Chapter 4
Venice Beach
After arriving home that night from his first day on the job, Fred immediately called Maria. He hadn't seen her since he’d arrived at school, and he missed her terribly. He rang the dorm and the operator answered. This time, the operator was able to find her room number and put Fred through immediately.
"Hello?" Maria said.
"Maria, this is Fred."
"Well, it's about time you called me."
"I know. I'm sorry. I tried last night but couldn't get through. The operator didn't know what room you were in."
"That doesn't surprise me. This place is so unorganized it’s ridiculous."
"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, see you soon."
Fred rushed to his car and within twenty minutes was driving up to Maria’s dorm. She was standing just inside the double glass doors when he drove up. He got out of his maroon 1960 Ford Falcon and came around to open the car door for her. When she spotted him she smiled and pushed through the dorm door and briskly walked over and kissed him lightly. He savored the kiss then grinned thinking she looked great in her burnt orange sweater and brown skirt; fall colors suited her. She jumped in, and Fred gently shut the door.
As they drove off, Maria cuddled up next to him and took a deep breath. "I’ve missed you these last few days, you lousy bum. I was worried when you didn’t call."
"I’m sorry, babe. I should have come over yesterday when I couldn’t get through to you on the phone, I guess. It’s just . . . you know . . . the first few days of school are always so crazy."
"That's for sure."
"Where shall we go tonight?" Fred asked as they drove down the hill from the dorm.
"I don't know. What do you feel like?"
"I don't care. You decide."
"Well, let’s see. A hot fudge sundae would be good," Maria suggested.
"Okay. The Carnation place?"
"That'll do," Maria agreed.
Fred turned the car onto Wilshire Boulevard and proceeded south through Beverly Hills. This was one of the ritziest streets in the world, and he wanted Maria to see it. It turned out she’d been there before; in fact, she bragged that one time she’d seen Dean Martin with a cute blond coming out of a restaurant. Fred 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 down to a bag sorter. He was really pissed about it and took it out on me."
"Oh, great. Aren’t you so lucky? So, where does your route take you?"
"Right along Route 1—along the beach from Palos Verdes to Santa Monica."
"You're kidding! That means you’ll be down at the beach every afternoon around all those bikini-clad surfer girls."
Fred hadn’t thought of that, but the idea of it did seem pleasant. "I suppose so, but somebody's got to do it, right?"
Maria frowned disapprovingly. "Yeah, right. Such a sacrifice."
The Carnation store was busy, but they managed to find a seat in the corner. Maria ordered her usual hot fudge sundae, and Fred a banana split. She told him all about her day as he gazed, in rapture, into her big brown eyes. When they’d lingered about as long as the management would allow, he reluctantly paid the tab and took Maria back to her dorm. Instead of dropping her off in front, he pulled into the parking lot where it was dark and he could get reacquainted with her luscious lips. It was always this way with them, neither wanting their evenings together to end. Finally, Maria got out of the car and ran into the dorm. Fred watched her disappear, then started the engine and reluctantly drove off.
That night, Fred was tormented by a dream—a recurring dream that he had endured for years. In the dream he is sitting on a huge rock beside a pool of crystal clear water. There are cottonwood trees and thick bunch grass around the pond. It’s hot, and a variety of birds can be heard chirping and cawing above. A few seconds into the dream, his attention is drawn to the sound of water splashing. Turning in the direction of the sound, he sees a naked woman walking slowly through the water toward him. She has long blond, silky hair and lustful breasts. By the time she reaches him he is greatly aroused and takes her willingly into his arms. They begin kissing and caressing each other frantically. In his exuberance he squeezes her so hard she whimpers in painful delight.
At this point in the dream, the setting changes. The naked woman is now standing by the pond, drying herself. Fred is watching her with great satisfactions when, much to his shock and dismay, she suddenly becomes frantic and starts screaming. Fred is alarmed and frantically searches for the source of her terror but his dream ends abruptly before he can figure it out.
Fred looked over at the clock radio and saw that it was 3:25 a.m. For a moment, he just sat there, mulling over the details of the dream. After a while he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but the vision of the naked women haunted him. Who was this woman? For the rest of the night, Fred tossed and turned, unable to shake the dream from his thoughts until he finally heard the Beep! Beep! Beep! of his pesky alarm clock.
Rolling over quickly, Fred adroitly shut it off. He’d set it for eight, as his classes usually started at nine. That didn’t allow much room for error given the thirty-minute drive to school but he was a night person and hated to get up in the morning. As soon as he was up, he peeked outside to see what the weather looked like. It was foggy and drizzling outside, so he decided to skip breakfast since traffic would be moving slow. The dream was still on his mind as he drove through bumper-to-bumper traffic. Unfortunately, his dream of the desert goddess wasn’t his only recurring dream. His chain gang dream was even more unsettling.
In this dream, Fred would find himself walking down a red line painted on a concrete floor. Suddenly, he would hear the sound of steel crashing against steel behind him. Turning quickly, he’d see a massive steel gate looming over his head. Cringing in terror and disbelief, he’d begin to sweat. Then there was the sound of chains beneath him. Looking down warily, he’d be horrified to see that he was in ankle irons. At that point, the realization of his predicament would be driven home: He was convict in a prison! Horrified and panic-stricken, he’d try to run, only to fall flat on his face and hear the angry insults of his prison mates. Then he’d be rudely yanked back to his feet and punched by the guard for his clumsiness. Finally, after a long march through the cold, damp corridors of the prison, he would be separated from the chain gang and thrown into a cell. There, he’d huddle in a corner, lonely and afraid.
Fred had always had a vivid imagination so it was only natural for him to have a lot of dreams, but he struggled with the meaning of these two that often haunted him. He thought their origin was an incident that occurred when he was thirteen. While exploring an old ghost town in the Mojave Desert called Devil's Canyon Mining Camp, he had been bitten by a rattlesnake and nearly died. While he was unconscious and near death he had the desert goddess dream for the first time. The setting for the dream was Crystal Springs, a desert oasis where he had been bitten by the snake. The other recurring dreams began shortly thereafter. Fred had grown to fear that these dreams were not just dreams, but glimpses into the future. Something happened to him the day he was bitten by the rattlesnake. Perhaps he had died and crossed into the afterlife, only to be yanked back to this world, or maybe the venom from the snake unleashed some psychic power within him. He’d had other visions since then too.
The first dream that proved to be a vision concerned his Aunt Virginia. She lived close by, and he u
sed to go visit her often. They'd usually go play tennis or just sit in her kitchen and play Hearts. One night, he had a dream that she was living in his parents’ house. He had walked into her room, and she began yelling at him, accusing him of talking behind her back. He was scared. He didn't understand why she was saying those things. He loved her and would never do or say anything to hurt her. Then suddenly, he was in a room with a lot of adults, listening to a man in a suit reading aloud. Fred wasn't paying attention to what the man was saying until suddenly everyone turned around and stared at him coldly.
For about six months, this dream had haunted Fred relentlessly. He’d often wake up from it in a cold sweat. He was sure his parents would have taken him to a shrink had they not been Christian Scientists.
About a year later, his aunt became ill and could not take care of herself. The family couldn't afford a nursing home, so she came to live at Fred’s house. Fred’s sister Mary gave up her room to Aunt Virginia, and Mrs. Fuller bought bunk beds so Mary could sleep with Fred in his room. Fred’s aunt’s condition worsened rapidly, and she suffered from dementia and became extremely paranoid. She would often accuse Fred or Mary of talking about her behind her back, and one day when Fred walked into her room, she screamed at them and accused them of wanting her dead.
After that, his mom and dad had her admitted to a state mental hospital, where she died several months later. Several weeks after her death, the family was summoned by her attorney for the reading of her last will and testament. 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. Fred hadn't been paying attention to the attorney reading the will, so he was surprised when he noticed everyone staring at him. He later found out Aunt Virginia had left everything to him. His dream had become reality!
After that, he had more dreams that came true—some good but others quite disturbing. Although excited to be able to see into the future at first, he soon grew weary of it. Often the dreams were incomprehensible leading to hours and hours of worry and stress. Soon he wished the dreams would stop. The recurring nightmare of the chain gang had him particularly worried. What if it comes true? Am I destined to go to prison?
On Wednesday, Fred had three morning classes: political science at nine, chemistry at ten, and English at one. He was a political science major with a minor in economics. His objective, ever since his twelfth birthday, had been to be a lawyer. Most of his friends didn't know what they wanted to do with their lives and had a really hard time choosing a major, but Fred was different. He knew exactly what he wanted to do and had no second thoughts about it.
It wasn't that he wanted to practice law, per se, because he really didn't know anything about the law. What he wanted was to be a politician, and it didn't take him long to figure out that most politicians were lawyers. In high school, he had always done very well in history and government and was active in local politics, so he was confident he wouldn't have any trouble as a political science major. He wasn't entirely correct in that regard, however.
Fred walked into his first political science class at five minutes to nine and sat down. It was a good sized class of about fifty to seventy-five students. Everyone was excited, and the room was quite noisy.
The professor 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."
Fred’s excitement was suddenly turned to fear as he realized this class wasn't going to be pleasant. Dr. Smith gave them their homework assignment and dismissed the class early, since “There is nothing yet to talk about,” he said, “until we have done some reading.”
After class, Fred met Maria for lunch, and somehow they got into a discussion about religion. Maria was Catholic, and Fred had been raised a Christian Scientist. Maria was concerned about that becoming a problem if they got married.
"My mom says Christian Scientists hate Catholics. Is that true?" Maria asked.
"Yeah, pretty much. My parents weren't too fond of them," Fred responded.
"Why?"
"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,” I replied. “It's stupid for me to go one place and you and the kids to another, don't you think?"
"Of course,” Maria agreed, “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."
She frowned. "What? You want me to become a Republican? Are you crazy?"
Fred laughed. "No. It's only fair that we both have to make a sacrifice."
They discussed the matter for some time until Maria finally agreed it was the best solution. "Okay, but you're not putting any damn Nixon bumper sticker on my car!"
Fred laughed again, feeling much relief that he’d dodged that bullet. "Good. That's settled then. We'll become a good Catholic-Republican family."
Maria rolled her eyes.
"No one can accuse us of being conformists, right?" Fred noted.
"I guess not."
After lunch, Fred went straight to work. It was his first day on his new route, and he was a little unsure of himself. The route was pretty complicated, and even though he had paid pretty close attention, he was a little worried about getting lost. When he walked up to the loading dock, Jim greeted him.
"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?"
"No, I can handle it, I think," Fred assured him.
"Well, just in case, here’s a map with the route marked on it for you."
"Thank you! That will help a lot," he said.
Jim grabbed a set of keys from the big key board and handed them to Fred. "Here, take Number Thirty-Two. She's gassed up and ready to roll."
"Thanks,” Fred said, accepting the keys with a smile. “I’ll see you in a few hours."
After driving off, he hopped onto the Harbor Freeway and headed south. When he got to the Pacific Coast Highway fifteen minutes later, he went north. Fred’s first stop was Torrance, followed by Palos Verdes, Redondo Beach, Hermosa Beach, Lawndale, Manhattan Beach, Playa del Rey, El Segundo, and, finally, Venice. An hour into the route, he noticed a quaint little street that led from the Pacific Coast Highway down to the beach. It was lined with an assortment of retail shops, restaurants, and street vendors. On the corner, he noticed a convenience store.
The street was quite busy with tourists, skaters, hippies, and surfers enjoying the warm weather. He was a little ahead of schedule, so he stopped at the convenience store to buy a Coke and a candy bar. Leaving the store, he was drawn down the street toward the beach. There were a lot of young people his age, but they were very different from his friends back in Ventura. Suddenly, Fred felt a tap on his shoulder. He swung around and was delighted to see a pretty young girl. She was wearing a violet bikini that left little to the imagination.
“Hello,” Fred said.
“Can I have a sip of your Coke?”
“Huh?” he said, bewildered by her request.
“Just a sip, please,” she asked meekly.
Fred shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
He handed her the Coke, and she took a long swallow. When she was done she sighed deeply and h
anded it back to him. “Thanks. I was really thirsty. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a Coke,” she said, eying Fred’s candy bar. “You going to eat that?”
Feeling badly for her, Fred said, “No, here, you take it.”
She took the candy bar and devoured it in short order. Then, taking Fred’s hand like they were on a date, she led him to the end of the pier. Fred didn’t resist, feeling as if he were in a trance and quite helpless. “Don’t you love the beach?” she asked, as if they’d known each other for years.
“Sure. It’s wonderful,” he said, still in a daze.
“You got any money?”
“Money?” Fred 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 him. The thought of going to her place sounded awfully good. She was beautiful, sexy and so easy going. He imagined them frolicking naked in her bed. The image aroused and excited him beyond belief, but then a wave of guilt washed over him. Deep down, he knew he couldn’t accept her invitation for more reasons than he had time to count. So, Fred reluctantly gathered his willpower and forced a smile.
He sighed. “Oh, God, I’d love to but—well, unfortunately, I’m working right now. I’ve got to get going or I’ll get in lot of trouble. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. Some other time?” she suggested.
“Sure,” he 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 again.”
Fred shrugged. How could he turn down such a beautiful creature? He pulled out his 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 this Ginger had cast over him suddenly began to dissipate as he realized he’d lost fifteen minutes. He rushed to his car and took off toward Venice Beach. As he drove down the highway, he couldn’t help but wonder what he had missed out on. Fred knew he had done the right thing in leaving, but he still felt sick.
“Damn it!” Fred said to himself, suddenly realizing how little he knew about life in the big city. He had lived a sheltered life in the suburbs and wasn’t prepared for the real world. He felt so stupid and naive it made him sick. He had so much to learn, but learning he realized could be dangerous, very dangerous. He felt confused. He wanted to do the right thing, but he also wanted to fully experience what life had to offer.
When Fred got to the Venice branch, several bank employees were still working. He went inside but didn’t see any bags ready for him to pick up. A man approached him and introduced himself. "Hi. I’m 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," Fred said, thankful that now he could blame his tardiness on Clifford rather than admit a cute hippie had lured him momentarily away from his duties.
It wasn't really unusual for the tellers to be late, as balancing cash could be tricky business, so he didn't think much about it. While Fred was waiting, he went into the bank break room and began to read a magazine. After about ten minutes, he began to wonder what was taking so long. Walking out into the bank lobby, he saw Mr. Clifford arguing with a teller. When they saw him, Clifford gave him his big smile and said, "Just another minute or two."
Fred went back into the break room and impatiently resumed reading the magazine. After a few more minutes, Mr. Clifford finally appeared and advised him the bag was ready. Finally. Jumping to his feet, he rushed to the teller’s window and took the bag. Now that he had lost another twenty minutes, he felt hurried. He couldn’t afford to make a bad impression on his first day of work. As Fred went out the door, he turned and forced a smile. "Nice meeting you."
Clifford raised his hand and replied, "Likewise. See you tomorrow."
The rest of the route went quickly, and Fred managed to make up some of his lost time, rolling into the motor pool only ten minutes late. No one seemed to notice his tardiness, so Fred was relieved that he didn’t have to make any excuses. After he took the car over to Jim to be filled with gas, he left for home. He wanted to go straight to Maria’s dorm, but they had mutually agreed the night before not to meet, since they both had tons of homework.
When Fred finally arrived home around nine, Steve was watching TV and doing his homework on the kitchen table. Fred sat across from him and told him about his new job, Sinclair, Jim Wells, his encounter with Jake, and most importantly, Jim's wager at the Alley Cat. Eventually, 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 with—what’s her name?”
“Ginger.”
“Right, with Ginger and her friends. It sounds like fun.”
Fred thought about it a moment. It was tempting but fraught with risk. “Maybe,” he finally agreed and left it at that.