausting and terrifying. She got anxious. She began to lose herself. She no longer had opinions, or likes, or dislikes, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Offending someone important. 

She was slow to get up in the morning, almost dreading what the day would bring. She’d spend hours applying makeup and trying on outfits, just to sit in a room with girls who looked exactly like her. 

One by one they’d be called into another room to read a few lines for a role that required “a very pretty girl”. And one by one they’d return, in two minutes or less. 

Then each one of these “very pretty girls” would get in their dusty cars, hoping they had enough gas in the tank for the long drive home. Hoping they’d get the part, hoping they’d been noticed, hoping they’d make it in this hot, mean town. 

Rainey had met Charles on one of those auditions. He’d walked her out, in front of all the other actresses, and she was sure the part was hers. It wasn’t, but she did get a lovely dinner. 

She’d never been to the restaurant before, never even heard of it. He picked her up and she had waited outside of her building, not wanting him to see her bleak, tiny apartment. 

Over dinner he’d complimented her and she’d trusted every word. 

Standing by the pool, on this warm, breezy night, she felt astonished. She had fallen for it all. He was the best in the business. Looking you in the eye and making you believe things you knew couldn’t possibly be true. He was Hollywood’s very best trick.

And still, she’d stayed. She had no one to blame but herself. For years now his assistants had been delivering beautifully wrapped boxes, filled with perfectly chosen gowns, to a sea of other women. And she’d stayed. And stayed. And stayed. 

It took her having it all to realize she had nothing. She felt almost embarrassed of herself. Allowing her life to come to this. 

She turned away from the city lights and dove back into the pool, swimming her final lap. 

Within an hour she was on the freeway. Just a suitcase, her credit card, and a new set of dreams. This time around she may not have a pool, but she’d have an opinion. 

She smiled, realizing Charles wouldn’t notice she was gone for quite some time. Weeks maybe. 

She turned on the radio, trying to find something to match her mood. She found, Lita Ford’s, “Kiss Me Deadly”. The song was halfway through, but Rainey sang along, her voice sounding stronger than it had in years. 

She decided she’d try her luck in the very next town. 

And there it was up ahead.

Cathedral City. 18 miles. 

Craig (Cathedral City Part 2)

Craig knew immediately that he’d been caught. The Vice President of the bank had never even glanced at him before, and now, first thing Tuesday morning, he asked Craig to step into his office. His tone was grim.

Craig had never been anything remotely close to cool, but he did his best impersonation as he made the long walk from his tellers station to the oversized and rarely seen office of Mr. Barret.

“Ooooh, looks like someone’s in trouble,” joked Rhonda. She worked at the station next to Craig and smelled permanently of black licorice and tuna. “Yep. Sure does,” he said, speaking softer than he’d intended. 

Craig stood outside the office’s closed door. He didn’t know if he should knock or just walk in. One seemed too meek, the other too brash. Did it really matter at this point? As Craig stood at the threshold and debated his next move, he stared at the door. It was impressive. It seemed heavy and a little wider than most doors. He raised his sweaty hand and knocked.

“Have a seat,” said Mr. Barret. Craig didn’t know what to do. There were a lot of options. Two chairs faced Mr. Barret who was sitting behind his enormous desk, but there was a third chair, made of deep green leather, that was just off to the side of the desk. 

Mr. Barret finally motioned Craig to the chairs that sat across from him. Craig quickly took a seat in the left one, hoping it was a good pick.

“Let me get right to it, Craig. Over the past several months, we began to notice some…irregularities in withdrawals that were being made. Initially we thought this was an anomaly, but as time went on and sums continued to go missing, we were forced to come to some very disappointing conclusions.”

It was over. Craig’s life was finished. Oh, why, why, why had he done it?! He’d always followed the rules. He'd never once had a speeding ticket. He donated to the Red Cross and volunteered three times a year at the soup kitchen downtown. His bills were paid on time, he wrote thank you letters for gifts he received at Christmas. Oh, my god! What had he done?! 

He stared, unblinking at Mr. Barret, sweat beginning to pool under his arms. Could he just put it back? Or blame it on smelly old Rhonda? Should he make a run for it? Just race to his car and go on the lam? 

He didn’t even know what that meant. On the lam. If he didn’t know what it meant, how could he succeed at it? 

He had started stealing eleven months ago. Just a little. It began as an accounting error that he'd noticed but nobody else had. At the end of the day, before he could even think about it, he grabbed the cash. Just shoved it in his pocket and walked out of the bank like it was an ordinary day. 

But it wasn’t an ordinary day. As he drove home he found himself smiling. No, beaming. He felt bold. Confident. Two things he’d never felt in his entire life. 

Sitting in his apartment, he counted the money. Nine hundred and forty two dollars. He smoothed the bills out and laid them across his secondhand coffee table. 

He never expected to do it again. Never. It was a one time thing. And he could explain it away if anyone noticed. He practiced what he’d say the next morning in front of the mirror. And while he practiced, he noticed that his eyes looked particularly blue that day. In fact, they were shining. 

And so it began. Monthly, then weekly, then daily, Craig stole. A life of crime. It was easier than he’d ever imagined. Tucked behind his Ikea bookcase was two hundred and forty three thousand dollars. 

“Do you think that’s something you could do for us, Craig?” 

Mr. Barret was watching him closely and Craig stared back with glassy, terrified eyes. 

“If it’s too much to ask, we can certainly appreciate that,” said an unappreciative Mr. Barret.  “To be quite frank, you seem rather uncomfortable.”

Craig nodded for no other reason than to buy some time. “What exactly would this entail, sir?” 

“Just keeping an eye out. Nothing too complicated. It’s clear that it’s one of the tellers and we just want you to let us know if you notice anything…untoward. Does that sound like something you would be interested in doing? And, of course, you’d be compensated.”

And then, unable to stop himself, Craig laughed. Hard. It erupted from deep within him and filled Mr. Barret’s oversized office, bouncing off the beautiful oak walls and his well-stocked bar. 

“My apologies, sir. I’m just so pleased to be asked to be of service. I’d be more than happy to apprise you of anything, anything at all, that seems amiss.” 

And with that Mr. Barret rose from his chair, his arm extended. Craig found himself robustly shaking the relatively limp hand of the bank’s Vice President. “A disappointing grip,” thought Craig. 

“How’d it go?” asked Rhonda, her grisly scent surrounding him. Craig unlocked his cash drawer and pretended to tidy up some loose bills. “They caught me red-handed, Rhonda. The cops will be here in moments. If I move quick, I should be able to lose ‘em.”

Rhonda laughed. Her sad, simpering, rarely heard laugh, then she got back to work.

Later that night, driving on the freeway just over the speed limit, Craig grinned. He didn’t even recognize who he’d become, but he liked it. Thrilling. That’s what life was, thrilling, he thought. Anything was possible. Especially with over three million in cash stashed in your trunk. 

He flipped on the radio, feeling the sudden urge to sing. Lita Ford’s, Kiss Me Deadly, was playing and Craig joyfully belted out whatever words he could remember. 

He’d been heading south for hours, no real destination in mind. 

And that’s when he saw the sign: Cathedral City. 18 miles. 

Cathedral City

Cathedral City. Bonnie loved the sound of it. Majestic. Like Camelot, in a way. She was surprised that there hadn’t been a song written about the place. It just had a ring to it.

Bonnie’s second best friend, Denise, had moved there eight years ago. Right after her divorce from her third husband, Bruce. Denise loved it. “You can’t beat the weather, Bon.” And practically the week after her move, Denise had met Ricky. Now they were living together in a condo that had an extra bedroom and a community pool. Ricky had even put in a little wet bar right next to the powder room.

Cathedral City. 

It was time. 

Bonnie sat up in bed and lit her 29th Pall Mall of the day. Fuck it, she thought tiredly, as smoke streamed from her nostrils.

She needed to quit. At least limit it to 15 a day. But it’s hard to cut down when your husband is cheating. Again. 

Bonnie knew it the minute she laid eyes on her at Roy’s company picnic two months ago. Her name was Tanya and she was petite and energetic and showed just enough plump cleavage to give her an edge. Just his type, Bonnie thought, as she'd nodded hello to her husband’s newest mistress. 

Thing is, this time she couldn’t even summon up the energy to get mad. The first time it happened she threw her Gilly’s ashtray at him. 7 stitches in his growing forehead. She’d moved out when she found out about the second. But money was tight and he was apologetic and it just seemed simpler to try again. 

She felt like all her life she’d been mending her broken heart. And each time it got easier. Probably because the love she gave was smaller. Handing out bits of it to test the rocky waters. Living small. That’s what she was doing. She used to dream of a life worth celebrating and now she just tried to make it to payday. 

Cathedral City. She could be there by morning. Pack a couple bags and leave a note: Headed to a better life. Give Tanya my best. 

As Bonnie tossed her suitcases in the backseat of her Camry, she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope. Just a small flicker in her chest, but it was there. She smiled her first real smile in ages.

The night was warm and she rolled down her windows, letting the wind tangle her blonde-ish hair. She flipped on the radio and laughed out loud. Lita Ford’s, Kiss Me Deadly, was playing. Good luck omen, or what? She turned it up and sang along with whatever words she could remember. 

Bonnie hadn’t felt this happy in years. Decades maybe. She felt light. Her hope grew. This time it would be different. Her life had been a series of Roy’s and half efforts. This time, she’d do it right. She’d learn from her mistakes. 

Roy already felt like a memory. By the time she reached Cathedral City, he’d be nothing but the butt of a joke.

It’s funny, she thought, how much easier feelings become. The very first time she got her heart broken (by quarterback, Doug McClaren) in high school, it ruined her. Night after night she cried. She embarrassed herself by calling him until he told her stop. And she even called twice after that. But, she thought, as the years go by, you realize that feelings are fleeting. Heartbreak doesn't stay with you like you think it will. All emotions are short-lived, momentary really.

And with that Bonnie lit a Pall Mall, realizing suddenly that the same could be said of her moments of happiness. They were just that. Moments. 

She turned off the radio. And focused on the road ahead. 

Cathedral City. 18 miles.