"Certainly, travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living." - Miriam Beard
Chapter 10
The Man at the Counter
The next morning, Sam woke up to a well-worn motel bed, the smell of old but clean carpet, and the rattling of a semi-truck passing across the nearby highway. He dragged himself to the bathroom and glanced at Theodore Nyt's face. Looking in the mirror helped to remind him who he was supposed to be. He wondered what his real body looked like now. How many years had passed since he last saw his own reflection?
He discovered one huge inconvenience. Theodore Nyt obviously left in a hurry. He had only one change of clothes, which already smelled ripe, and no cleaning supplies. A glance through a phone book showed him that Carrizozo had no laundromats. He hand-washed his underwear and socks in the bathroom sink. He figured it was better to drive a little up the road to an Allsup to buy supplies, at least a fresh shirt, toothbrush, and a razor.
His small shopping trip done, he returned to his motel. A shower, a much-needed shave, and it was back into the jeans, leather chaps, boots, with his new red t-shirt advertising the University of New Mexico's Lobos football. Then he walked across the street to the Four Winds Restaurant. A few truckers had stopped for breakfast before heading into El Paso. They smelled of diesel, sweat, tobacco juice, and Mentos. There were more workers roaming around. One showed him to a booth and unceremoniously flopped a menu in front of him. Sam asked for a coffee just before she could walk away from him. A mug arrived, and she poured the coffee without a word. At least it tasted fresh and piping hot this time.
"Nice day."
Sam looked over to a man at the counter, a Latino with hair grown out long and pulled back into a ponytail, a neatly-trimmed goatee, impeccable black slacks, white button-up shirt, and polished penny loafers. His accent was an intriguing blend, a little bit of Yucatan in the flow of the words, some Texan twang to the vowels, but with a faint Boston tone, as if he grew up in one place, went to school in another, but lived somewhere entirely different. He had a relaxed and refined manner about him. Perhaps a businessman, or a politician in this small town of one thousand residents that was the county seat.
"Yeah...nice," Sam replied warily. "I'm glad it didn't rain."
"Oh no, no rain for a while," he said assuredly with a grin of irony. He sipped some coffee, still staring at Sam, and finally chuckled. "Small world, no?"
Sam stared at him. Small world? Did he know this person? Or more appropriately, did Theodore Nyt know this person? Mister Nyt was a lawyer, after all. Perhaps this man was also a lawyer and knew him professionally.
"Yeah, um...small world," he laughed nervously. He had feigned familiarity before, but this time Sam could not help but think the man looked familiar. Was this someone he used to know. Maybe someone he worked with. After all, he was in New Mexico, mere miles from Project Quantum Leap's facility. Did one of their legal advisers also know Theodore Nyt? Often, once Sam saw a face from his past, he knew the person immediately. So why was this person familiar, yet no name came to his mind?
"Do you even remember me?" the Yucatan man asked in amusement. "I admit, I probably look a lot different, although you look the same as last time. It's been many years, and longer for me than you." Sam wondered what he meant by that. "We've met three times now. Let's see, when would be the last time you'd recall?" he wondered, tapping his goatee. "Ah yes, the university."
"Oh right, the...the university. You were there," Sam nodded as if he was remembering.
"I truly admired you," he said reverently. "I wanted to follow your path." He spread his arms out. "Now here we are, two men on our own paths to bring justice to this world."
Sam raised his coffee mug to him in salute. "To justice!"
The man said no more, so Sam ignored him, sighing out a little nervousness. Meeting someone he was supposed to know and didn't was always hard. He placed his order and got a refill on coffee. While he waited, trying to dig through his memory for just who this man was, he heard a bell as the door opened, and a dining trucker gave a long catcall.
"Sam!"
Sam looked up in shock to hear his name, just in time to see Araceli coming in wearing skin-tight black spandex pants, a shimmering pale copper blouse that equally clung to her curvaceous figure, and a matching copper spitfire cap over her short black hair. Compared to such a fashion-conscious outfit, his three dollar sports shirt looked tacky. Sam hoped the leather jacket gave him a little more fashion.
Since when do I care about fashion? Was Theodore Nyt concerned with fashion? And what is
the fashion in 1995? "Sam?" the Yucatan man asked. "She calls you Sam now?"
Sam cringed. If this man knew Theodore Nyt, he might question why Araceli called him Sam Beckett.
Araceli stomped in, and her shimmering heels clomped the restaurant's floor. The man at the counter watched with amusement. Everyone in the restaurant looked at her, especially wearing a tight-fitting outfit like that.
She leaned over close to Sam. "What the hell was that about?"
"That...what?" Had he done something? Had something bad happened to her?
"The money," she hissed. "It had to be you."
"Oh that," he realized, remembering he had put some money into her purse while she was in the bathroom. "I only wanted to give you some gas money."
"Gas money?" she exploded. Then she leaned into his ear. "You gave me a thousand dollars.
¡No me chingues! Do you expect me to pay it back...with interest...or maybe with my body?"
"
What? No, no!" he insisted, shocked she would think that. "It's nothing, really. I figured you could, you know, fix your truck, or buy more than just coffee, maybe buy your mother a good birthday present."
"Birthday?" she shouted. "How did...? Did I tell you about that? Dammit, I talk too much," she muttered. "Whatever! I don't need your stinking money."
"No, really, keep it," he muttered. "I have more than enough."
"Are you some rich millionaire or something?"
"What if I said yeah?"
She eyed him harshly, but he looked too ashamed for this to be an empty boast. Besides, who gave total strangers a thousand dollars for "gas money"?
"I wanted to make sure you had enough to get home so you can see your family again." He looked down into his coffee mug. "Going home to friends and family...is the one thing I wish I could do. You never realize how cherished home is until you leave it."
She was touched by his words. "And where is home to you, Mister Sam Beckett? You said you're heading to Mexico. I doubt that's home."
"No," he admitted. "My home...is nearby, but sometimes it feels very, very far away. And I can never get back to it. No matter how much I want to, something always keeps me away. It's like God, Time, Fate or whatever is preventing me from ever reaching my home...ever! If I can't go back home, I want to make sure others can, whatever that may mean. A few dollar bills is worth it, if it means you can be with your family again."
She sat across from him and slouched. Sam looked out at the trucks heading to El Paso and tried not to look at how her posture revealed her bosom.
"I called my brother this morning," she confessed quietly. "He forgot that his wife already made plans for Friday night, so he can't come get me. She's a bitchy woman too, doesn't care about family, wouldn't even care if I died in this lousy town, all because she wants to see the
Brady Bunch Movie on opening night."
Sam frowned, remembering Al's prediction. Had he prevented Araceli's death? Was the rapist still in town, or had he moved on? He lamented that she had decided to wear something so seductive.
"I won't make it home in time for my mother's birthday. The truck needs some parts and will take a week, but my mother's birthday is on Saturday. You don't happen to also have enough money to magically make me a transporter...you know, like
Star Trek."
"'Fraid not," he smirked, "but I do have a bike. It's only three hours to Socorro, Texas, and it's on my way. I'll give you a lift, if you'll trust me."
"I knew it," she grumbled.
"No, look, I'm being sincere. I'm not some rapist. I'm a lawyer. I know what's illegal."
"Oh? Like driving without a license?"
"That...isn't my fault," he muttered. "Look, I'm just offering a lift. You don't have to accept. Straight shot to Socorro, no funny business, I won't even pull over unless you request it. Three hours, then I'm out of your life."
The man at the counter cleared his throat. "You can trust him, miss," he said in Spanish, and now Sam could hear that Yucatan accent even stronger. "I can vouch for him. He's a rare gentleman. He only cares for your well-being. It's in his nature."
"
Exactamente," Sam cried, also switching to Spanish without thinking. "My only condition is that you need to wear a helmet. After all, it's the law!"
That got her to laugh a little. "Okay, okay. Three hours, straight shot, no stopping, no funny business. I'll just sell that old dump of a truck. Hope the damn thing explodes! My Harley is waiting at my parents' house, and Papa kept his car, so I can use that. I might use the money to make my dream come true."
"Dream?" he smiled.
"
Escúchala." Listen. She pointed to the ceiling, and Sam listened to the faintly playing radio. Some woman was singing in Spanish about
amor prohibito, forbidden love.
"Her voice is amazing," Sam admired. "Who is she?"
"Selena. She is my idol and my inspiration. My outfit," and she waved down her body. "I made it myself based on one she wore in a Coca-Cola commercial. I have all her albums. Even when I sold all my stuff, I didn't sell those. She is a true inspiration for someone like me. However, I've never seen her perform live. There's a concert at the Astrodome at the end of this month. I wanted to go, but that means tickets and a hotel for the night, plus food, and I'd want to buy a souvenir shirt."
"That's your dream? Then do that. Music is a great asset to our lives. I should know!"
"You're a musician?"
"Piano and vocal. I...I've done a few concerts," he admitted humbly. No use telling her he had a doctorates in music and played piano in Carnegie Hall at the age of nineteen.
Sam saw in the corner of his eye, the white door opened and Al stepped out rubbing his eyes. "Barely time for coffee. At least this Leap is almost lined up with the time back home. God, I hate when it's morning your time and the middle of the night my time. Whoa!" If coffee could not wake up Al, a lovely woman in skin-tight spandex could. "She's even hotter by daylight."
"Well," Araceli said, "I guess I'll go search for a store in this town that sells bike helmets. Doubt I'll find one."
"No, no, no!" Al protested as Araceli stood and walked right through his open arms. "Is she leaving? Sam, tell her not to go!"
"Is there trouble?" Sam asked.
"There will be if I can't find one," she chuckled.
"No, no trouble," Al pouted. "Except...damn, she's hot!"
"Oh, and, uh...thanks for last night, Sam," Araceli smiled with a look of true appreciation. "I wish there were more men like you in this world."
Al looked back and forth between Araceli and Sam with a gawking expression. "Thanks? Last night? More men like you? Sam, what in the world did you do to her?" he demanded jealously.
Sam ignored him. He waved and watched Araceli jog across the street. Al watched her even closer.
"Damn, but she's one hot tamale!" Al drooled. "So what did I miss last night? Or is it not something that can be repeated in polite society? And how does she know your name?" He leaned in close to Sam, hoping to block his view. "You didn't tell her your name, did you?" He held up his cigar as if it was a lecturing finger. Ignoring him, Sam rose up, walked right through Al, and headed to the restroom. "You do realize..." He turned and stuttered, shocked that Sam actually walked through him on purpose—he knew Sam
hated when he walked through things—but he followed, still trying to lecture him. "There's another
you running around this desert with that name, a rather famous
you. Do you realize that...Doctor Samuel Beckett?"
Once they had privacy in the bathroom, Sam felt free to talk. "Al, what does Ziggy say about Araceli?"
"That she's the finest catch this side of the Rio Grande."
"I'm serious! Does she still die?"
Al checked the handlink. "Right now, history shows that she's still raped this evening in her room at the Rainbow Inn. She's not murdered, but she ends up getting pregnant and..." Al lowered the handlink with a grim face. "...and dies nine months from now in childbirth. Damn," he muttered.
"If I take her with me, does that lower my odds of success?"
Al punched something into the colorful handlink and gave it a few smacks. "No. In fact, they go up a little. If you take her, Ziggy predicts she'll survive unharmed."
"That's it then! I'm taking her, no matter what."
"No kidnapping, Sam."
Sam left the restroom, drank more coffee, and finally the meal came. He ate, and seeing the omelet, Al left to get some breakfast as well. Sam was in high spirits. He went from being chased by Mafia hit men to rescuing a gorgeous damsel in distress. Sometimes, this Leaping business wasn't so bad!
As Sam began to leave the diner, the man at the counter waved to him. "Be seeing you around, Sam."
Sam watched him again. How did he know his name was Sam? Of course, Araceli said that name. Sam waved warily. He did not understand how, but that man was so familiar!
Sam went into his motel room to prepare for checkout. "Temperature's rising, fever is high," he began to sing, going around the small room in good spirits. "Can't see no future, can't see no sky. My feet are so heavy, so is my head. I wish I was a baby, I wish I was..."
He heard a noise behind him and froze. Too late, he realized someone had been hiding in the bathroom.
"Go on, Mister Nyt," urged a man with an accent to his voice that was definitely not local. "I always liked John Lennon. Please, keep singing. Finish the line. I'd be more than happy to fulfill your wish."
Before Sam could face the intruder, something hard hit him over the head. As darkness clouded his brain and he only faintly felt himself collapse to the floor, the thing that worried Sam the most was if Araceli would make it home safely without him.
End of Chapter 10
Disclaimer: Sam is singing "Cold Turkey" by John Lennon. I don't hold the rights to this song.
Araceli is a Selena fan, which isn't surprising for a Mexican-American living in 1995. All my Hispanic female friends were huge Selena fans. I gave Araceli the Selena concert shirt for the previous evening, and this copper outfit is one of Selena's iconic outfits from a Coca-Cola advertisement during her time as a spokesperson for the company.
To see a pic: http://bit.ly/NS6eJi Selena was known as the "Tejano Queen." Her fame did not spread to mainstream American music until the postmortem release of her album "Dreaming of You" with the eponymous single and one of my favorite songs, "I Could Fall In Love." Araceli's dream of seeing Selena at the Astrodome is significant. It was her last major concert and broke records for the largest Tejano concert, beating her own previous record, also at the Astrodome. It set a record for the largest Astrodome concert, which lasted 6 years and still sits at #2 today. Selena was murdered on March 31st, 1995... 45 days after the events in this story.
