Twice
Tempted
by William Manchee
Trade Paperback $14.95
Hardback $19.95
253 Pages ISBN 0-53311898-0
Prelude
Regretfully, I have no satisfying explanation for my irrational and shocking behavior. I heard a lot about morality when I was young but I never thought much about it. Deep down inside I believed that I was of the highest moral character. Most of my parents and friends I am sure felt the same way about me, at least no one ever told me differently. But not being much of an intellect, I never explored the depth of my morality.
Was this ostensible morality the result my appreciation of righteousness and clear understanding of the consequences of immorality, or was I simply a sheep blindly following the flock out of fear, ignorance or indifference?
In retrospect the later explanation seems most appropriate particularly in light of the story I am about to tell you. There is no doubt that I had accepted virtue as my way of life, but because I had never really fully explored the propriety of good versus evil my morality was inevitably shallow. When I was confronted by the temptations that I am about to divulge my frail moral shield was shattered and I surrendered to greed, deceit and debauchery.
My greatest regret in all this was the embarrassment and humiliation that I brought to my family and friends. I could take whatever was my due, but my friends and family had tremendous faith and great expectations for my future. They deserved more. It grieved me greatly to see their hopes and dreams shattered before the national media. That was unbearable, and more than once I considered ending it all rather than face their inevitable torment.
It was as an election year and my heavy involvement in politics kept my mind off Candy, the ravishing blond bank teller who had taken a peculiar interest in me. Although I would see her briefly nearly every day I tried to avoid any lengthy encounters that might lead to trouble. We had become good friends and engaged in many interesting conversations from time to time, but I didn't consider seeing her outside the bank as I didn't trust myself around her.
It had been a tumultuous spring as both Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy had been assassinated. My girl friend, Maria and I had actually been at the Ambassador Hotel on the night Kennedy was slain. Whereas we didn't see the actual assassination, we did see Sirhan Sirhan arrested and the body of Robert Kennedy wheeled into an ambulance. The incident had shaken us both since my ambition in life was to be a congressman or senator. For the first time we saw a wicked glimpse of the harsh realities of politics.
By the end of the school year the presidential primaries were nearly over and the presidential campaign was about to go into high gear. It was a busy time for me juggling school, politics, work and Maria. On this particular night in mid June I was anxious to get home to study.
When I pulled into the bank parking lot at 6:30 p.m., it surprised me slightly that Sam wasn't there. The weather had been good and I thought Sam, the Arrowhead Lake messenger, would be on time. I surmised that he either had car trouble or one of his banks were late. I decided to go in and pick up the bags and then wait for him in my car.
As I walked toward the bank's front door I noticed a policeman drive by in his squad car and give me a hard look. I assumed the police knew that messengers went in and out of the bank all the time and didn't pay much attention to it. Nevertheless, a chill went down my spine as I watched him disappear over the hilltop.
After pulling out my ring of keys, I fumbled around to find the right one. Successfully identifying it, I slid it in the key hole and opened the glass door. Not being in a great hurry since I knew I had to wait for Sam anyway, I wandered around the lobby for a minute and sat down on a large beige sofa. It was dark with but one small light dimly illuminating the entire lobby area. Scanning the room I noticed the bags on the floor near the tellers' windows. I looked over at the plush office of the bank's president and decided to sit in his chair. His office was quite lavish and as I leaned back and relaxed I wondered what it would be like to be a bank president. Not so bad, I thought, but how many bank presidents could you name?
Suddenly I heard a noise. I vaulted myself out of the chair and ran into the lobby. I looked around but did not see the source of the sound. What I did see, however, was quite a shock. It was the bank vault, it was open again!
For several moments I stood starring at the open vault in a state of shock. I am not sure if I felt like someone who just won the lottery or just got sentenced to life in prison. After recovering somewhat from the initial surprise of seeing the vault open again, my first inclination was to call Sinclair. I walked over to the phone and started to pick it up, but suddenly a strange curiosity overcame me and I hesitated briefly. Glancing once again at the open vault, I wondered why I shouldn't at least go inside and see what was in there. I knew the alarm was not activated yet, so it wouldn't hurt just to look.
After checking the front door to be sure Sam hadn't arrived, I made my way slowly over to the vault and peered inside. Unfortunately it was so dark I couldn't see anything so I searched around the bank lobby for a match. Finding none, I remembered a flashlight was standard equipment for bank messengers and there would be one in my glove compartment. I walked quickly to the front door, opened it and headed for my car. Suddenly two headlights blinded me; instinctively I lifted my arm to shield my eyes from the glare. Startled by the light, I immediately panicked thinking it must be the cop who was cruising around the neighborhood. What I am I going to tell him? The door opened slowly, I was paralyzed with fear, then a voice said, "Fred what in the Devil are you doing running across the parking lot? I nearly ran you down."
"Sam . . . oh it's you, you startled me," I said feeling greatly relieved.
"Who did you think it was going to be, Bigfoot," Sam laughed.
"No, I was expecting you, I just didn't see you coming."
"Hey, I didn't see you lock the door when you came out."
"I didn't, I came out to get a flash light. Something's wrong with the night lamp so it's really dark in there."
"Huh . . . I thought maybe they left that there vault open again and you were loading up some cash."
"Yeah, I wish," I laughed. "Hey, how come you're so late?"
"Them rascals up at Big Bear don't know how to count. Two of them tellers were out of balance for nearly thirty minutes if you can believe that?" Sam walked around to the trunk of his car and opened it.
"Yeah, I don't think they hire tellers for brain power," I noted.
"No, them bankers are pretty smart. They get them good-looking chicks to sit there behind the counter and smile pretty at all them young executives who control all them corporate dollars."
"You think so?"
Sam reached into the trunk of his car and pulled out the Arrowhead and Big Bear bags and handed them to me. "Sure thing, haven't you ever noticed that the nicest little building in every town you'll ever travel to is a bank. And if you step inside you'll find the prettiest women in the entire town sittin' inside. Sure enough, women like to be around money, I guarantee."
"I guess you're right," I said. "That hadn't ever occurred to me before."
"Well you best be getting out of here, ol' Jim's going to be pretty damn anxious for you to arrive with all them hot women a waiting for him."
"You're right, I better get my flashlight and retrieve those bags."
"Be careful, don't trip over anything."
"I will . . . be carefully I mean. See ya later."
"Adios."
After opening the trunk, I threw in the two bags and then found my flashlight. Sam jumped into his car and drove off. I quickly ran back into the bank, locked the door behind me, walked over to the sofa and collapsed. Now I was screwed! If I called Sinclair now, how would I explain why I hadn't noticed the bank vault being opened before I talked to Sam. Wait, I thought, the night lamp might save my butt.
I walked over and was about to unscrew it when it suddenly occurred to me I better not leave finger prints all over the bank. So I searched my pockets for a handkerchief or something with which to unscrew the bulb. Finding nothing, I went to the kitchen to get a towel or rag. I walked into the kitchen, found a towel and headed back to the bank lobby. Very gently I unscrewed the bulb in the lamp and then I hit the bulb on the desk, not hard enough to break it, but enough to shatter the filament inside the bulb. Then I replaced the bulb and screwed it in securely.
Briefly I worried that from the parking lot Sam might have seen that the night lamp was still lit. I quickly dismissed that concern as I noticed the sun shades were drawn. Then I thought back to every place in the bank I had been. It seemed the prudent course of action was to wipe away any finger prints that I might have left in the wrong places. The first location that came to mind was the President's office as I would have put my hands on the arms of his chair. I went into his office, rubbed both arms vigorously, then I racked my brain to remember any place else I might have ventured. Nothing came to mind so I picked up my flashlight and left the president's office.
Shining the flashlight on my watch I saw that it was 8:15 p.m. "Forty-five minutes late, Damn!" I exclaimed out loud. I headed for the vault to close it so no one would think that I had contemplated stealing the money. Using the towel so I wouldn't leave fingerprints, I grasped the vault with two hands and pulled it toward me. Then I remembered, the whole reason I went out to the car was to get the flashlight so I could look inside the vault. I've come all this way now, why not see what was inside?
After throwing the towel over my shoulder, I shined the flashlight into the vault. It was much larger than I had expected. Just inside there were several rows of safety deposit boxes and a small room into which customers could go to examine their valuables. To the left all of the teller's trays had been lined up neatly against the steel wall of the vault. They were full of money, but only pocket change compared to what should be just ahead. Flashing my light into the darkness, I observed a steel gate. I approached it cautiously thinking, maybe it would also be unlocked. After pulling a towel off my shoulder, I placed it around the handle of the gate. Then I squeezed it firmly and turned it to the right, then the left, but nothing happened. I turned it again harder but it wouldn't budge.
"Shit!" I said out loud as I was upset that I wasn't going to be able to see the six-plus million dollars that were supposed to be in the vault. "That damn Hamlin lied to me, that bastard."
With my curiosity frustrated, fear overcame me again and I turned and walked quickly out of the vault, careful not to touch anything. I took my towel, grasped both hands on the large interior handle of the vault door and began to move it slowly toward me. Suddenly I heard a cough. Startled, I turned around quickly and found myself face to face with the bank's cashier, Harvey Hamlin!
"Oh!" Mr. Hamlin.
"What in the fuck are you doing, Fred?!"
The sight of Hamlin stunned me. In an instant my mind tried to fathom what was happening. I've been caught red handed in a bank vault with over six million dollars. The only fortunate thing was I didn't have my hands full of money. Worst case I'm charged with attempted robbery and thrown in the slammer. Best case I get fired for not calling Sinclair immediately.
"Uh . . . Mr. Hamlin . . . what are you doing here so late?"
"Answer my question!? What the hell are you doing!?"
I felt the blood rushing to my face and I began to sweat profusely.
"Uh . . . uh . . . well . . . I thought you had forgot to close the vault again . . . and . . . uh . . . rather than call Sinclair and get you in trouble again I was going to close it for you."
"Oh . . . right, you were just going to close it," he said in a sarcastic tone.
"Yeah, that's right. Yea . . . I didn't want you to get in trouble again."
Hamlin starred at me skeptically and then suddenly his face relaxed as he contemplated what I had said.
"Oh . . . I see . . . hmm . . . gee, I am sorry Fred . . . that's the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a long, long time. I'm really at a loss for words."
"Well, what's the big deal? Everybody screws up once in a while," I said.
"I am sorry, this week has been such a damn nightmare for me. Do you know what I just did?"
"No, what?"
"I just kicked the fucking bank examiner out of my office."
"Why would you do that?"
"That son of a bitch had been on my ass all day long and I just got fed up. Now I am in big trouble. He's going to report me to his superiors and they'll probably fire my ass. Oh shit! What a stupid idiot I've been."
Mr. Hamlin sat down on a teller's stool and began to cry. I felt awkward and wanted to make a hasty exit.
"Jesus. I am sorry Mr. Hamlin," I said. "I guess I better go."
At that moment the phone rang and Harvey hurried around the corner to his office to answer it. Being curious as what was going on, I followed him.
"Hello . . . yes, this is Harvey Hamlin."
"Oh . . . hello Mr. Swan . . . yes . . . I know I shouldn't have lost my temper . . . well he was very unprofessional too . . . what irregularities . . . you're giving me notice . . . no . . . you can't fire me . . . you bastard!"
Harvey threw down the phone, kicked his desk in disgust and then began to cry again. Suddenly he turned pale, bent over and began to gag.
"What's wrong Mr. Hamlin?"
"I don't know, I feel dizzy and I can hardly breath. What's happening to me?"
"Here . . . sit down at your desk and maybe you'll feel better."
"The room is spinning. Fred, help me . . . I can't breathe . . . gasp!"
"Hang on . . . I'll call an ambulance."
"Help me Fred . . . please help me." Mr. Hamlin coughed several times and then looked into my eyes and said, "Tell Brenda I love her."
"What? I'll call an ambulance and you can tell her yourself."
"Please, tell my kids that I will miss them," he whispered as his eyes closed and he became limp in my arms.
A cold chill ran down my spine as I realized he may be dead? I felt for a pulse but there was nothing. I began to pound on his chest hoping his heart would again start to beat but he remained lifeless. Then I gave him mouth to mouth artificial respiration hoping he'd cough and suddenly come back to life, but he failed to respond. I began to cry. It wasn't that I knew Harvey very well, but to have him die in my arms disturbed me greatly.
As I started to regain my composure, I began to analyze the precarious predicament in which I found myself. What would I tell Sinclair? Let me see, if I closed the vault and then called an ambulance, would I be okay? Probably, but I didn't want to make a mistake. I looked at my watch and was distraught to see it was already 9:05 p.m. How could I explain the loss of thirty-five minutes? Not being able to think clearly, I began to pace back and forth.
"Okay . . . okay . . . don't panic," I said out loud. "That's the worst thing you can do. There has got to be a way out of this somehow." Perspiration began dripping from my forehead so I used my towel to dry my face. As I paced back and forth I kicked something that skidded forward and made a loud jingling noise. I looked down and saw a key ring with fifteen or twenty keys attached. I realized immediately that laying in front of me was the key to the inner vault! I starred at ring of keys paralyzed with fear. My body became numb as I faced a pivotal life decision. How had I got myself into this precarious situation? I thought back to how it had all started one year earlier. . . .
One
Summer, 1966
I had met Maria Shepard at UCLA's orientation program at the beginning of the summer. We were both transfer students and fortuitously I found myself seated next to her at one of the programs. Maria was very attractive, slim, medium height with dark brown hair. Her most notable feature, however, was her large, incredibly beautiful brown eyes. Unfortunately, being somewhat shy, I failed to procure her address and telephone number. During the summer I thought about Maria a lot and finally decided to find her and ask her out.
After diligently searching all of the Ventura County telephone books and calling over thirty-seven of the Shepards listed, I located her. I asked her out for the following Saturday night. Much to my surprise and delight she accepted with alacrity. I was to pick her up at six at her place. It was about a twenty minute drive to Ojai and I was very nervous. I guess everything had been too easy and I was expecting something to go wrong.
As I approached Maria's house I was impressed. It was located in a quiet, upper class neighborhood of large Spanish style homes. Each one had a white stucco exterior and a red tile roof. Magnificent eucalyptus trees towered high above the homes providing not only shade but privacy from the rest of the city. The lawns and bushes were neatly manicured and many of the homes had private tennis courts and swimming pools.
This setting was a little uncomfortable to me as I was not accustomed to an affluent lifestyle. My father was a clerk for a local insurance company and my mother was a checker at Von's Grocery Store. They made a decent living but we had always lived in a modest neighborhood and just recently had moved to a mobile home.
It was 5:45 p.m. when I got to 4436 Sunswept Terrace. Since I was early, I cruised around the neighborhood a little to kill time. At precisely six p.m. I knocked on the door and waited eagerly.
The door opened and a dark haired little girl stood looking up at me.
"Hi, is Maria in?" I asked.
She gave me a hard look and then replied, "You must be Fred."
"Yes, I am."
"Ma . . . ri . . . a," she yelled in a voice so loud I figured Maria must be in the back yard under a mattress.
In a few minutes Maria appeared and stood before me with a broad smile. She was wearing a Ventura College t-shirt and shorts. She was even more beautiful than I had remembered. I took a deep breath in an effort to maintain my composure.
"Fred, come in," she said taking my arm and escorting me inside.
"Thanks."
"I guess you met my little sister, Jessica."
"Briefly, she's a cute kid. How old is she?"
"Ten, but you wouldn't know it from the way she acts sometime. I guess I can't complain though . . . she's pretty good most of the time. Come in the kitchen, I want you to meet my parents."
Maria took my hand and pulled me into the kitchen where her mom and dad were seated at the kitchen table. They looked up and gave me a once over.
"Mom and Dad, this is Fred Fuller. Fred, this is my Mom, Mary and my Dad, John."
I smiled wondering what they were thinking. Did they like me? It’s always awkward meeting parents. I took a deep breath and said, "Nice to meet you."
"Hello," Mr. Shepard replied with little enthusiasm.
"Hi," Mrs. Shepard said," Maria told us about meeting you at orientation and she was so happy when you called her."
Maria frowned. "Mom, you're not supposed to repeat everything I tell you."
"Oh, I am sorry, honey. I didn’t-"
"That’s right, Mary. What were you thinking?" Mr. Shepard said. "God forbid a woman should tell a man how she actually feels about him right off the bat. No, she’s got to keep him off balance and in the dark for awhile. It’s standard female torture."
Maria laughed and shook her head as she took me by the arm. "Fred, I think we should leave. I don't like where this conversation is leading."
"What do you mean?" Mr. Shepard replied playfully. "You just can’t stand to hear the truth, can you?"
She gave him a quick empty smile and said, "You’re a real hoot, Dad." Then she turned to me and shook her head. "Don’t pay attention to him, Fred. He gets jealous whenever I go out on a date. . . . Bye, Mom. . . . Bye, Dad."
"Okay, honey, drive carefully. Don't be too late," Mrs. Shepard said. "Nice to meet you Fred."
"Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting both of you."
As we left the house I felt like I’d just gone around and around in a revolving door. Things were developing faster than I had expected. We got in the car and drove twenty minutes back to Ventura to a Polynesian restaurant called the Kon Tiki. Maria was very open and inquisitive and she immediately began asking me some very intense questions and shared some of her inner most secrets. I was somewhat disarmed by all of this and began spilling my guts to her which was very uncharacteristic of me. Most people considered me very quiet and introverted but Maria opened me up like can of tuna. After dinner we continued to talk.
"So what have you been doing this summer?" she asked.
"Well, I've been working for Bank USA."
"Oh really, what do you do?"
"I'm a messenger. I deliver and pick up data processing from half a dozen or so branches between Ventura and Fillmore."
"Do you like doing that?"
"Oh yeah, it's a sweet job and it pays well. Luckily I'm going to be able to transfer down to LA when school starts." "That's great. I hope I can find a good job like that."
"You probably will, UCLA has a great placement office."
The waiter brought our check and placed it next to my plate.
"Well. . . . Are you ready to go to the movies?" I asked.
"Not really. It's been so much fun talking, I'd rather just go somewhere quiet and continue our conversation."
"Okay. . . . I know a really pretty place where we can sit and look at the lights of the city."
"That's perfect."
I didn't mention it to her, but the place I had in mind was the most popular teenage parking spot in Ventura County. But she would figure that out soon enough. When we got to downtown Ventura we went up a very steep hill to the beginning of the road that led to the Cross, as it was called. I always worried that my car wouldn’t make it up the hill since it was so steep, but somehow it always did.
The Cross was the burial place of several missionaries who lived and worked at Mission San Buenaventura. We slowly made our way up the switchbacks until we were high over the city. From the Cross you could see the spectacular California coastline by day and the dazzling lights of the city and ocean traffic by night. Surprisingly, the parking lot was deserted so we parked in the spot with the best view. I turned off the engine and slid over to be next to her.
"This is magnificent," Maria said.
"Isn't it?"
"The lights are so pretty."
"Yeah. I love this place."
"How many innocent girls have you brought up here before me?"
"I don't know. . . . I don't ask them if they're innocent."
"Well, I'm innocent," she said.
"That's good to hear."
At that moment our eyes met and we began kissing. Her soft sweet lips felt wonderful. It had been a long time since I felt such pleasure. Then, suddenly, I heard a pounding noise on the window. I looked up and two glaring lights blinded me. Maria, sat up and screamed.
Bang! Bang! Bang! "You kids can't park here," yelled the police officer.
I rolled down my window and said, "Okay, officer we're moving on."
I was never so humiliated in my life. My first date with Maria and we get hassled by the police. Quickly I started the car and we left the Cross and headed toward Ojai. Maria was silent for quite a while and I felt sure she'd never go out with me again. After a few minutes though she turned toward me, smiled and said, "Well you'd think the cops would have something better to do than harass innocent people."
Feeling much relieved, I smiled back at her and replied, "God. I know it. They ought to be spending their time catching thieves and dope dealers rather than bullying teenagers."
"Really. Listen, I know a place not too far from my house where we can go and continue our conversation without fear of arrest."
"That would be nice."
As we got to her neighborhood she pointed to an alley and indicated I should go down it. We drove several blocks and then she pointed to some servants' quarters.
"Park here. No one ever comes back here after dark."
I wondered how she knew this, but I was afraid to say anything and that might jeopardize the rest of the evening. We began kissing, gently at first and then passionately causing the windows to fog up. My hand wandered down to her soft, smooth leg. I inched my fingers farther and farther up her thigh and then she grabbed my hand.
"Remember. . . . I told you I’m innocent?" she said. "And I'm going to stay that way until my wedding night. Do you have a problem with that?"
"No. Absolutely not. . . . I am sorry. I just got carried away. Please forgive me."
"It's okay, I'll forgive you this time."
I was glad I had been forgiven but didn't want to push my luck so I took Maria home. I had to take a leak pretty badly so I asked her if her parents would mind if I came in and used her bathroom. She said they wouldn't so I followed her in the house. She pointed down a hallway and said the bathroom was the second door on the right. Just as I was approaching the bathroom door Jessica tore by me, went into the bathroom and locked the door. I figured there would probably be another bathroom somewhere so I walked back toward the kitchen to ask Maria. As I approached the kitchen I couldn't help but overhear Maria talking to her mother. Not wanting to interrupt them, I hesitated before entering.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hi, Honey. How was your evening?
"Great. I had a wonderful time."
"That's good, Fred seems like a nice young man."
"I think so."
"So are you going to go out with him again?"
"Oh yes, without a doubt. . . . In fact, I am going to marry him."
"What?"
"I am going to marry him."
"But you just met him."
"He's the one. I am sure of it."
"But-"
"Good night, Mom."
With that she left her stunned mother in the kitchen and came back into the living room. When she saw me standing there she said, "You're done already?"
"Well. . . . Yeah, I guess I am."
"Okay. You better go. My parents won't like us alone here in the living room."
"Sure, thanks for letting me use your bathroom."
"No problem."
"I had a great time tonight. I'll call you okay."
"Okay."
I felt a little guilty about overhearing Maria talking to her mother, but I was so glad I did since I was very much attracted to her and flattered by her comment. Knowing Maria loved me would make me feel much more comfortable and confident around her. Driving home that night, I felt like the luckiest man in the world.
Two
Steve Robins and Randy Hanson were my best friends. We had all been friends since elementary school. They were both tall and slender, however, Steve had a slightly heavier build. That was the extent of any similarity. Steve was quiet and shy whereas Randy rarely closed his mouth and always wanted to party. Politically, Steve was the conservative, Randy the liberal and I the moderate. We had grown very close over the years since we had spent so much time together and none of us had a brother.
Randy had just gone off to College at the University of Pittsburgh, where his father and grandfather had gone before him. Steve and I, being a year older than Randy, decided to go to UCLA and rent an apartment together. We moved in on Tuesday, September 9, 1966. In June we had been to Santa Monica to select our apartment. We had looked at the campus dorms, but we had both lived in dorms our freshman year and wanted more freedom and privacy. The new off-campus coed dorms, where male and female students lived together on the same floor, were intriguing, but too expensive. Both Steve and I were basically on our own financially. Our parents would have liked to help but they really couldn't. We finally settled on a two-bedroom apartment about fifteen minutes from campus called the Westgate Apartments. The apartment had a typical two story rectangular design with one end opened to provide access to the pool and common area. It was probably ten or fifteen years old and fairly well maintained. The tenants were mostly students with a few retired couples and blue collar workers.
Steve and I arrived in separate cars both bursting with all the necessities of domestic life. Steve had a black 1957 Chrysler that used to belong to his father. It was a big car and had lots of room to haul junk back and forth to school. The only problem was it was a gas guzzler and kept poor Steve always financially drained.
"Let's go to the manager's office and check in," I said.
"Where is it?" Steve replied.
"Around the corner in apartment 101."
We walked around the corner and entered the manager's office. Mrs. Walker, the manager, was sitting behind a desk in the corner of the small office. She looked up at us and smiled.
"Hi, you must be Mr. Fuller."
"Yes, that's right. You've got a good memory. This is Steve Robins. He's going to be my roommate."
"Nice to meet you. Your apartment is ready. Come with me and I'll take you to it." She got up and walked outside and we followed close behind her. She went across a courtyard and down a long walkway to apartment 118, opened the door and said, "You have a pleasant inside view of the pool area. The apartment has been recently painted and the carpets have been shampooed."
"Thank you. . . . It looks great," I said.
"Well, if you need anything just give me a holler."
"Thanks."
After Mrs. Walker left we began to check out each room of the apartment.
"It looks pretty clean," Steve said.
"Hey, did you notice the chicks working on their tans near the pool?"
"Yeah. I think we may need to take a swim here pretty soon," Steve said.
"Definitely."
The apartment was furnished so getting settled in didn’t take long. After a couple of hours we had everything pretty much in its place and sat down to relax.
It was a warm day in Southern California. The temperature was about 85 degrees and of course there was no air conditioning. Santa Monica is not too far from the Pacific Ocean so a cool sea breeze was blowing from the West. To take advantage of the breeze most everyone had their windows opened. It was really quite a pleasant day.
Steve was about to turn on the television when we heard a loud moaning sound from the next apartment.
"Ahhh. . . . Ahhh. . . . Ahhh. . . . Oh. Oh. . . . Ahhh," a female voice moaned.
"Ahhh. . . . Ahhh. . . . Oh. Oh. . . . . Yes! . . . Yes!" she continued
Steve looked at me with a puzzled look on his face. Neither one of us had ever heard such a noise from a human being. I shrugged my shoulders, not quite sure what to make of it.
"Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh! Yes! Yes! . . .Oh Yes!" she screamed.
Just then we heard a male voice say. "Honey. . . . If you’re going to make love with the windows open you've got to keep your voice down."
Steve looked at me and began to laugh, "I know I am going to like this place already."
"I think so too," I replied.
That night we went swimming and met some of the girls around the pool area. They all were pleasant and friendly but as I talked to them I kept thinking of Maria and felt guilty and uneasy. Later I tried to call Maria but the switchboard operator didn't know her room number yet.
On Tuesday I reported to the data processing center for Bank USA in downtown Las Angeles. My transfer had gone through and I was to report to Henry Sinclair the Transportation Supervisor for assignment. Bank USA was headquartered in Pasadena, California. The Transportation Division was divided into seven regions: LA, San Diego, Ventura, San Francisco, Eureka, Sacramento and Bakersfield, each servicing its own data processing center. Every night all banking transactions were processed on large main frame computers. Every morning bank messengers delivered the night's work to each of 545 branch banks throughout the state. In evening the messengers delivered each branch's work to the data processing center. Each messenger covered seven to ten branches which were an average of 8 miles a part. This meant the average messenger route was fifty to sixty miles and lasted three to five hours. Most of the routes in the LA Division were short routes between the myriad of cities that made up the Los Angeles metroplex. A few routes, however, were long, stretching out a hundred miles or more from the heart of downtown LA
I was not totally a newcomer to LA My father had taken me to a few Dodger games at Chavez Ravine and we had been to Pasadena many times to visit my Aunt and Uncle. But, nevertheless, downtown LA was a pretty unique experience for me having come from a small town like Ventura. As I drove past the tall buildings and hoards of people walking the streets, I felt out of place and a little scared. Then I remembered I was being paid $7.50 per hour for simply driving around LA This thought quickly overshadowed all my fear and discomfort. All of my life I had been very ambitious. I was the kid who walked the streets selling all occasion cards, candy and even a magazine called Grit, if you can believe that. I was the newspaper boy, the one who cut your lawn and the one that waxed your car. If there was any way I could earn money I would be out there doing it. But all the jobs that I had ever had were hard, laborious, painful work and I dreaded every minute of them. Was it the pain or the total boredom that was worse? I didn't know.
Driving, on the other hand, was my passion. I loved to drive anytime and anywhere. This passion for driving was inherited from my father. Every weekend it seemed he would pack up the family in the old Nash Rambler and take us out on the road. We must have visited every state and national park, museum, fort, lake, river and dam that had been built, from the depths of Death Valley to the summit of Mt. Shasta and from the magnificent Redwoods to the Mojave Desert.
I often wondered why my father loved to travel so much. As I got older I realized it was an escape from the boredom of his job. Every day he would go to work at 7:30 a.m. and shuffle papers until 4:30 p.m. and come home. After he got home, he would eat dinner, watch four hours of Network TV and then end the day listening to Jack Putnam and the Channel 11 News. Every day was the same routine with little variation. Although my father was there every night and always did his best to make life as comfortable as he could, there was very little communication between us. He was forty years of age when I was born and I guess this age difference made it difficult for us to be close.
But on the weekend he became a new man, full of adventure and wonder at what lie ahead over the next hill or around the next turn. Every Friday at 4:30 p.m. my Dad was set free to live his dreams and I was fortunate enough to come along for the ride. So the thought of getting paid just to drive around was like a gift from God and I was certainly going to enjoy every minute of it.
The LA Division headquarters took up one square block of downtown LA It was a large, beige, single story, windowless, brick building occupying approximately half of the block. A fourth of the area was a parking lot and the balance the motor pool. I was told to report to the motor pool.
I parked my car around the corner and walked into the motor pool area. A tall, lean man of about forty years old was pumping gas into a white Impala. He looked up, smiled cheerfully and greeted me in an Australian accent. "Hi mate, I am Jim Wells, you must be Fuller"
"Yes, I am, Fred Fuller, glad to meet you."
"Mr. Sinclair is waiting for you over there in the office."
Jim pointed toward a loading dock adjacent to the building. I thanked him and walked to the office and went in. A short, gray haired man was busily writing at a desk.
"Mr. Sinclair?" I asked.
He looked up without smiling. "Yes."
"Hi. I’m Fred Fuller from Ventura."
"Oh yes, Mr. Fuller. Come in."
"I was told to report to you."
"All right, give me a minute and I will show you around and introduce you to some of the guys."
"Thank you."
Sinclair finished his paperwork and began to show me around the facility.
He pointed to the parking lot next to the motor pool and said, "As you can see the cars you will be driving are over in that lot. Every day you will be assigned a car. The keys will be on a board in my office. If you have any problems with your car, report them to Jim whom I think you met when you came in." "Yes sir."
"The cars will be full of gas. When you come in at night take your car to Jim and get it re-fueled. As you know it's critical that each messenger stays on schedule so don't forget to gas up. I don't want anyone getting a late start or running out of gas because you forgot to fill up your car."
"No, sir."
"Do you know the LA area at all?" He inquired.
"Pretty much. My dad took me here a lot and I've got a good sense of direction," I said.
"Good. I don't want any my messengers getting lost. Now go report to Jim and he'll send you out with Jake to learn your route."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
Three cars were parked at the gas pumps and the messengers were standing around talking to Jim. I walked over and stood near them waiting for Jim to get finished so I could talk to him. Jim was telling the other messengers a story and they were listening intently.
"Well, I was in the Alley Cat last night and I saw this wench that would knock your bloody socks off. Every guy in the joint was staring at her wondering what line he could use to get into her pants but everyone that tried got a chilly rebuff. So my buddy says I bet you ten bucks you can't get to first base with that lady. "No problem, I'll have her in the sack inside an hour," I said.
So I go over to the sweet lady, sit down beside her, stare straight ahead of course, not wanting to look her directly in the eye you see, and then casually say, "I bet you haven't had decent sex in months Miss." She turns and looks at me trying to act offended as I continue. "These young bucks in here don't know how to please a lady. They get inside a woman and bam, it's over in just a jiffy. They're all happy as a hog in garbage heap but the poor woman is left so bloody frustrated she could scream."
By this time the wench is indignant but I keep on talking. "But I just want you to know that I am not like these young boys that you're used to, I know how to please a woman. When I get inside you I'll roll and thrust like the ocean waves pounding on the beach, all night long, from dawn to dusk, evoking from you incredible sexual pleasures that you’ll never forget.
"Well, that's all I wanted to tell you Miss." I tipped my hat, pointed to my drinking buddy and told her, "I'll be with my friend over there if you need me."
"I turned around and went back to my friend. She stared at me for several minutes and then turned away." My buddy laughed and said, "Well I guess you lose Jim."
"Not so fast, I still have fifty-five minutes," I replied.
"We sat there maybe five more minutes drinking our beers. The lady keeps looking over at me nervously. Suddenly, she jumps up and marches straight to me. My buddy's mouth falls open. She gets right up next to me, looks me in the eye and says, "You'd better not be bull shitting me! Come on, let's get out of here."
The men roared with laughter and Jim stood before them with great pride.
"Hey, Jim, were you bull shitting her?" one of the drivers asked.
"Not at all, she's at my place right now too sore to walk."
The drivers again roared with laughter such that Sinclair heard them and came outside to see what was going on. "Hey, come on you've got routes to run!" he yelled. Get your gas and get out of here."
Jim saw me finally and said, "Hey Fuller, your going out with Jake Johnson. He pointed to a dark haired, stocky man of about twenty-eight. "Hey Jake, here is your shotgun. Sinclair wants you to take him with you to learn the route."
Jake turned around and motioned for me to come to him. I walked over and introduced myself. Jake wasn't too friendly and didn't seem to want to talk so we just got in the car and took off.
"Where are we headed?" I asked.
"This is the North Beach route, Palos Verdes, Redondo Beach, Hermosa Beach, Venice Beach, El Segundo and Santa Monica."
"Is this your usual route?"
"Yeah, it was until yesterday."
"What happened?"
"Nothing that you need to concern yourself about?"
"Okay, I am sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
Jake was very quiet and seemed almost resentful that he had to teach me this route. I learned later that Jake had been with the bank seven years and was their most senior driver. He had been recently reprimanded for stopping off for a drink while on duty. Apparently one of the branch managers saw his car at a bar and went inside and saw him. This was one of two things that were not tolerated by the bank, the other was picking up hitch hikers. Jake was lucky he didn't get fired. Sinclair gave him thirty days sorting bags and distributing them to drivers as his punishment. This was the worst job in the motor pool usually reserved for rookies. To make matters worse he had to train me, his replacement. He was very humiliated by this punishment and hated me from the first day we met even though I had nothing to do with his reprimand.
Three
After arriving home from my first day on the job at about eight p.m. I immediately called Maria. I hadn't seen her since we arrived at school and I missed her terribly. I rang the dorm and the operator answered. This time he was able to find her room number and put me through immediately.
"Hello," Maria answered in her sweet voice.
"Maria, this is Fred."
"Well, it's about time you called me."
"I know, I'm sorry. Last night I tried but I couldn't get through. The operator didn't know what room you were in."
"That doesn't surprise me. This place is pretty unorganized."
"Hey, can I come see you?"
"Well, I'm not finished with my homework, but I guess I can do it later."
"Good, I'll pick you up in front of your dorm in twenty minutes."
"Okay, bye"
I jumped in my car and hurried over to the dorm. Maria was standing just inside the glass door when I drove up. She was wearing a burnt orange sweater and a brown skirt. She looked good in fall colors. She spotted my car and walked quickly to meet me. She jumped in, cuddled up next to me and took a deep breath.
"I missed you the last few days, you lousy bum. I was worried that you didn’t call."
"I’m sorry, babe. I should have come over when I couldn’t get through to you on the phone. It’s just, you know, the first few days of school are always so crazy."
"That's for sure."
"Where shall we go tonight?" I asked as we began to pull away from the dorm.
"I don't know, what do you feel like?"
"I don't care, you decide."
"Well. Let me see. . . . How about ice cream. A hot fudge sundae. That would be good," Maria said.
"Okay, how about the Carnation place?"
"That'll do," Maria said.
I turned the car onto Wilshire Boulevard and proceeded south through Beverly Hills. This was one of the ritziest streets in the world and I wanted Maria to see it. It turned out she’d been there before, in fact, one time she had seen Dean Martin with a cute blond coming out of a restaurant. I was impressed.
"So how did the job go?" Maria asked.
"Not bad, my boss is pretty cool. He's all business but he seems to be fair. There's a really interesting guy named Jim who runs the motor pool. He's very friendly and apparently a real lady killer."
"Really, did you find out where your route will be?"
"Yeah. . . . They sent me out on it with a guy named Jake. I guess he got caught drinking on the job and they busted him to a bag sorter. He was really pissed about it all afternoon and took it out on me."
"Oh, great. Weren’t you lucky. . . . So, where does your route go?"
"Right along Route 1 along the beach from Palos Verdes to Santa Monica."
"You're kidding? That mean’s you’ll be down at the beach every afternoon around all those bikini clad surfer girls."
"I suppose so. But somebody's got to do it, right?"
"Uh huh. Such a sacrifice."
We had our ice cream and then I took Maria back to the dorm since she had an early class. We decided to meet for lunch the next day. After spending a few minutes in the parking lot getting reacquainted, I went home and crashed.
That night I had a familiar dream. I was sitting on a rock beside a pool of crystal clear water. There were cottonwood trees and thick bunch grass around the pond and birds could be heard chirping. My attention was then attracted to the sound of laughter. I looked toward the commotion and saw a naked woman walking slowly through the water toward me. She had long blond, silky hair and lustful breasts. When she reached me, we began kissing and embracing one another. I wanted to caress every inch of her body. I squeezed her so hard she whimpered in painful joy. Then the setting abruptly changed, the woman was standing by the pond and when I looked at her she suddenly became frantic and began to scream. The scream seemed so real it woke me up. Looking over at the clock radio I saw that it read 3:25 a.m. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but the vision of the naked women had aroused me. Who was that woman? For some time I tossed and turned until I finally dozed off.
Once asleep I began to dream again. I was walking down a red line painted on a concrete floor. Suddenly I heard the sound of steel crashing against steel behind me. I turned around and saw a massive steel gate had closed. I kept walking and I heard the sound of chains. My feet were in ankle irons. Then I noticed in front of me a dozen other men all chained together. It was cold and damp and guards kept barking orders and insults at me. Finally I was separated from the chain gang and thrown into a cell. It was quiet and lonely and I was afraid. Then . . . ring . . . ring . . . ring.
I rolled over and shut off the alarm clock which I had set for 8:00 a.m. I got up and peaked outside to see what the weather looked like. It was foggy and drizzling outside. Unfortunately I always remembered my dreams. This was the first time I had dreamed of being in a chain gang. I had experienced the dream of the beautiful woman in the pool many times before. It all started when I was thirteen. While exploring an old ghost town called Devil's Canyon Mining Camp, I had been bitten by a rattlesnake. Since that time I had often dreamed of many different things, a few of these dreams were recurring. The astonishing and disturbing fact about the recurring dreams were that they were more than just dreams, they were visions.
Something happened to me that day I was bitten by the snake. Perhaps I had died and crossed into the after life only to be yanked back to this world, or maybe the venom from the snake unleashed some psychic power within me. I didn't know why, but I suddenly began to see snapshots of the future that would sooner or later come into reality.
The first of my dreams that came true concerned my Aunt Virginia. She lived close by and I used to go visit her often. We'd usually go play tennis or just sit in her kitchen and play Hearts. One night I had a dream that she was living in our house and I walked into her room and she began yelling at me, accusing me of talking behind her back. I was scared, I didn't understand why she was saying those things, I loved her and would never do or say anything to hurt her. Then suddenly I was in a room with a lot of adults who were listening to a man in a suit reading aloud. I wasn't paying attention to what he was saying until suddenly everyone turned around and starred at me coldly.
For about six months I frequently had this dream and would wake up in a cold sweat. My parents would have taken me to a psychiatrist had they not been Christian Scientist. About a year later my aunt became ill and could not take care of herself. The family couldn't afford a nursing home so she came to live with us. Mary gave up her room to Aunt Virginia and Mom bought bunk beds so Mary could sleep with me in my room. Her condition worsened rapidly and she became paranoid. She would often accuse me or Mary of talking about her behind her back and one day when I walked into her room she screamed at me and accused me of wanting to kill her.
After that Mom and Dad had her admitted to a state mental hospital and several months later she died. The whole family was summoned by her attorney for the reading of her will. Nobody suspected she had any money since she had simply been a secretary all her life, but she had lived a meager existence and somehow had managed to save over $50,000. I hadn't been paying attention to the attorney reading the will so I was surprised when everyone started starring at me. I later found out Aunt Virginia had left everything to me, my vision had become reality.
After that I had more visions that came true, some good and some bad. You would think it would be great to have psychic powers, but it was actually very disturbing to me. I wished the visions would stop. And now, the nightmare of the chain gang had me particularly worried. What if I had that nightmare again?
On Wednesday I had three morning classes, Political Science at nine, Chemistry at ten and English at one. I was a political science major with a minor in economics. My objective ever since I was about twelve years old was to be a lawyer. Most of my friends didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives and had a really hard time choosing a major, but I was different. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and had no second thoughts about it.
It wasn't that I wanted to practice law because I really didn't know anything about the law. What I wanted was to be was a politician and it didn't take me long to figure out that most politicians were lawyers. In high school I had always done very well in history and government and was active in local politics so I was confident I wouldn't have any trouble as a political science major. I wasn't entirely correct in that regard, however.
I walked into my first political science class at five minutes to nine and sat down. It was a good size class of about fifty to seventy-five students. Everyone was excited and the room was quite noisy. Just then Professor Oliver T. Smith walked in with a stern look on his face. He rapped the podium with a pointer and the room suddenly became still.
"My name is Dr. Oliver T. Smith. This is political science 101. I want to go over a few rules with you from the very outset so there is no confusion. For those of you who are used to getting A's and B's you're in for a rude awakening. I rarely ever give an A and you will have to work harder than you have ever worked before to get a B. Most of you will be lucky to get a C and far more of you than you ever imagined will fail."
My excitement was suddenly turned to fear as I realized this class wasn't going to be pleasant. Dr. Smith gave us our home work assignment and dismissed the class early since there was nothing to talk about, he said, until we had done some reading.
After class I met Maria for lunch and somehow we got into a discussion about religion. Maria was Catholic and I had been raised a Christian Scientist and she was concerned about that becoming a problem if we got married.
"My mom says Christian Scientist hate Catholics, is that true?" Maria said.
"Yeah, pretty much. My parents weren't too fond of them," I responded.
"Why?"
"It beats me, I never understood it myself."
"Well, what are we going to do if we have children?"
"I don't know, what do you think we should do?"
"Well, I want to raise them as Catholics," Maria said.
"I believe a family should all go to the same church. It's stupid for me to go one place and you and the kids to another don't you think?" I replied.
"Of course, but that's not always possible."
"I'll make a deal with you."
"What's that?"
"I'll become a Catholic if you become a Republican."
"What? You want me to become a Republican?"
"Sure, it's only fair that we both have to make a sacrifice."
Maria pondered the proposition for a moment and then smiled and said, "Okay, but you're not putting any damn Nixon bumper sticker on my car!"
"Good, that's settled then, we'll become a good Catholic-Republican family."
"That makes a lot of sense."
"No one can accuse us of being conformist right?"
"I guess not."
After I had lunch with Maria I went straight to work. It was my first day on my route and I was a little unsure of myself. The route was pretty complicated and even though I had paid pretty close attention I was a little worried about getting lost. When I walked up to the loading dock Jim greeted me.
"Afternoon, mate."
"Hi, Jim."
"Well are you ready to do the beach route on your own, Fred? Or should I get Jake to go with you one more time?" he asked
"No, I can handle it I think," I replied.
"Well, just in case, here is a map with the route marked on it for you."
"Thank you! That will help a lot," I said.
Jim grabbed a set of keys from the big key board, handed them to me and said, "Here, take number thirty-two, she's gassed up and ready to roll."
"Thanks, see you in a few hours."
I hopped onto the Harbor Freeway and headed South until I got to the Pacific Coast Highway and went North. My first stop was Torrence followed by Pales Verdes, Redondo Beach, Hermosa Beach, Lawndale, Manhattan Beach, Playa del Rey, El Segundo and finally Venice. I noticed a quaint little street that led from the Pacific Coast Highway down to the beach. It was lined with all kinds of little shops and there was a convenience store on the corner. The street was quite busy with tourists, skaters, hippies and surfers. I was a little ahead of schedule so I stopped to buy a Coke and a candy bar. As I left the store I was drawn down the street toward the beach. There were a lot of young people my age but they were very different from my friends back in Ventura. Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. I swung around and was delighted to see a pretty young girl. She was wearing a violet bikini that left little to the imagination.
"Hello," I said.
"Can I have a sip of your Coke?"
"Huh," I said bewildered by her request.
I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."
I handed her the Coke and she took a long swallow. Then she took a deep breath and handed it back to me.
"Thanks. I haven’t eaten all day. . . . You going to eat that candy bar?"
"No, here, take it."
She took the candy bar and devoured it in short order. Then she took my hand and led me to the end of the peer. She had me in a trance and I felt helpless.
"Don’t you love the beach," she said.
"Sure, it’s wonderful," I said as she gave me an alluring smile.
"You got any money?"
"Money?" I said. "Why do you ask?"
"I got a little place up the beach. You could buy some beer and we could have a party."
A sudden rush of excitement came over me. I wanted to grab her hand and run up the beach to her little place so bad. What an invitation! She had me aroused and excited beyond belief. But I knew I couldn’t do it for more reason than I had time to count.
"Oh, God I’d love to but, . . . well, thanks but I’m working right now. I’ve got to get going. I’m really sorry."
"It’s okay, some other time?"
"Sure," I said relieved that she had left her invitation open.
"Before you go, can you loan me a few bucks? I’ll make it up to you when I see you next time."
I shrugged, how could I turn such a beautiful creature down. I pulled out my wallet and handed her a five dollar bill. She smiled, grabbed it and turned to leave. Then she looked back and said, "Just ask for Ginger. Everyone around here knows me. Bring some friends if you want and don’t forget the beer.
The delightful spell she had cast over me suddenly vanished as I realized I had lost fifteen minutes. I rushed to my car and took off toward Venice Beach. As I drove down the highway I couldn’t help but wonder what I had missed. I knew I had done the right thing in leaving, but I still felt sick.
"Damn it!" I said. Suddenly realizing how little I knew about life in the big city. I had lived a sheltered life in the suburbs and wasn’t prepared for the real world. There was so much to learn but learning could be dangerous, very dangerous. I was confused. I wanted to do the right thing but I also wanted to know and do everything.
When I got to Venice several bank employees were still working. I went inside but didn’t see any bags ready for me to pick up. A man approached me and introduced himself.
"I am Harold Clifford and you must be our new messenger."
"That's right, I’m Fred Fuller."
"Glad to meet you," he said with a big smile. "Listen, I am really sorry but we're running a little late tonight. One of my tellers is out of balance and we can't load up the bag until she gets it straightened out."
"Okay. I'll wait."
It wasn't really unusual for the tellers to be late, so I didn't think much about it. I went into the bank's kitchen and began to read a magazine. After about ten minutes I began to wonder what was taking so long. I walked out into the bank lobby and saw Mr. Clifford arguing with the teller. When he saw me he gave me his big smile and said, "Just another minute or two."
I went back into the kitchen and resumed reading the magazine. After a few minutes Mr. Clifford showed up and said the bag was ready. Now that I had lost twenty minutes I felt hurried, so I vaulted out of my seat, grabbed the bag and left. As I went out the door I smiled and said to Harold, "Nice meeting you." What I didn’t say out loud was: Have your damn bags ready on time next time, you jerk-off.
He responded, "Likewise, see you tomorrow."
The rest of the route went routinely and I rolled into the motor pool only ten minutes late. No one seemed to notice my tardiness so I didn't say anything. I brought my car to Jim to be filled with gas and then left for home. I couldn't see Maria that night since we both had tons of homework.
When I got home around nine, Steve was watching TV and doing his homework on the kitchen table. I sat across from him and told him about my new job, Sinclair, Jim Wells and my encounter with Jake. I told him about Jim's wager at the Alley Cat. Then the incident at the beach came up.
"She wanted you to have a private party with her?"
"Yes, can you believe it?"
"Oh my God! I don’t know if I could have turned her down."
"You don’t have a girlfriend. Besides, I was on the job."
"True, and she might have had a friend at her house waiting to beat you up and rob you."
"I don’t think so. She seemed very nice."
"Well then, maybe when Randy gets in town at Thanksgiving we should all go to Venice Beach and have a party."
"Maybe so."
