The Drifter Ch. 07

When we walked into what was once Dot's Cafe, I was surprised the restaurant did not smell moldy and guessed it was because of the dryness of the desert. I stood in the entrance and looked up at the huge spider webs covering the circular fan, light fixtures, and the ceiling in the corners of the room. The restaurant was filthy with thick layers of dust and debris. Old newspapers were piled in a corner by the door. Dirty jars, coffee mugs and various dishes and bowls were stacked in dust on a shelf behind a long splintered wooden counter. A dozen dirty round wooden stools sat in front of the counter. On another shelf sat old pots and pans. A six burner dust covered black stove sat behind the counter with a large pot on it.

On the opposite wall, across from the counter, were three wooden booths. I could see they were once brown but were now faded and covered with dust and spider webs. One large round table sat in the center of the room. A few smaller tables were along another wall. In front of the window were three more tables. Seeing all of the tables and chairs in place with spider webs under the legs, I imagined people sitting there many years ago and could almost hear the ghost of chatter in the silence. I glanced in the small bathroom and saw the remnants of dead mice in the toilet. One day Dot's restaurant was alive with activity and then it slowly died.

While Carla and Mosa walked around, I saw a large yellowed poster tacked to the wall with the words menu at the top. The letters were a faded red, but I was able to read what Dot served as well as the prices. Eggs with bacon, toast and coffee-fifteen cents, Dot's Hot Cakes with sausage and coffee—twenty-two cents, Hamburger on bun with the works—eighteen cents, coffee and tea—five cents. At the bottom: Friday night special—Roast Beef with mashed potatoes and succotash -Ninety-five cents. Apple Pie and ice cream—twenty-five cents.

I chuckled when I thought about the price of food today and wondered what happened that made everything more expensive. Standing next to the counter I looked around and felt I had stepped back in time, but I also saw what had to be done in the next week to turn Dot's Cafe into The Bistro.

"I think this place needs spit and polish. We can make it beautiful,"Carla said, as she stood next to me and looked around.

"I can see it," Mosa said. "I will paint a mural and I have many paintings I can put on the wall. I know other artists too."

"It might need more than spit and polish," I said. "I'll see if the building is structurally sound and do what I can, but I also want to repair and refinish the counter and the tables and chairs. I used to work for a boat builder in Maine, and think I can make those booths special."

"Anna told me she wants a stage for entertainment. She said people will drive great distances for good entertainment and good food."

"That's true," I said and wondered if Mosa was right. Anna was magical. Maybe she would actually bring Avalon to life. I was mystified by Anna and amazed how Carla and I had drifted into this ghost town in Death Valley and here we were about to help Anna bring a dilapidated restaurant back to life in exchange for the trailer.

For a moment, I wondered if we should stay and hide here and become part of Anna's dream. There's something appealing about making dreams come true. The police had already checked it out and we'd be safe, but then I realized I wanted to make it to Bolinas with Carla. Though I didn't know what they were, I knew I had my own dreams. I wanted to see my old friends, Steve and Catherine and be in a town that had no road signs to it. Perhaps there, I would find what I was looking for. Having the trailer would give us a good shot at getting there without getting caught.

We got busy and worked from eight to six every day. Miquel worked with us. Mosa made sandwiches and within two days the walls were clean enough for her to start painting a mural. I was sanding the counter and started on the tables and decided I would do the refinishing when all of the furniture was ready. After doing that and saw that the counter, stools and booths looked brand new, I built the small stage in the corner. I had checked all of the lumber and supplies in the hotel next door and saw that in addition to wood, nails and screws, there were several gallons of paint and varnish.

Anna came to see what we were doing every day. She stood in the doorway and looked around. She smiled and nodded but didn't say a word. After five minutes she would wave goodbye and walk away, but I could tell she was happy.

On the day I was working on the stage, she came over and watched. I looked up at her and could see her mind was far away. Her eyes were closed and she had a smile on her lips as if she was remembering something. I wanted to ask what she was thinking about but didn't. Then she spoke.

"I love a good stage. All of my life I have lived to be on the stage. The theater is my life. You are making me happy."

When she left I thought about her life as a world famous ballerina who performed on stages in New York and Europe and now on a stage in a ghost town. I remembered her saying she would be rich and famous again as if she knew it was going to happen. While I worked, I wondered if she was delusional or profound.

Two more days and we will be on our way, I thought as I nailed down the last board on the stage. Mosa was on a ladder painting the mural on the wall. She was halfway finished and I could see what looked like the barren mountains surrounding Death Valley, but also saw she was painting a lush green garden with willow trees, colorful flowers and a huge waterfall pouring into a pond. She was creating an oasis in the desert and I knew she was painting Avalon. I was in awe of her talent. The half finished mural seemed to glow.

The next day, Miguel entered and was carrying a large wooden sign with The Bistro carved into the wood. The letters were painted a bright yellow and almost looked like gold. I couldn't believe my eyes.

"That's magnificent," I said.

"Did you make that sign?" Carla asked.

"Si." Miguel smiled.

"Good job, Miguel. It's perfect," Mosa said from the ladder.

"Can you hang the sign outside?" he asked me.

"I'll need your help, but yes, I can hang it."

It took over an hour to hang the sign above the door. When I climbed down from the ladder, I stood back on the sidewalk and looked up at the sign and then at the front of the building that Miguel had also painted with light blue paint and a yellow trim. I couldn't believe my eyes. Like the theater, the building sparkled in the late afternoon sun.

Carla had worked behind the counter and scrubbed the stove and the hood over it and made it shine. The dishes, pots and pans and silverware sparkled. I had made a shelf for wine glasses above the counter. Mosa had finished her mural of an oasis in the desert and had hung several of her paintings on the wall over the brown varnished booths.

Anna came in and looked around. She applauded and smiled. "The trailer is yours."

Carla and I hugged in happiness in the sparkling cafe. We were glad to have helped Anna and her dream for Avalon, but we were excited to know we would be on the road again. While we embraced, Carla kissed my ear and whispered, "Take me home." I knew how she wanted to celebrate.

Though we made love every night before we went to sleep, and our morning snuggling always started slow, most mornings it ended with our rolling over each other several times before I lifted her arms above her head with Carla shouting, "Own me!" She loved being taken, but we both knew it was a playful fantasy, that I would never want to own her-still, there was something primal being expressed.

But that night, we celebrated with a hot, wild fuck, then, after having another can of chicken noodle soup, we made tender, slow love and fell asleep in each others arms.

The next morning, I hitched the trailer to my truck. After hugging Anna, Mosa and Miguel in front of our trailer, we started to drive away, but stopped for a minute in front of the theater and looked at it one last time. It seemed to glow in the morning sunlight. I looked at the poster of a much younger Anna on her toes, her arms extended and knew I would never forget her.

I drove slowly up the street past several old dusty cars, then stopped in front of the restaurant. I looked up at the sign and the brightly painted blue and yellow building.

"It's such a cute place. It's amazing," Carla said, staring at it.

It was dazzling and I remembered what it looked like a week earlier and how it had been transformed. I looked up at the sign over the entrance.

"It's weird seeing a restaurant in this ghost town. There's no food. No chef. No one knows it exists. I wonder if anyone will ever eat there."

"Maybe they will come just like people are starting to come to her theater." Carla shrugged her shoulder. "Who knows?"

After admiring The Bistro for a few minutes, I glanced at the boarded up hotel next door with Avalon written over the blacked out Hesterville and wondered if that was next. I glanced in the rear view mirror at the trailer and drove out of town and back to the highway that would take us to Santa Monica and the end of Route Sixty-six. We drove past the Mojave Reservation and I remembered meeting Charles and wondered what would become of his book. After two hours, I saw we were low on gas. I remembered passing a sign advertising The Mojave Truck Stop.

A half hour later we were there. We pulled up to one of a dozen pumps. I felt confident that the license on my truck would not be seen because of the trailer, I was concerned that the California license on the trailer had expired. I also knew there were photos of Carla and a sketch of me being circulated and shown on television.

I decided to take a chance and go inside to get some coffee and a snack while Carla paid for the gas and hoped we wouldn't be recognized.

While we poured ourselves coffee, Carla's cell phone rang. Again, she didn't answer it, but listened to the message so that I could hear her mother sobbing. "Please call and let us know you're alive. Please. I'm hysterical."

Carla closed her phone and slipped it into her shirt pocket. I could tell she was upset by how she closed her eyes and swallowed, as if holding back tears. She took a deep breath and started towards the door. "Let's go."

At the counter, I saw the headline on the newspaper. "Kidnapper Still on the Loose." A sketch of me was on the front page. I glanced at the young girl behind the counter and hoped she wouldn't look up and recognize me, then quickly went outside while Carla paid her.

Though I felt safer with the trailer, I knew we had to be careful until we got to Bolinas. When Carla got back into the truck, I took a sip of my coffee and turned to her. "I hope we make it."

"We will," Carla said, but then she sighed deeply and I could see she was upset from hearing her mother's worried voice.

"Damn, I hate making my mom worry. Maybe I should call her."

"It's your call, Cara." I glanced her, but wished she had called before all of this running had started.

"I'm afraid she'll beg me to come home if I tell her I wasn't kidnapped."

"If you tell her you weren't kidnapped, the police would stop looking for me. You would be a run away and that's not a crime. Maybe we wouldn't be in all this trouble if you would just tell her the truth." I know she heard the frustration in my voice.

Carla closed her eyes and shook her head from side to side. "I know. I know, but I'm afraid to hear her voice."

I knew she was afraid of her mother's pressure on her life and was avoiding confronting her. I didn't know what to say to comfort her. I wanted to give her the courage to tell her mother the truth that she wasn't kidnapped and the truth of why she ran away, but knew the courage had to come from her and not from me.

"I can't go home. I need to be with you and I need to be me." She spoke with her eyes closed.

I watched her take a deep sigh and could see she was trying to hold back tears. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were quivering. Though I wished she would tell her mother that she wasn't kidnapped, that she had to get away, and knew she'd feel relief, I didn't say anything. I knew if she told her mother the truth, we wouldn't be on the run from the police. I wouldn't be a hunted kidnapper, an outlaw. I wondered if I should be more insistent, but wanted her to break through her fear and end this mess. A few times I started to say something but swallowed my words.

It was painful to see her suffering and was frustrated by her reluctance. "Say something. Do something," I muttered to myself, then turned on the ignition. I sighed deeply in frustration, then gripped the steering wheel and drove out of the gas station, uncertain where I was going and what would happen to us after Bolinas.