Chapter 2. Operation Keep PT Down: Meet Steve Patina

I rolled along the ten freeway going west, going as far west as Horace Greeley urged. I was almost at the end when I heard a roar of a bike coming up on my left. A rider sped by with the wind maxing out his jacket like a sail, fullblown and free. I looked at my speedometer. I was only going eighty…five, plus or minus ten…or so. And he was long gone. I hit the accelerator and it the steering wheel. Where was the damn horn? (Rental car.) Was it one of those side horns or button horns? My left hand steered while my right groped for the—there it is. A loud honk.  Someone had told me once that if you honk at a cute guy riding a bike, he would most likely stop if you were a cute girl.

He didn’t stop or even slow down. Maybe he isn’t so cute, I thought. I couldn’t tell if the rider was cute but he was skinny and rode that bike like a demon. The freeway was ending so I exited to hit a starbucks. Starbucks wasn’t one of my favorites, I rarely go there for overpriced coffee didn’t suit my limited budget and lifestyle. Yet, I didn’t have many places to go, and they were always open late with free Wi-Fi. I was still living at my friend’s place, used it as home base until I could find a job and move out, and I had just found a job. I had used Starbucks to search for a job, so don’t know why I was there. Probably because I had no one to celebrate my newfound job with.

So while I was looking for a place for my laptop (I automatically took it with me everywhere), my hot chai tea, not iced but full-leaf was ready and I went to the condiment counter where I loaded up on sugar. I like to take some tea with my sugar. I reached for the straws when I bumped hands with someone.

“Oh, sorry,” that someone said.

“That’s okay,” I replied without looking up. I reached for the half-and-half and bumped into the same hand.

“Oh,” the voice laughed, “sorry again.”

“That’s okay,” I replied again, without looking up. I reached for the straws and nearly bumped hands again when we both stopped and looked up. I saw the face attached to the hand I kept bumping into and gave a short laugh.

The face was worn. And wretched despite the hearty laugh. He plucked a straw for me, a short one and I accepted it, looking at the long straws. He laughed again and reached for a long straw and offered it to me.

“Oh! Thank you.” I was unabashed. I reached for a stirrer, safely this time, tasted my tea and reached for the sugar in the raw. The guy laughed again.

“You like your sugar,” he laughed.

“Sometimes I like it with tea,” I smiled. He laughed again, loudly. I looked more closely at the fellow with the loud laugh. He might have been tall, it was hard to tell he slouched until his back was curled. His eyes were bloodshot with bags that dominated his face. His singularly gaunt cheeks were stretched over an alien skull, long and narrow. Full lips contrasted with his sleek strait nose, probably the only perfect thing about him. It saved his face from sinking into common dreariness, I thought.  He sported a five-o-clock shadow that seemed permanent and a hematite hoop earring in his left ear. His hair was cut short, and his teeth were big and yellow. I didn’t notice as his laugh was so big.

He had on a beige jacket, worn, like the rest of him. His jeans, his shoes whose seams were stretching, his tee, that looked velvety soft from a thousand washes.

“—yeah this place is pretty busy on weekends.” The fellow commented. Weekend? I had not noticed. He was looking around for a nonexistent empty seat.

“I’ve got a place.” I answered, unsure if I should invite him. There was something troublesome about him. I think it was because his laugh was genuine, as if he could have been happy had not so many miserable things happened in his life. I started walking toward my seat, glancing around at the tables. He made as if to follow me and I looked back at him.

“You can sit with me,” I thought I would try something new. It had been so long since I had been social. We reached my laptop bag, which I took off a chair. “You can sit here,” I motioned, as I squeezed into the booth on the opposite side.

“Thanks,” he said. “Come here often? I love Starbucks.” He took a long swig of his coffee.

“Really? I come here for the wi-fi. I think Starbucks is overpriced. And I have better tea at home.”

He laughed. “Right? You think Starbucks groupies are yuppie-wannabe’s?”

It was my turn to laugh. He caught on fast. Whatever his name was, he lounged back like a lizard. So comfortable in his skin and yet so Starbucks avid. Dark skin with a touch of Rhett butler mustachio, café groupie. He had that seventies post-disco sidewalk café look about him. All he needed was a cigarette with a tendril of smoke slowly curling around the table.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be right back,” he held up the cigarette in his hand.

 “Oh, okay,” I laughed.

He held out his hand. “Name’s Steve, by the way. from Kentucky.”

“I’m from Texas.” I don’t know why I said that. Just because he identified his home state. I was losing it.

“Really?” he smiled sidelong at me. this piece of bio evidently stopped him from rising. “Yea, you are. You cared enough to offer me a seat.” Steve laughed.

“that’s basic considerateness.” I shrugged.

“Right, right. You’d be surprised,” Steve laughed. “People out here in California are so…” he shook his head, lost in thought, “not really genuine, you know what I mean?”

“It’s Hollywood. Attracts a certain kind of people. I love California, probably because of the people almost as much as the weather and the varietiy.” I answered.

Steve laughed, “are you going to tell me your name?”

“Oh, S-su-e.” it made my lips pucker funny. Steve laughed.

“Wanna come out with me for a smoke? I mean you don’t have to smoke.”

“I won’t then,” reaching for my laptop bag but Steve already hefted it off the seat beside me and was walking toward the door. Must have rode a lot of horses in Kentucky, I thought.

Outside, Steve lit a cigarette and inhaled it from between his second and middle finger. Not as cool as I thought.

“So, ah, what do you do, Ssal?”

“I –uh-I represent injured people.” I could finally say that I was working as an attorney. It felt weird and almost wonderful, almost because it hadn’t happened yet.

“Awesome, you’re an attorney?” Steve seemed impressed.

“Mm hmm, just starting.” I nodded. Somehow, I didn’t seem so impressive to myself.

“Where do you work?” he asked.

“Inland empire.”

“Ooh, that’s far.”

“Yeah, gotta take what I can take to start.”

Steve nodded, “Right, right.”

 “What do you, do?” I asked.

“Concept designer,” Steve was searching his iPhone and showed me the screen. “That’s my website,” Steve’s website was dreamy. He designed cars, and also had ideas about evolution, renewable energy sources, a new type of engine.

“Wow, that’s really good.” The colors of his design were so vivid. Everything looked so 3-D. “Do you work for a car company?”

“Ah, no. I teach design at Art Institute. I worked at Honda, though. Internship.”

I nodded, clicking on Steve different pages, I was on the entertainment page. “You’re really good,” I looked up and smiled at him.

“Really?” Steve was really asking.

“Really,” I laughed. “You don’t know how good you are?” I tilted my head, my glasses sat low on my nose as I considered him. He really didn’t. A cool wind woke me up to the time. I shivered.

“Here you want my jacket?” Steve started taking off his jacket.

“Oh, that’s okay,” but Steve held his jacket out for me. what the hell, it was odd being receptive to someone other than my love of twenty years. I hugged the jacket around me and smiled up at Steve gratefully. He blew out his last puff of smoke. I looked around, my eyes big and finding nothing to latch on to.

“Well, it’s getting kind of late. Gotta head home.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks,” I looked around, wondering what sort of car Steve drove because he designed them. “Where’s your car?”

Steve laughed, “Oh I ride a bike,” motioning to a lime green bike an aisle over. I hadn’t noticed it. How could I miss it? I laughed as loud as Steve.

“He-ey! Can I have a ride?” I loved the feeling of freedom with the wind whipping against every part of my body and the uncertainty every time I shifted on a bike. What if I fell off trying to adjust a wedgie?

“What’s so funny?” he asked, laughing himself.

“Were you riding on the ten just now?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” he asked, eyeing me quizzically.

“I followed you,” I joked. Steve laughed. I waited. And then opened my car door. “Well, maybe see you sometime.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, ah, hope you don’t mind my asking, are you Chinese?

I pretended to be offended. “Do I look Chinese to you?” Steve laughed but still hesitant. “No, I’m not Chinese.”

“Oh, cool, cool. If you wanna chill sometime, you can come over to my place.”

“Where is it?”

“Foothills of the valley.”

“Text me your address. My number’s 310-xxx-xxxx” Steve smiled as he texted me. my phone buzzed as I got in my car and started it. As I backed out, I heard the sharp roar of Steve’s bike. He rode by my car and leaned over. Ninja: ZX-10R, no ABS. I could smell the nicotine and tangy pine smell of him, and something else, Asian fried food, I think.

“I’ll race ya’ once we get on the freewa-ay!” I slid out of the parking lot and headed toward I-10, leaving Steve laughing way behind.

I turned a few corners, losing him. I was smiling to myself. He was probably one of those bikers who picked a bike for its color. I chuckled to myself, driving along. Where was the entrance to the 10 heading east? There was a starbucks ahead. How many Starbucks are there? I wondered, driving past. It looked awfully familiar…as I realized that I had gone full circle. I laughed at myself for prematurely thinking that I had won the race, as I tried once again to find the entrance to the freeway. That’s what I get for not  having a car for seven years, I swore I would never be without wheels ever again.

                                                                                                                            

Ah, here it is, as I found the freeway entrance and stopped at the light. Steve was probably long gone. The light turned green. I started up the ramp. A loud buzzing of a small engine came from behind as the entrance lanes merged into the freeway. A blur of lime green sped by with the billowing jacket of its rider ripping in the wind. It was unreal the way he accelerated. As he disappeared from sight, he was still speeding up.

That guy’s on a death wish, I thought. And also about the complications of a daredevil personality. Well, tomorrow is another day, I thought, I can always beg out of meeting later. The whir of his engine still sounded in my mind. Then again, I really wanted that ride.