The Golden Pass by Henry Simpson

The Golden Pass by Henry Simpson

Daphne had already worked her way into Virginia’s confidence. Displaced Lola in her life. Soon she would convince Virginia to end Lola’s employment contract and evict her from Virginia’s Montecito mansion. Lola would be homeless, jobless, and cast out of Montecito society. The question was, what to do about Daphne? Lola lay back on her bed, closed her eyes, daydreamed, thought back to the session with Selena, her fortune teller. “Gold is powerful,” she had said. “It may be the key to something else.” It came to Lola in a flash. She imagined this scenario: Daphne would drive somewhere, open the glovebox, spot her missing lighter, and grab it. Her perspiration would liquify its LSD and she would experience a psychotic episode. Observers would think she was nuts, the news would get back to Virginia, and Virginia would have second thoughts about her cousin Daphne.

That evening, as Virginia and Daphne were having cocktails in the library, Lola entered Daphne’s bedroom, and lifted her gold Dunhill cigarette lighter from her dresser. The following day, Daphne complained she had misplaced it, and had to order another from a jeweler. Later, when Virginia and Daphne were away at the country club, Lola put on latex gloves, wiped down the lighter to remove fingerprints, set it on a dish, and used an eyedropper to cover all six faces with liquid LSD. After it dried, she wrapped it in tissue, took it to the garage, unwrapped it, and put it in the glovebox of Virginia’s vintage Alfa Romeo Spyder that Daphne drove during her visits to Southern California.

Saturday morning, Lola had breakfast on the veranda with Virginia and Daphne. The cousins did most of the talking. After chatting Friday night’s follies at the club, Virginia said, “Lola’s leaving us.”

“Whatever will she do now?” Daphne said, as if she were already gone.

Virginia said, “Speak up, Lola. You’re like a bump on a log.”

“I’ve applied for a position in Dallas,” Lola said.

“She’ll have to get a horse,” Daphne said.

“And become a Baptist,” Virginia said.

Daphne said, “Do you get to sit, or must you stand on your feet all day behind a counter?”

“It’s an office job,” Lola said. “Bonuses, not tips.”

Daphne said, “You can’t blame Virginia for wanting me to run the show, Lola. Family and all.”

Virginia said, “I suppose I could fire Mrs. Steele and have you take over the housekeeper’s duties.”

“No thanks,” Lola said. “Mrs. Steele has seniority.”

Daphne’s eyes flashed in triumph. “I feel like taking the Alfa out this afternoon.”

“Are you sure it will run?” Virginia said.

“I started it up. It purrs like a kitty cat.”

“Where are you going?” Lola said.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Virginia said, “Stick to the back roads of Montecito. They’re twisty enough to give it a workout, and the traffic’s light. You’ll have fewer problems if anything goes wrong.”

Daphne laughed. “You’re too cautious, Virginia. If I run into any difficulties, I can handle them.”

Lola said, “Why not do Santa Ynez? Take a run up there, check out the wineries, and stop in Solvang for lunch at one of the Danish restaurants.”

“I like the winery idea. How are the roads?”

“Challenging. They wind, with steep cliffs.”

“Sounds like a perfect workout for me and my Alfa.”

Virginia said, “It’s still my Alfa, cousin.”

Daphne laughed.

 “Drive carefully,” Lola said.

&&&

Lola settled in her boyfriend’s living room before the TV, relaxed on a sagging couch, soon fell asleep. She awoke to a ringing old dial phone, and answered, Danny calling, he would be home in an hour. Thoughtful of him to call like that, she decided to make a home of the single-wide mobile home on blocks, even if temporarily. She had never lived with a man for more than a single day and night.

Do you like biking?” he asked her later.

“I did when I was a kid,” Lola said.

“Not the kind you pedal. I mean motorcycles.”

“Harleys?”

“They’re cool, but I like road racers. Let me show you mine.”

She laughed. “This must be when you show me something big and impressive to prove how macho you are.” She followed him out to the shelter. He revealed a shiny red motorcycle resembling a rocket sled on wheels. “It looks expensive.”

He ran his hand along the tank. “It was. It’s a Ducati, an Italian racing bike I got from one of my employees, owed me money, and, well, he owed me money.”

“So, you inherited his bike?”

Danny nodded “Let’s make a run up the pass tomorrow. I can lend you leathers.”

“You’re full of surprises, macho man.”

He grinned. “Ain’t life sweet, princess?”

&&&

Next day, in early afternoon, Danny offered Lola a set of red and black racing bike leathers cut for a woman. They were loose in the bust and butt but fit. Danny had a matching pair. Lola did not ask for a backstory. He gave her a bike helmet, told her to climb aboard, and hang on. She felt as if she were about to be fired from a cannon. As soon as Danny took the Ducati out onto a city street and accelerated up to a speed illegal on any California highway, her nascent fear became excitement. Soon they were on U.S. 101, zipping down the coast against a stiff headwind, dodging and passing lazy Sunday afternoon traffic, then a quick right turn up San Marcos Pass Road, two opposing lanes cut into a mountainside, steep fall left, sharp rise right. Cars grouped bumper to bumper in serial packs, delayed by the slowest RV, truck, bus, or torpid car in front. Danny wended his way through each pack and passed his way to the front, oblivious to oncoming traffic, blind corners, road hazards, other threats to life and limb and, once there, sped on to the next pack, as if racing against himself as Lola leaned against him, arms around his midsection, bodies joined at each tilt and turn; like being on a roller-coaster without the guardrails or certainty of a safe landing and happy end.

The intense ride up the pass felt like forever but took less than ten minutes, ending when Danny turned onto a narrow stagecoach road, drove for a mile, and stopped at a weathered clapboard tavern resembling an old ranch house. Dozens of motorcycles were parked in front and bikers of various descriptions were congregating, drinking beer, bullshitting, arguing, joking, sparring. Danny pulled the Ducati in and parked it near a group of European racing bikes apart from the Harleys and Hondas. The bikes were segregated but the bikers were fully integrated and enjoying themselves loudly and with gusto. Danny walked Lola around, introducing her to friends. They drank beer, hung out for an hour or so, had a good time, then left the throng, went into the tavern, ate dinner inside—dim lights, plank floors, walls covered with ranching tools and western memorabilia.

&&&

Sunday morning, Mrs. Steel greeted Lola as she entered Virginia’s mansion, and then said, “Have you heard about Daphne’s traffic accident yesterday?”

“No,” Lola said. “Fill me in.”

“The Sheriff’s Department called here yesterday afternoon to inform Mrs. Hove after her red Alfa Romeo was discovered in a canyon with Daphne’s body in it.”

“Oh, my,” Lola said. “After I warned Daphne to drive carefully. I guess she ignored my advice. She did not like me very much. How is Mrs. Hove doing?”

“She’s quite upset, Lola. I’m sure your being here will be helpful. She wants to see you immediately, in her office.”

Virginia looked up from her desk as Lola entered her office. She showed no outward sign of grief. “Ah, Lola. So glad you came to see me. After yesterday morning, I was uncertain if I’d ever see you again. Do you want things between us to go back to the way they used to be?”

“No, Virginia. Never again. You betrayed me. How can I ever trust you again?”

“A new contract, you mean. With guaranteed employment. Would that suit you?”

“What are you offering?”

“Five year contract, fifty percent salary increase? You become my official Business Manager. Your duties are as before, managing the household and finances, as well as anything else I decide to add. I also expect you to be my full-time companion and see to my personal needs and happiness, as necessary. You don’t have to sleep with me, for sex at least. Sometimes I get lonely and like to have companionship, but that’s up to you.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to be at your beck and call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

“No, of course not. We’re not married. You have a right to a personal life. Let’s work on it as time passes.”

“Okay.”

“Good, I’m glad we got that out of the way. I want you to handle a few things for me immediately. I’ve been procrastinating, and you’ve liberated me from guilt by returning.” She smiled.

Lola laughed. “It’s wonderful to be useful. So sorry about Daphne.”

Virginia chuckled. “Yes, that was sad. I’m glad she’s over, though. Losing her person is one thing. Losing my classic Alfa’s another. Rare cars like that one are hard to find. If she had to go out, it would have been more considerate of her to OD on Fentanyl or jump off a bridge. Speaking of bridges, let’s move on. Lola, I want you to go to the city morgue on Monday morning and identify Daphne’s remains. They called this morning and asked me, but I simply can’t go over there. They said she’s battered and bloody but recognizable. They did an autopsy, probably suspected drunk driving, or a heart attack or stroke. Found nothing. She drove off the stupid cliff without a seatbelt. We’ll never know why. Take a look, say it’s her, and have them send her bits and pieces to the same mortuary that did my late husband Tony’s cremation. They should give us a discount. It was awfully damn careless of her to die. Probably mechanical failure. You warned her about the car. She showed poor judgment taking it, and was quite inconsiderate. I know you wanted it. I wonder if she took it just to spite you.”

“Maybe she was depressed.”

“Do you think it was suicide?”

“Who knows?”

“After the morgue, go to the county impound lot and check the wreck to see if it’s repairable and worth fixing, fat chance. If it is, get a cost estimate. If it’s a total wreck, send it to a recycler.”

“Will do, Virginia.”

“You know, Lola, I’m having serious second thoughts concerning Daphne. I didn’t realize until now how I’d misjudged her and allowed her to influence me. You’ve suffered as a consequence of my bad judgment and pigheadedness. I am truly sorry for all the pain and misery I’ve caused you.”

“That’s all in the past, Virginia. Forget it.”

“No, I need to say these things to clear the air between us. Daphne coaxed me out of rehab. She was a bad influence.”

“On that, we agree.”

“I can change my will now that she’s gone, add that foundation you always wanted. You’ve met Mr. Sullivan, my lawyer. Schedule a meeting with him next week, some day in the afternoon, we can make the necessary changes.” She stood and came to Lola, hugged her. “You are so good at business, and you make everything easier for me.”

“I try.”

&&&

Monday morning, as Virginia was sleeping in as usual, Lola entered her office, opened her safe, and took out a little wooden box with passports, duplicate photo IDs, credit cards, drivers license, club cards, and other portable ID proof. She selected a set to borrow for the day’s impersonation game. Satisfied, she closed the safe and visited Virginia’s wardrobe closet.

She selected a blouse, slacks, hiking shoes, ballcap, wig, and gold wire costume glasses. When she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Steel gave her a startled look, and then smiled. “Good morning, Mrs. Hove. You look exactly like her.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Steele,” Lola said. She poured herself a glass of V8. “Do I?”

“You give me the shivers, Lola.”

Lola finished her V8 and set the glass on the sink counter. “Tell Mrs. Hove I’ve gone into Santa Barbara to visit the morgue and impound yard. I should be back before lunch.”

She drove Virginia’s Mercedes into town, arrived at the morgue at nine a.m. The clerk at the counter asked her name and proof.

“Verginia Hove, “Lola said. She presented Virginia’s California Drivers License. The clerk glanced at her and nodded. If he had seen through her impersonation, Virginia would probably be more amused than shocked. It was a practical test, for now, and possibly in the future.

The clerk took a folder out of a file and opened it. “Hove, Daphne,” he said, looking up. “It’s good she had a handbag with a driver’s license—Italian. Maybe it explains the accident, the reckless way they drive over there.”

“Are you sure it’s her?” Lola said.

“Not officially until you ID her, ma’am. But we think so, based on the license and the car she was driving. It’s an old Alfa Romeo, rare, and it’s not likely someone impersonating Mrs. Hove was driving it.”

“May I see her now?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll walk you down there right now.”

They walked down a hallway through a pair of swinging doors into a large room with stainless steel drawers along the walls. At the far end, a man in whites sat at a desk watching a small TV. He located the drawer, reached for the handle, and faced Lola before opening. “She was ejected from the car, no seatbelt, flew through the air, hit thirty or forty feet below. It was like she jumped off a roof. Get what I’m saying?”

“I think so,” Lola said.

“Barely recognizable. Please prepare yourself, Mrs. Hove.” He opened the drawer, pulled back the covering sheet. A bloody, flattened, misshapen face.

“That’s Daphne Hove,” Lola said.

“We removed her jewelry and placed it in temporary storage. You can collect it when you leave.”

“Okay,” Lola said. “I’ve seen enough.”

The man in whites recovered the body and closed the drawer. Lola and the Lola and the clerk returned to the front counter. The clerk retrieved a paper bag from a storage room and placed it on the counter. Lola peeked inside: bloodstained clothing, a handbag, plastic baggie with two gold rings and a gold wristwatch. Lola told him where to send the remains, signed a paper, and left.

Twenty minutes later, Lola parked in a large fenced lot filled with wrecked vehicles and entered a shed. A man in blue coveralls came to the counter. Lola identified herself as Virginia Hove and described the Alfa. The man’s gave her a space number and pointed. “Do you want me to walk you out to it, ma’am?” he asked politely.

“No, but thank you for asking. I can find it myself.”

“Please watch your step, ma’am.”

She felt like telling him to shove it, and smiled.

The sight of the Alfa made her teary. It had been such a beautiful car, those graceful, lines, voluptuous curves. What remained was the color red, bits of chrome, twisted and distorted. The glove box was open, empty. She searched the cockpit floor—papers, empty cigarette pack, matches, ancient debris set loose on impact. Sunlight made it difficult to see, so she moved to the other side of the car, looked down, a glint of gold light caught her eye, down there, where Daphne’s feet would have been. She leaned close, took out a handkerchief, reached down, felt it, the square corners of an exquisite little gold lighter, picked it up, examined it: perfect, not a scratch. She was tempted to test it; no. She chuckled, wrapped it in the handkerchief, dropped it into a pocket.

* * * *  THE END * * * *
Copyright Henry Simpson 2023

Editor’s Note: This story has been adapted from material in the author’s novel, Princess Lily (Newgame, © 2013). Click to view the novel on Amazon.com