Nola's Future: A Lucky Lucas Novel

CHAPTER TWO

Two weeks later, I was gathering a few things in preparation for an ocean swim, while Mona, who for lack of a better word is my girlfriend, touched up her make-up and readied for work. Her work consists of running her successful Mexican restaurant on Clement Street in San Francisco, and as far as I could tell she needed make-up about as much as the Venus de Milo needed publicity.

I like watching you in the mirror. I get two views at a single glance, I said. I stood next to my bed and packed a towel and a swimsuit inside a gym bag.

Mona smiled and a beautiful pink tongue flicked at perfect white teeth. You’ve always said you like to watch. She ran a brush through her thick black hair. If hair can glisten, hers did.

Me and Alfred Hitchcock. Partners in voyeurism.

Mona slipped on a pair of black two inch heels, brushed at a spot only she could have seen on her cream colored silk pants, and stepped in next to me. She kissed me on the cheek, and then dabbed at the spot of fresh lipstick. I have to run, she said. Watch out for sharks. Mona loved to kid me about my unfortunate, if not life threatening, encounter with a shark while swimming at Ocean Beach.

The front doorbell chimed before I could come up with a witty reply. Lou the Dalmatian barked and scampered from the bedroom toward the living room and the front door.

Guests? Mona said. Might keep you from the Ocean Beach cold.

Mona and I walked from the bedroom to the front door and I opened it. Nola was standing on the porch. She wore white jeans and tan flats, a red sweatshirt with white trim, a grey French beret that covered most of her auburn hair, and sunglasses.

Hi, she said.

Hey. Hi Nola, I said. Lou squeezed past me and out the door and lapped at Nola’s hand.

Hi Lou, she said.

Mona looked from me to Nola and back to me. Introduce me, she said. and then I’m gone.

Mona, this is Nola. Nola this is Mona. Nola lives in the neighborhood and we met walking our dogs. She has a female Lab named Amy that has designs on Lou.

Aah, said Mona. Well then Amy has good taste. Nice to meet you Nola.

I don’t want to interrupt, Nola said. She pulled her shoulders up around her neck. I’m sorry.

Don’t worry, I said. She’s leaving me all the time.

Hit and run, Mona said as she stepped past Nola, tapped Lou on his head and left the porch.

Nola watched Mona walk toward her car parked at the curb and then looked back at me. She seems nice, she said.

Smart too, I said. Even though she likes me.

Does she know about how you helped me? Nola asked.

Actually I don’t think I ever mentioned it to her. What’s up?

I wondered…if… I’m not sure…Can I talk to you for a minute?

Of course, come in. I moved to one side of the doorway and waved a hand.

Nola moved cautiously, stepping into the living room as if afraid she were about to trigger an alarm or disturb an afternoon sleeper. She clutched a small purse and came to a stop in the middle of the room. Lou followed her back into the house and I closed the front door. I gestured to a chair on one side of the living room couch. Have a seat.

Nola sat in the chair, squeezing her legs together and crossing her feet at the ankles. You told me where you lived that day. I remembered, she said, apparently believing she needed to start with an explanation.

I did, I said. I sat on the couch. Cell number too.

I guess I could have called first, she said. She twisted in her chair.

You’re fine. As Nola looked around the living room and then at the floor, it was becoming increasingly clear that she was not fine at all.

I haven’t seen you with Lou in a while. I thought maybe you were out of town or something, she said. She spoke slowly, as if her words were unsure of their destination.

That’s funny, I said. That’s what I thought about you. I guess we were just out at different times.

I guess, Nola said. Anyway, it’s nice to see you. And Lou.

Lou was on the floor exactly half way between the two of us, wagging his tail and shifting his head back and forth as he followed the conversation.

It’s nice to see you too, I said. But why don’t you relax. Set down your purse, take off your sunglasses.

Nola bowed her head and stared into her lap. Both hands rested on her knees, clenching her purse as if it were a talisman of safety and sanctuary. After a beat, she relaxed and set the purse beside her in the chair. She hesitated before reaching for her sunglasses. She removed the glasses and slipped them inside the front pouch of her sweatshirt and looked at me. A deep bruise mixing yellow and purple decorated a lump the size of a silver dollar beneath her right eye.

Damon? I asked.

It was my fault, Nola said in a voice that dropped into little more than a whisper.

No, I said.

I should never have agreed to see him.

The victim is not responsible.

I was naïve, Nola said. She exhaled a deep breath, removed her beret, set it on top of her purse, and ran a hand through her hair. I put myself in a bad situation.

Doesn’t matter, I said. I suppose he later apologized. Said it would never happen again…it’s just that he cares for you so much.

He did. How did you know?

Would you like something to drink? A soft drink or water or coffee? Iced tea? I stood. I’m going to have a cup of coffee, I said. What can I get you?

She hesitated, shrugged and said, I don’t know,…uh, a glass of iced tea I guess.

Come with me. We’ll get the drinks and go into the backyard.

Nola moved to pick up her purse and the beret. Leave your stuff, I said.

Lou followed us into the kitchen where I poured cold coffee from the pot into a cup and slipped it into the microwave to re-heat. From the refrigerator I removed a pitcher of iced tea and a Tupperware container with two bones left from last night’s steak dinner. I poured Nola a glass of the tea and gave Lou one of the bones. When the microwave signaled the coffee was re-heated I took the cup and pointed to the kitchen door leading to the backyard. Let’s go.

Lou plopped down in the middle of the lawn and went to work on his bone and Nola and I sat in chairs at the round metal table that sits in the center of the patio.

The backyard is nice, Nola said.

Lou likes it and its pretty low maintenance, which is good because I don’t have a green thumb or the inclination to grow one.

Nola laughed. I killed a cactus once.

Well, there you go. Something we have in common. I sipped at my coffee and Nola drank some tea. I’m here to listen, I said.

I’m sort of embarrassed. I barely know you.

That’s okay. You have other friends you can talk to?

I do, and they even encouraged me to come and see you. After I’d told them about what had happened with Damon and how you helped.

You should really go to the police about this, I said.

No, she said almost immediately. No. I’ll be more careful. The police would end up telling my parents and that would ruin everything.

What about your parents? I asked. They must have noticed your bruises.

That’s the thing. They’re not here. After I finished school, it worked out for them to go back to New Orleans for a while. I’m living alone in the house. I think everybody’s happy. My mom especially loves going back; she still thinks of it as home, and I get a bit of independence. We talk on the phone a lot and we get along great, but I haven’t mentioned anything about this. I can’t. They’d freak out. Plus, get mad for my poor judgment. That would be my dad, at least. My mom would want to rush home.

Families can be complicated, I said. I thought about my son Keith and his family living in Berkeley, and the fact that I hadn’t spoken to any of them in more than a week. I also thought about Ricky and Mei Song and their parents who I’d met when helping straighten out a situation in Chinatown, a year earlier. And Diane Berger, who had run away from her parents’ home, but was now healthy and happy and on her own. It’s good you and you folks are close.

Yeah, it is, Nola said.

So talk to me, I said.

Well…after I saw you that time with Damon, I didn’t hear from him again. I kept expecting him to call, like he said he was going to but he never did. Then day before yesterday he called. I’d been looking at the caller i.d. pretty carefully when I answered the phone, but I was in a part of the house with one of my dad’s collectible older phones and I answered the call with that one. It was Damon. I don’t know why I didn’t hang up right away. I should have, obviously. But I didn’t.

It’s not always easy to know what to do. It’s much easier looking back, I said.

Yeah. Anyway, he was very nice. Almost sweet. Recalling fun times we had together. Mentioning stuff only we knew about and how those things would always be part of our history. He said he wanted to move on with his life and hoped to have us end things on a better note. He wanted to have a good memory instead of a bad one, and he said he was trying to work things out with his wife.

His wife? After decades as a cop I am not supposed to get jumped by the big surprise, but apparently it can still happen.

Nola nodded. I didn’t know he was married at first, and then when he did tell me he made it sound like divorce was just around the corner. He made it all seem okay. I know it wasn’t but… Nola’s voice trailed off in the breeze. She found a moment of safety in drinking her iced tea and looking out at Lou.

So you agreed to see him? I said.

Yes. Just for an hour, a little lunch in a park, he said. I wanted to be mature. It sounded like a grown up way to end a relationship. Nola wiped at a tear that tried to sneak down her cheek. Stupid, she said. I was just stupid.

And he ended up hitting you? That’s on him Nola, not you.

She wiped at a second tear and looked at me. I know…you’re right. But now I’m worried, again. He called yesterday, but I didn’t answer. I’m frightened and mad.

The anger is good, I said. You deserve it. And if you refuse to go to the police let’s at least go talk to him. I can persuade him to leave you alone. Do you know where he lives?

I do, she said.

Would you like to go now? I asked. The ocean swim would have to wait a day.

Surprised by the immediacy of the moment, Nola hesitated before saying, I guess so. Should I call him to make sure he’s home?

I smiled. No. Let’s surprise him.

CHAPTER THREE

My grandfather was a successful farmer in Nebraska and used to trade in his two year old Buick sedan for a new one every other year. He did business with the local dealership in Lincoln for twenty five years and used to tease the owner that he was such a good customer and advertisement he should be getting a better price on his cars. I didn’t feel quite the same urgency to switch cars, but I had just recently traded in my eight year old Buick for a new one, and still got a teenager’s kick out of sliding in behind the wheel. Plenty of leg room, leather interior, and a sound system so much better than the one in my house that it made me think it was time to replace that as well.

Nola sat beside me and we drove down 19th Avenue, past San Francisco State, and onto Highway 280 heading north. We dropped off at San Jose Avenue and snaked along surface streets in the Bernal Heights neighborhood where Damon lived.

I might live over here if I was on my own and could afford the rent, Nola said.

Is it pricier here than anyplace else?

I don’t know, it’s just kind of a cool area. Lots of dogs around and a dog park. Young families, artist types. Damon loved giving me history lessons about the neighborhood.

I’m still learning, I said. I’ve only been here a few years. What do you know?

The neighborhood was one of the ones to survive the big earthquake. Not the one in the 80’s, but the famous one, 1906.

Why was that?

Nola smiled and shrugged her shoulders, a playful move, and said, That, I don’t know.

What else?

I know a street called Cortland, a block over, is the main one. Small stores, cafes, book stores. And I know they have a thing called the Illegal Soap Box Derby once a year. At least I think they still do. A downhill race with homemade cars. I saw it once.

It’s illegal?

Not really. They just call it that because they don’t have any authorization or permits or anything.

I like that, I said.

Yeah, me too. Nola pointed up the street. Make a right at the corner.

I turned on a street called Santa Marina.

That’s his house on the left, Nola said, her eyes losing their sparkle.

There were no parking spots in the first block so I made a U-turn and pulled into the driveway of Damon’s house. It was a short driveway that was designed to lead into the garage, and the back half of the Buick rested on the sidewalk.

You can get a ticket you know, Nola said. For blocking the sidewalk. I know because Damon got one. Ticket lady said you can’t park like this, sticking out. A person in a wheelchair or a walker maybe can’t get by. It’s one hundred dollars, too.

A hundred dollars?

Yep, Damon was so mad. Her lips tried to sneak a smile in place, but it didn’t hold.

Well, we won’t be here long and we’ll keep our eyes open. How’s that?

It’s your car.

Right, I said. I opened my car door.

I’m going to stay in the car, Nola said.

I looked at her and saw nervousness and fear claim a bigger piece of her. One hand tightly squeezed the other and her legs bounced against one another. Okay, I said. I didn’t see where it would matter one way or another if Nola was standing beside me while I confronted Damon. Maybe she was right, maybe it was better that she stay in the car.

The house was one of the Victorian models still surviving in a lot of San Francisco neighborhoods, some well over a hundred years old. The house was painted a color some call oyster grey, with light blue trim. I liked it. A healthy collection of plants decorated either side of the short staircase that led to a front porch where a single rattan chair sat beside a small metal table. A plastic drinking glass had been left on the table atop a magazine.

The front door was nicely stained oak with glass panels on the left and right sides of a polished brass door knocker. I used the knocker and waited. I glanced back at the car and saw Nola wiggle her fingers at me and attempt to retrieve her smile. The door opened as I turned my attention back to the house.

Can I help you? An attractive barefoot woman with a blond, shaggy haircut and who I assumed was Damon’s wife leaned against the door. She wore black Capri pants and a sleeveless grey sweatshirt with a logo of a dancer and the lettering ODC splashed across the front. I recognized the Capris pants style because Mona taught me that recognizing one type of clothing from another, or the value of one piece of jewelry from another, could at any moment become vital information. I was pretty sure it had to do with gift buying.

Hi. I’m here to see Damon, I said as innocently as I could.

Is he expecting you? she said. She moved into a position where one foot perched atop the other and she extended one arm up the side of the door. She had great looking calves and a long, nicely defined, arm. She could have been posing for a photograph.

No, he’s not. Is he home? I asked.

She looked over my shoulder toward the car in the driveway. Is that your car?

Yeah.

Who’s the girl? I wondered if she carried around a detection device that signaled her to potential temptations Damon might be unable to resist.

A friend. Is your husband home? I asked again.

She slid her arm down the side of the door and let her hand rest on the doorknob. She shifted her weight and set both feet firmly side by side. Who exactly are you, if I may ask?

Sure you can ask. My name’s Lucky and I am a guy looking to speak with Damon. If you could just tell him I came by I’d appreciate it.

What’s it about? she asked, and I thought I saw her glancing quickly again at Nola.

Tell him I am the guy with the Dalmatian. We met a couple weeks ago in the Sunset. I’ll follow up. It’s a personal matter.

Well, I’m his wife. That’s pretty personal.

I won’t argue that. Thanks for your time. I stepped back from the door and pointed at her sweatshirt. You a dancer?

She glanced down at her sweatshirt, pulled at the material and looked back at me. Once upon a time, she said.

Once a dancer always a dancer, I