Lagniappe

The early November wind whipped John Koenig's dark brown hair and jiggled his sunglasses as he held tight to the gear shift knob of the black '69 GTO convertible he'd just bought. Clutching and shifting in one smooth motion, he jammed the shifter home into 4^th gear and put his foot to the floor. The knob was shiny-smooth and cold in his grasp and he held the steering wheel with the other hand. It was a sensual feeling, controlling the power of the restored Pontiac with his legs and hands as it bucked and throbbed beneath him; constantly threatening to end their relationship. It was the same reason he loved to fly---with the added dimension of the titillating feeling of slight dizziness from the g-forces. It was better than almost anything else he could think of---except loving Helena Russell.

The speedometer reached one-ten and the flat Florida landscape of palmettos and grass raced by him, merging into a blur of greens and browns. At this speed every action was multiplied ten times, and you knew you had your life in your own hands. The powerful Pontiac crossed a low overpass with enough speed to momentarily become airborne, and landed with a groan and the sound of grinding metal as the twin, chromed tailpipes scrapped the pavement on landing.

The view ahead was clear and bright in the early afternoon sun, and yet John did not see the alligator until his head poked out from the grass by the roadside on the right. He swerved and missed the gator, but the 30-year-old Goat didn't have the driving dynamics of the much newer 740i Bimmer he had in Texas, and the car lurched into an angled four-wheeled slide. The short board in the rear seat slammed into his side of the interior and John turned left into the slide, taking his foot off of the accelerator, but applying no brake. The rear of the car swung back to the right, but not as uncontrolled, and turning right into the secondary slide corrected enough to straighten the car again. John looked up into the rear-view and saw blue smoke filling the air and black streaks on gray asphalt---and smiled. He knew he was a skilled driver, but maybe a more moderate eighty was a better choice. After all, the Atlantic beach was only another twenty minutes away.

When Koenig had parked the car, gotten his board and a pack of SexWax out, and armed the alarm, he headed for the beach. He loved to surf at Cocoa, and hadn't done so in more than a year, so while here in Florida he decided to buy a new board and a fast car to go with it. Helena begged off of the trip, and John hoped he wasn't pushing this relationship harder than he should. The two of us seem perfect together, he thought but it seemed she found an excuse not to come with him to the beach to surf. He wanted to share the things he enjoyed with her, but she sometimes she still stayed slightly out of reach. Maybe I'm holding back too somehow, waiting to see if I'm going to get hurt. In his self-indulgence, John walked into the path of a bicyclist and the two of them ended up in a tangle of surfboard, legs, bicycle and arms in the sand.

John pushed himself up spitting sand and profanities, and heard a soft voice swearing in French. He reached beneath the surfboard lying on top of him to push the bicycle off his legs and found more than a handful of soft flesh.

"I think you will find that belongs to me," the soft French-accented voice said. John released her breast ever so slowly; brushing her hardened nipple with his knuckle, and raised the board out of the way. His eyes flowed from the white Reebok in his groin upward over shapely legs to full hips clothed in skin-tight bike shorts, and from there to even fuller breasts.

Bigger than Helena's by a long shot! Koenig thought, mentally comparing, then castigating himself for do so. Her face held smoldering dark eyes, creamy olive skin, and all framed by pageboy-cut dark brown hair.

"I…I…," John stammered. "I'm sooo sorry, Miss."

"Celeste," she offered brusquely, a little Cajun in her French accent this time.

"Celeste." He said breathlessly. "I'm sorry, Celeste. It was entirely my fault. Are you alright?"

"I feel fine," the anger gone from her voice and replaced with amused exasperation, " but then you already knew that."

John 's face reddened, and a sheepish grin appeared on his lips.

"Yes, well I guess I did. But you're not hurt, are you? My name is John, by the way." Genuine concern showed in Koenig's words. She slowly flexed her arms and put her hands behind her head and languorously bent at the waist in several directions to see if she was intact.

"I appear to be undamaged…,John. Thank you for your interest." Celeste said.

"My pleasure," Koenig replied with voyeurish enthusiasm. "If you're alright then could you gently take your foot out of my crotch?" He asked sincerely, smiling with a slightly pained expression, and Celeste gave him a wisp of a smile.

"Oui, monami." She whispered, and all John could think of was Gomez Addams and Morticia.

Then she raised her foot carefully, and with dexterity that amazed John, continued to raise her leg over the bicycle to execute a slow motion backward flip that left her standing in front of him.

"Very impressive move!" Koenig lauded. "I bet you could do astounding things in zero-G!"

The double meaning, intended or not, wasn't lost on Celeste. She drew herself up--- touching her face daintily.

"Do you really think so, John? That sounds wonderful. Maybe I should try it on the Metaprobe when I leave on it next year." Sarcasm poured from the corners of her mouth.

Koenig's mouth opened but no words came out. He just looked up at her.

"No quick comeback? I thought all men had a repertoire of lines to use."

"I guess I'm a little out of practice." He paused, "did you say the Metaprobe?"

"Yes, I'm a mission specialist on the 'probe in charge of sensory equipment, photography and data systems. I'm taking a break from taking equipment up to the 'probe, and thought I'd go for a ride." She smiled more warmly and somewhat alluringly. "I didn’t know I was going try to ride a surfer."

"Oh, the board." John missed her meaning, or subconsciously ignored it. "Well, I not really much of a surfer, but I'm a top-notch Astronaut."

Celeste looked askance and him, obviously thinking this was a line, and John caught the look.

"No, really. Captain John Koenig. I'd have been on the Ultraprobe, but for the luck of the draw. As it was, one of my best friends did go on the Ultra, and came back as the only survivor---if you can call the shape Tony is in surviving. " John looked at the sand for a moment, and then back up at Celeste. "You're with the space program?"

"Just the last four months, when I've been setting up equipment on the 'probe and training for the Meta mission. Before that a systems engineer with and interest in photography. What about you?"

"Me?' John chuckled. "My whole life I've either been thinking about going into space, training for going into space, or going into space." He pushed himself off of the sand, and brushed the sand off of his cut-offs. "Would you like something cold to drink? My way of saying 'Sorry I'm a klutz' and begging you to forgive me."

"That sounds fine, but just a bottle of water for me, thanks."

The two picked up the contents of Celeste's belt pack that had spilled over John and the surrounding sand, righted the bicycle, picked up the board, and walked the quarter-mile south to a large pier with a restaurant.

"I guess I have to ask, are you from France?" John asked as they walked.

Celeste laughed softly. "No. French-Canadian mother and a Cajun father. They met in New Orleans, and lived in Montreal running a restaurant until I started high school, when we moved back to Louisiana so my father could take over the family business."

"What business was that?"

"His father's father started a little bistro, and his father expanded it into one of the finest restaurants of the Vieux Carre. My father moved back when Papa was hurt in a robbery attempt, and continued running the restaurant and expanded to six other sites around the state. I'm the only one of the family---I have two brothers and a sister---not in the business."

"That's really interesting. So you never got interested in the restaurant business?"

"Oh, I'm not that great a cook, but I'm a top-notch computer engineer." She smiled the first really warm smile since their sudden meeting. They spent the afternoon talking about space, engineering, and where the world was going. After two and a half-hours they'd found they had much in common in their interests, places they'd traveled, and the things they wanted from life, but it all ended abruptly.

"What time is it, John?" Celeste queried, finishing off her second bottle of water. Koenig peered over her head at the clock on the side of the restaurant building from their umbrella-covered table.

"About four-ten." He replied

"I really need to go." Celeste said earnestly.

That was sudden, John thought, I wonder if I said something wrong. "It was really nice to meet you. Maybe I'll see more of you some time." John said aloud with heart-felt honesty.

"I would enjoy that as well. Maybe we can see each other before the Metaprobe leaves?"

"Maybe." John thought of Helena for the first time in hours, and found guilt there. Perhaps they were ultimately meant for one another, but neither of them would ever give up their careers. Maybe they'll meet in space, or maybe he'd see Celeste there.

"Au Revoir, John."

"Goodbye, Celeste."

Koenig watched her walk down the pier, mount her bicycle and ride away. Lucky bike, he thought then shook his head slowly. Boy, you have got to get a grip! You're lucky to have Helena. But do I really have her? He looked out at the Atlantic surf wondering about his future but after a few minutes decided he'd enjoyed the afternoon too much to be maudlin and it was too late to surf, so he should head back. He stood and reached into his pocket to get the keys to the GTO and found a Visa card with the name Celeste Boullet on the bottom. John looked around but Celeste was gone.

"I guess I'll just have to find her and return it." John said aloud to himself. The only problem was finding her, but John hesitated only a moment before thinking up a plan of action. He tried the phone book on the nearest pay phone to find she was not listed---but that was no surprise. He returned to the Goat, and got his StarTac phone out of the trunk to call an old pal.

"Tony Verdeshi, please. John Koenig calling." John said to the operator in the Space Center Security office.

"Verdeshi." Tony finally said after John listened to half of Don McLean's 'American Pie' while on hold.

"Tony! John Koenig. How are things?"

"John! Just dandy, how are things in Texas? And how's that Aussie buddy of yours?" Tony spoke with only a slight accent to indicate his English/Italian roots.

"Alan's fine. But I'm not in Texas. I'm right here near the Cape and I need some help."

"You and Carter didn't get into drunken brawl with the marines again, I hope."

"No, nothing like that. I've met this girl…."

"A girl! I thought you'd sworn off relationships. That last one Carter set you up with ended up a real psycho." Tony interrupted cheerfully.

"No, no. I just ran into her---literally---and she dropped her credit card. I just want her address so I can return it. I know she works on the Metaprobe, so she has Space Center clearance. That means you can find her for me."

"John, you know that's against regs, but for a pal…."

Tony found the information and John scribbled it on the palm of his hand, thanking Tony and promising to get together.

"John, according to her file, she has an ex-husband, so watch yourself. And don't forget to come by my place for a beer before you head back to Texas." Tony had started a new hobby, and wanted John to see how he was doing making beer on the carport of his rented house. They said their good-byes, and John hung up the phone.

RonJon's was only about a block away down the beach, so rather than go back to Helena's to change, John bought a new bright print shirt, and new shorts. John thought as he walked back to the black Pontiac: Why am I doing this? Helena and I seem to have something. Do I intentionally want to screw that up, or am I just afraid of losing myself in her and then being dumped. Or am I just a normal guy trying to find love where I can? I really don't know.

John stopped at a bar called the Saturn V near the pier, and ordered a 'screwdriver' and ate peanuts while staring at the TV scrolling the closed caption text across the bottom of the screen. CNN was showing yet another boatload of refugees adrift in the Florida Straits, with a Coast Guard hovercraft ten meters to starboard. He could imagine the refugees' terror, adrift on the sea, hoping to make landfall somewhere, but not knowing when or how they would survive. They made the decision consciously, to not try to go back to their homeland---but ahead was the unknown and hope for a future. He wished them well, as he drained his glass of fortification and asked for directions to Wayward Boulevard where Celeste lived.

Koenig took the GTO, even though it was close enough to walk, because he had nowhere to stash the board and it didn't find in the back seat with the top up. The afternoon light was beginning to fade with the sun setting at the end of the street when he parked the rumbling muscle car just down the street from the bungalow with the correct address. As John got out of the car, he saw another man walking toward the bungalow. He was shorter and slighter than John, and wearing a white linen suit and Panama hat shadowing a familiar face.

"Victor?" Koenig asked running across the narrow asphalt road.

"John? Is that you?" Victor's smile was one a father reserved for a loved son at the sound of Koenig's voice. He squinted into the orange sunset, as the two friends gripped hands.

"Yeah, Victor. It's me, all right. I'm really surprised to see you. What brings you to Cocoa Beach?

"Visiting a friend. What about you? And those cloths! I know you surf, but I never thought you lived the lifestyle." Victor's lips curled in a sly grin as he teased John unmercifully.

"Ah, it's…kind of a long story. I was coming here to see a young lady." John said taking three long strides up the tiny walk, and climbing the stairs with Victor at his heels.

"John, why are you coming to this house? Victor asked looking a little pale, and breathing hard as John rang the doorbell.

"This is where I was coming, Victor."

"Here? I was coming here to see..."

Just then the door opened and Victor and John both said, "Celeste!"

"Victor? John? What are you both doing here? I wasn’t expecting either of you." She sounded surprised and mildly shocked ---or perhaps something else.

"I was coming to ask you out to dinner," Victor interjected first.

"So was I," John echoed. "You didn’t mention Victor today on the beach."

Celeste looked behind her into the house as John spoke. "I really can’t see either of you tonight. Another time ..."

"Celeste, who is it? Salesman or something? I’ll tell them to take off." A deep male voice said from inside the apartment.

The owner of the voice stepped into view, and even John had to look up. Standing there in his Marine uniform; his name RIKER monogrammed on his chest; the fellow was impressive. Celeste had an unhappy expression on her face as he moved her to one side.

"You fellas better go." He grunted. Riker's dark eyes flared his instant dislike of the two visitors.

"Matt, please." Celeste tried to intervene but he blocked her way.

"Yes, I suppose we might do that. Goodnight, Celeste." Victor was clear that he wanted to cause no trouble for her, and thought a retreat was in order.

"I don’t think..," John began, but Victor cut him off.

"John, we were going to dinner. We’d better move along." Victor tugged on John's Hawaiian sleeve, and he came along reluctantly. The dark haired Riker slammed the door behind them

"We don’t want to cause trouble for Celeste. Do we John?" Victor asked urgently when they were off the porch onto the sidewalk.

"No. But did you see that ox push her aside. I’d like to...." John balled his fist and shook it. Victor noted a slowly fading ring mark from a wedding band recently removed; but said nothing.

"Let’s get a drink to calm down. I know a tavern nearby. We’ll get something to eat and a strong drink." Victor finally suggested.

The compatriots got to the Saturn V, the same tavern John had visited earlier, and Victor bought the first round, John bought the second, and Victor ordered the third before their food came. Alternating after that, Victor listened to John most of the time. He was very troubled, and had had no one to really talk to for a long time. He talked of his feelings for Helena and his uncertainty.

"Celeste is a bootiful woman, an' we have sho much in cummin. But Helena and I have sumthin'.… I've just immershed my shelf in my work for the last couple a' years." John stopped and said sheepishly, "Victor, I think I’ve drunk too much."

"So have I, my friend," Victor said and ordered another round. Neither of them remembered much after that and they awoke the in the early morning hours with severe hangovers, sitting in a cell in the Cocoa Beach jail.

Victor awakened first, and surveyed their dingy surroundings. Bare cinder block walls, grimy benches, yellow-stained toilet, and sooty bars made up their environment ---and the two of them, fit in perfectly.

Victor's white suit was stained with grease and dirt, and John’s Hawaiian shirt and shorts were similarly discolored. Victor moved slowly finding he was sore and stiff in multiple areas, and was moving about the enclosure to loosen up as John came to.

"Where are we, Victor’?" John mumbled as he looking around.

"The local constabulary holding cell, I suppose. You Americans sometimes refer to it as a drunk tank."

"Perfect." John’s eyes fell closed again.

The hallway door opened and an officer in a dark blue uniform walked toward their cell.

"I’ll make a call and get us out of here, John."

"Do that. I think I should stay here and suffer a while longer." John spoke without moving or opening his eyes.

"Sorry boys," the officer stopped in front of their cell door and unlocked it. "But you two are free to go."

"Thank you, Officer." Victor paused. "Now don’t think I don’t appreciate being released, but why are we suddenly emancipated if we did something to be put in here in the first place?" Victor asked the question as he straightened his jacket, and John struggled to his feet.

"Someone bailed you both out. Come on, let’s go. We need this space for real desperadoes." He smiled broadly.

"If not desperadoes, then what are we? Besides foolish," Victor asked.

"Gentlemen and friends." French-accented voice called from the hall door.

"Celeste! I take it we have you to thank for our release. But how did you know we were both here? Even I'm not certain how we’ve gotten here!"

"I checked at the Saturn V where you and I first met. The trail was easy to follow."

They thanked their jailer and departed with Celeste.

John awakened as sunlight shone brightly through the window. The urge to urinate pushed at his groin, and he stumbled naked from the bed toward a doorway that was obviously a bathroom only a few feet away. He had to close the door to get to the commode, and relieved himself with his eyes closed. The strong scent of lilac stuck him as he finished and flushed the toilet, and he forced his eyes open to find thoroughly unfamiliar surroundings. Vermilion flowered wallpaper and delicate feminine décor wakened him a little more, and he wondered where he'd gotten himself too. What happened last night? He opened the bathroom door, and John's eyes widened as he saw two forms in the bed that he had just left. Next to where he'd lain was a sleeping Celeste and next to her was Victor who was just waking up. What happened here? He thought. The room was ripe with the smell of sex, and alcohol-laced sweat.

"John, good morning. How is your head?" Victor grumbled.

"Gaghck." John croaked. His mouth and throat were cotton-filled and didn't seem to work just right.

"Ah. All systems normal, then." Victor said, as he got up and donned an ill-fitting pink robe to cover his nakedness. "I think I'll go get some coffee. Throw on something and join me." He exited without closing the bedroom door. John found his rumpled clothing and followed Victor to the kitchen where the Mr.Coffee had performed timed magic to make a wonderfully potent and full-bodied, fragrant brew.

After his second cup, John began to feel semi-normal again, just in time for Celeste to join them looking radiant in nothing but a saffron robe that showed her elegant, luscious figure through is sheerness. She kissed them both on the top of their heads.

"I will have to take my leave, gentlemen. I have to be on an Eagle in just over an hour to work on the Probe. Turn out the lights when you leave." Her smile lit the room, as she took a cup of coffee and swayed back toward the bedroom.

"Celeste? What happened last night?" John managed to get out. His memory of the evening ended in the Saturn V and then a vague sense of fun after that with no specific recollections, but he felt now he should be embarrassed by his behaviour. Would Helena find out about this? I guess if I care, there are some feelings there after all.

"Matt left last night after we had a big fight, " Celeste said interrupting John's reverie, "and his base called for him. I decided to try to find him to keep him out of trouble because there used to be feelings between us, but the military police found him first. He was picked up in an alley looking like a beaten dog, and the MPs took him back to the barracks. I found out the two of you had been collected by the local police and went to find you. Matt won't be back anytime soon, but I hope the two of you will." She smiled again, and her eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I have to head back to Texas, but I'll be back to Florida. And maybe we'll meet in space." John said as he looked at Victor who just looked back smiling. John thought of Helena again, and then watched Celeste disappear through the bedroom door and shook his head. Life is a complicated mixture.

"She is surely something extra special." Victor sighed.

"I couldn't agree more, Victor." John said.

Michael W. Lindow

January, 1999