Chapter 14
Carmela Really Gets Busted
It was all starting to feel like a bad mistake, Carmela thought, as she walked over the sand streaked cement path between the beach and the outdoor bars and clubs.
There was a party atmosphere all around her, the beautiful Latina observed, as she took in the bass-heavy beats and the steady murmur of the crowd from the establishment she was passing by. Carmela watched as revolving disco lights climbed up the side of the building, vanishing high into the semi-cloudy night sky. A moment later they were dive-bombing back through the crowd like a hail of rainbows. Everybody was having fun, from the skinny, busty blonds crowding the dance floor, to the tiny packs of men sitting around laughing and having drinks. Everybody was having fun except her, Carmela sighed, as she was on the wrong side of the high, black iron-barred fence, with two burly bouncers in extra large red shirts and crossed arms guarding the only entry gate.
Not that it mattered much, as the two men who'd invited her out weren't exactly big spenders, even though they'd both pretended they were.
Carmela had gotten all dressed up when Drake called her up earlier. She'd put on her expensive Azria dress, which was flared and haltered, the color of brown sugar. Her earrings were Nguyen and shaped like petals. Her boots were by Mallory and crafted of a pleasing shade of expensive brown leather. Carmela's accessories that night were simple and few; an Anuschka Hobo Bag, mostly brown but riddled with colorful flowers, butterflies and peacock feathers, a Saffiana leather belt, a Peugeot bracelet watch of rose gold, and a gold dipped pendant necklace, also by Nguyen. She was dressed to the nines, so how had she ended up in such despair?
Carmela had driven out to the beach, Mission Beach, the one with the roller coaster on it. She'd met up with Drake and his hoodlum friends, and they'd all been hanging out in the parking lot until a few other couples arrived. Among these were Terrell and his girlfriend, Tabitha. It hadn't bothered Carmela too much that she was the only Caucasian in the growing crowd of blacks.
Well, Terrell made the simple mistake of approaching Carmela. The unfussy act of reaching out to shake the Hispanic woman's hand was enough to set off his volatile ghetto nag. Tabitha made quite a scene, Carmela recalled, with her fists curled up against her thick waist, and her head bobbing side to side like a chicken's. And her voice, Carmela rolled her eyes, was as sharp as a knife.
"Let 'em work out their own shit." Drake shook his head and sauntered off.
Five of his Gees strolled through the Anglo crowd, pouting their lips and glaring at anyone who happened to glance in their direction. Not even five minutes later, they'd started a standoff with three bikers. These bikers weren't the usual black leather and denim type, but men that drove Asian motorcycles and wore red or blue helmets and bold, colorful jackets. Navy guys, probably, Carmela considered, and good looking ones at that.
Nothing happened, fortunately, as the tension faded away with the cold ocean breeze. Drake's pack of dogs moved on, filtering through the crowd on their way to the arcade.
Before they could even enter the place, one of the thugs bumped into a white lady. He'd almost knocked her bag of kettle popcorn and soda cup out of her hands. The woman was bold enough to spit some venom at them. As if unifying against a perceived threat, no less than three of Drake's boys started hurling profanity and insults back. That's when Carmela had become disgusted with her companions.
When several men of different ages, races and social classes stepped up to defend the poor woman, Carmela was actually siding with them. The Latina sincerely hoped that Drake's troublemakers would get their collective ass handed to them. How pathetic was that, when three thugs are harassing some random soccer mom, while her little kid is standing right next to her with a shocked and pained look on his face?
Carmela had a chance to lose herself in the crowd, and she took it. She ended up crossing through a parking lot, putting some distance between herself and the big arcade. Carmela meant to circle around and get back to her car, and leave. She shook her head in added disgust when she looked down the rows of cars. Terrell and Tabitha were still arguing like little children a short distance down the aisle, close to where her SUV was parked.
Before they noticed her, and possibly dragged her into their pointless and stupid argument, Carmela stepped away and strode back toward the beach. To one end were the bars, shops and the various diversions surrounding the rollercoaster. To the other side stood a long row of two story residences and relative peace and quiet. Even though she was cold and had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, Carmela opted for the quieter venue.
She walked past a small backyard where two older and nicely dressed Anglo couples sat close to a small, Earth-tone fire pit. The pit was the type that could double as a coffee table and cost almost three thousand dollars. She knew this because she'd entertained the thought of buying such a thing, if and when she ever committed to buying a house. The Latina envied both the affluence and warmth of those people, as she left their yard behind.
Carmela passed a few more houses, most of them presenting dark facades to her, but also a couple of places where human activity flourished. One home showed a man sitting back on a recliner and watching some kind of sailing program on a nice, giant screen TV. He seemed to be oblivious to the fact that his room was entirely exposed to anyone who cared to look up in that direction. Another house down the walk blared with rock music, where a large multitude of college-age partiers could be seen mingling and enjoying themselves through several floor to ceiling windows. This house had a short perimeter wall, about two feet high and one foot wide. The little wall was made of blue-colored brick, with a top layer of smooth cement that shaped it into a bench. A young man with a black sweater and smelly, dirty blond dreadlocks sat and smoked weed on its edge.
"Hey." The man said, nodding casually. He took a long hit on his joint, and spewed grayish fumes into the air. He looked very warm in his sweater.
Carmela grinned briefly, before moving on. She'd hardly gone ten feet from this last house, when she heard someone shouting behind her.
"Excuse me!"
Carmela turned around, watching as a young blonde man scurried across the patio. He put one hand on the brick perimeter, vaulting it while balancing a beer bottle in the other. He jogged over to meet her.
"Hi!" The man said enthusiastically, as he switched the bottle from his right to his left. He paused when he saw his wet palm. Quickly, he wiped his hand on his tan canvas shorts, before he again held it out in greeting. "I'm Brad."
Carmela gave him a quick appraisal as she shook his hand. He was tall and a little husky, but not in a fat sort of way. His broad shoulders reminded the Latina of a football player's, and he looked to have a broad chest under the light blue Oakley shirt he wore. The young man could have been a slightly wider version of a Ken doll, and he had a Ken doll's smile.
"I'm Carmela." She said.
"Listen, uh, you shouldn't be walking out here alone." Brad said, his eyes clearly revealing that he was flirting with her. "This can be a very dangerous neighborhood at night. You could run into some real creeps," He looked back at the man with the dreadlocks. "Like that guy."
"Fuck you, Brad." The stoner said.
"No, I'm kidding." Brad smiled wide.
His genuine, open warmth began to captivate Carmela. He seemed to be from another universe when compared to Drake and his unruly mob of gangsters.
Brad joked, "That guy's harmless, unless you try to take his joint away from him. Then he turns into the Incredible Hulk."
The stoner laughed.
"So, what are you doing out here? Just taking a walk?" He asked.
"I came out here with some friends." Carmela admitted. At once, she saw the disappointment flourish in the man's face. He really was genuine, she considered, unlike so many of the people she worked or socialized with. His emotions were clearly evident all over his face. "But I'm not going home with them."
