Universal Love

Universal Love (Love is in the Stars)

Story Sentence: Asperum ducit ad amorem (A rough road leads to love)

Once again, I have to thank Randi for inviting me to participate in her St. Paddy's Day event. I guess she is a glutton for punishment. I hope this one meets the spirit of her challenge. (Surfing with the Alien) I think I'm kinda pushing the envelope a bit. I struggled with whether to put this in Sci-fi & Fantasy or Romance. Either one worked, but I settled on Romance.

Story:

Forty-three-year-old Arvin Hayward sat alone, ensconced on the same tattered bar stool He always chose every time he came to this watering hole. He didn't know why he still did this to himself. Was it atonement or punishment? Probably both. He had to pay for his failures as a husband, father, and a man, he supposed. This was his fourth trip to the dump he found himself in tonight. Arvin had only been inside the bar for about fifteen minutes and halfway through his first Jack and water when he vowed to himself, this time would be the last. Of course, he had promised the same thing to himself on each of his previous visits too.

Not coincidentally, tonight was the third anniversary of his acrimonious divorce being finalized. The divorce itself wasn't really that difficult, just the usual arguments, because He and Auburn didn't have much and Arvin didn't want anything, beyond out. It was the bitter taste of the sense of failure that it left him with that hurt the most. He never should have gotten married in the first place.

His first time in John's Place in Fremont was four years ago. That's when he saw his wife and his replacement getting busy in the corner booth behind him. He knew what he was going to see when he walked in the door. He even knew why, but it still cut him. Shouldn't Auburn have at least felt bad? Maybe even apologized to him?

When he walked up to their booth and sat down Both looked surprised, but not shocked. Neither of them offered the standard, 'it isn't what it looks like' excuse. His replacement never even took his arm from around Auburn's shoulders. She simply asked him what he was doing there. Auburn calmly stated. "Well, now I guess we can quit pretending." That was that.

It was to get worse though. A few days later he discovered he'd been replaced as a father too. That one hurt him deeply. To be honest, though, he didn't blame the kid. He really wasn't much of a father to his son, Campbell, or Cam as Arvin called him.

Arvin was an over-the-road trucker. As such, he was gone sometimes two to three weeks at a time. When he was younger, he would try to be home more, but as time went by and he and his wife drifted further apart, it was easier to be gone. His son was simply collateral damage.

They argued back and forth for a couple of months about trivial things, both trying for a pound of flesh. Then the lawyers haggled for a couple more. Finally, six months after that, their divorce was final. He didn't even have to pay child support. Auburn snidely told Arvin that it was because she didn't want any reminder of him in her life. Arvin was a broken man. That piece of paper just reinforced to him what a loser he was.

They should never have married in the first place. They were from different worlds and had their own aspirations. Auburn was a cheerleader with a 4.0 GPA and a full scholarship to Cal, and he was nobody going nowhere. He just wanted school to be over. All they had in common was raging hormones. They had discovered sex together during their senior year of high school one late night at a drunken debauched beach party. She was two months pregnant when they graduated. She never went to Cal or any college for that matter. They both felt they had to do the right thing. That's what their parents told them anyway. It was perhaps the worst advice either of them could have ever received.

He never really blamed Auburn for divorcing him. His still simmering anger stemmed from the case Auburn hadn't said a word to him. She had, in fact, moved into her lover's house, with Arvin's son while he was gone on the road. Then the two of them moved back home when Arvin was in town. He asked her once, why, during the divorce process. She just shrugged her shoulders mumbling something about him being a father. In the end though, what did it really matter? It was done.

After that, Arvin was just gone. 364 days a year, gone. He was home one day a year. That was for his annual one-day visit to this bar to reaffirm in his mind what a loser he was. He never tried to see his son again. A year or so ago, he received papers in the mail requiring his signature so that one Clayton Davis-Anderson could adopt one Campbell Hayward. Arvin never even finished reading the documents. He just found the signature line, signed, and dated it. He put the papers in the enclosed pre-stamped envelope and dropped them in the mailbox. He then went and got shitfaced for three days straight. End of story.

In his drunken haze Arvin remembered something his dad used to tell him when he was growing up. "Son, whatever goes wrong in life, you only get three days to feel sorry for yourself. After that, it was time to get on with it." So that's what he did. Arvin didn't feel sorry for himself any longer, he was too pathetic for that. He was just empty. He could best be classified as being among the walking dead.

The only time he felt any peace at all was when he was on the road. Driving somewhere in the middle of nowhere, without another vehicle in sight, was when he felt the most comfortable. The peaceful solitude of watching the country roll by his windshield drained his anxieties. It was probably the only thing that kept him from blowing his brains out.

For sex, rare as it was, he used Lot Lizards. When he couldn't stand using his right hand any longer, Arvin always chose a Lot Lizard that couldn't possibly be lying about her age. And, one who didn't look too disease-ridden. That wasn't always easy to do on both counts. Lot Lizards were pretty much the lowest rung on the totem pole of hookers.

He had a friend once, who got caught up in a sting operation at a truck stop outside of Boise. He got busted for solicitation. Arvin asked him how he let himself get mixed up in that, and the guy told him the Lizard was so pretty he couldn't resist. Arvin said, "Well, then you deserve to get arrested for being stupid. There are no good-looking Lot Lizards! You should have known she was a cop."

Still lost in his misery, Arvin took a couple of more sips...

"Hey, handsome, buy a girl a drink?"

Arvin gave a little laugh. "What? Are you straight out of a 40's true crime noir film?" Arvin used to love old movies as a kid growing up. A good escape he supposed. Still, he was different than most in that respect. While his pubescent brethren were jacking themselves off to Jane Fonda workout videos on cable and Jamie Lee Curtis movies, he was doing the same to the 1960s-type 'bombshell' movie sirens.

He smiled knowingly when he saw her. He could tell she used to be pretty, a couple of decades ago. But life as a working girl had taken its toll on her. She even had a narrow-jagged scar from the corner of her mouth to below her jawline. Her heavy makeup couldn't hide the scar, or the effects of a lifetime working the streets. Her mottled face was pockmarked and had several wrinkles. He guessed they were more from a hard life than old age.

She didn't exactly smell bad. More like mothballs maybe? Or an eclectic mixture of several scents? Arvin wondered how many different john's cologne, aftershave, and sweat were mixed in with her liberally applied cheap perfume and God knows what else. It would probably take a good chemist several days to break the odor down to its basic elements. That thought made him shiver.

Her disposable outfit probably came from 'Hookers r Us.com.' She had the same body shape as Arvin, slightly pear-like. Her hair was bleached a ginger red, with her gray roots clearly visible near her scalp. Way, way too much rouge on her cheeks. Do women still use that? He wasn't sure, but it helped to brand her like the anachronism that she was. Arvin wondered if he looked as antiquated as she did?

When she laughed at his comment, Arvin could see her tobacco-stained teeth flash. Her laugh showed the effects of too much smoke, too much drink, and too much time on the street. It was more of a cough than a laugh anyway. Arvin wasn't disgusted by her. He felt empathy. They were two ships adrift in the ocean, with no purpose, no meaning, and no hope.

She laughed politely at his reference and sat next to him. "Here's my card, lover."

Hookers have business cards? Arvin accepted the calling card and studied it. It read, 'Time is of the essence. If you have the essence, I have the time. Call Sugar, 555-5555.' Well, I'll be damned, a hooker philosopher. It was a nice card too. She probably had a regular who worked at a print shop that she gave a discount to, for printing them up.

"Listen, Sugar, I'm really not going to be very good company tonight..."

"What? You're too good for me!" It wasn't a question that she snarled out.

"On the contrary, Sugar, you're much too good for me." He sighed. "I'm happy to buy you a drink though. But I don't want to cramp your style."

"What the hell, lover. It's a slow night anyway." Sugar glanced around the virtually empty bar as she spoke.

Arvin suspected that all her nights were slow these days. He felt a pang of sorrow for her.

The bartender approached. "Hey, Sugar, how's it going? The usual?" Sugar just nodded.

"What's your name, honey?"

"Arvin."

She gave that throaty cackle again. "Never had a married guy use that name before, but ok, Arvin it is." She sniggered as she pointed to his wedding ring.

"Actually, it is my real name. It's of Old German origin. It means people's friend." He laughed at the irony. He held up his left hand to show her. "It's on here because I've gotten so fat, it won't come off." That wasn't completely true. It would have come off if he worked hard at it, but he left it on as another reminder of what he wasn't.

"Well, ok then, Arvin. What are we celebrating tonight?" She raised her vodka tonic that had magically appeared, in a toast.

"My divorce, I suppose. Or maybe the fact that I'm one year closer to dying and ending my misery?"

Sugar raised one of her faded permanent makeup eyebrows. In reality, they were poorly executed tattoos. "Okay then. Here's to misery and death."

They clinked glasses and gulped more than a polite amount of their hemlock. They remained silent with their heads down, each lost in their own thoughts. The silence dragged on uncomfortably.

Jesus, this guy is more pathetic than me. Sugar cleared that thought from her head and spoke. "Listen, Arvin, I better be getting back to work." I feel crappy enough without him bringing me down any further. Sugar slammed the rest of her drink down and stood to leave.

A startled Arvin quickly stopped her. "Hold on, Sugar." He fumbled for his wallet, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to her. Truck drivers always carried a lot of cash. That's why they got mugged so often. Part of Arvin hoped when his turn came, the muggers would kill him.

"Change your mind, sweetie?" Sugar asked hopefully.

Arvin shook his head sadly. "No, Sugar. Look, I'm sorry I wasted your time. Maybe, well maybe with this..." He said pointing to the folded Andrew Jackson. "You can knock off a little early tonight?" Arvin thought she was as beaten down as he. He didn't think he could be more depressed than when he came in, but he was wrong.

Sugar got a look of genuine gratitude. She understood Arvin, and he, her. "Maybe I'll do that sweetie, maybe I will." Her eyes glistened with tears welling up.

"Look, Sugar. No offense, but we both look like we should get into a different line of work." She had been working the streets too long to take affront. She just smiled wearily and slid the bill into her bra.

"Maybe I'll look you up, if I'm ever back in town?" Arvin whispered as he gazed into her dull colorless eyes. She brushed his cheek lightly. They Both knew, that if they were lucky, it wouldn't ever happen. Then Sugar turned towards the door and headed out into the darkness she somehow found familiar comfort in. No doubt to search for her next john. Arvin signaled the bartender for a refill. It couldn't possibly come quick enough.

Arvin's shitty mood worsened. It was so bad that even two more polished-off drinks couldn't improve it. He decided to keep drinking. Although that strategy had never worked before, he was always hopeful it would someday. Arvin swore once again that he would quit drinking, but then he reminded himself that it was never a good idea to take advice from a drunk truck driver.

Arvin got up and headed for the men's room. If it was the same as he remembered, he would have to hold his breath before he reached the door. The hard part was being able to hold it in until he left. It was, as he suspected, the same. Arvin shook his head sadly. He would need to move fast inside. When he entered, he noticed that there were still no 'for a good time, call' or 'Kilroy was here' graffiti marks. There actually wasn't any graffiti at all. No one wanted to take the extra time it required to scratch anything anywhere inside this dumpster.

Arvin took a couple of deep breaths of what would have to pass for fresh air as soon as he left the cesspool with the "Men's" sign on it and started to work his way back to his welcoming and familiar stool. There was a woman, sitting on the one next to his.

When he reclaimed his seat, she turned and gave him the most enchanting smile he had ever experienced. He was so overcome by her beauty it caused him to freeze. Arvin could only gawk at her, as his voice escaped him. Arvin's mouth was opening and closing, but nothing would come out. The wonder of her aura filled his being. Her substance was of the nature that would cause poets to go insane after failing to adequately characterize her beauty. If perfection existed considering the human form, her's was it.

In fact, it was too perfect. To Arvin, every different feature of her body was copied from a movie star he had lusted after as a young teenager. She had Marilyn Monroe's vulnerability and welcoming blue eyes. Raquel Welch's perfectly symmetrical face. This vision's skin was as flawless as Ann Margaret's. Mansfield's blonde hair, Van Doren's cleavage, and Sophie Loren's smoldering sexuality finished off her persona.

Arvin could literally see an aura surrounding this glorious creature. None of the six or seven other losers in the bar seemed to have noticed her at all. Was she a hallucination that only he could, see? He doubted it, as he wasn't nearly that drunk, yet.

As soon as he looked into his second seatmate of the evening's eyes, he became mesmerized by their bright piercing blue color. It almost hurt to stare into them. They also displayed a great deal of intelligence that he found intimidating, but more importantly, to Arvin, he could feel them looking straight into his soul. He felt this beauty could read his life story and innermost thoughts. He shivered involuntarily.

"Hi, Arvin. I've been waiting for you."

He failed to respond, as he was still hypnotized by this intriguing personification of living perfection. No human being ever looked this perfect. His paralysis became uncomfortable for both of them.

After a painfully extended amount of time, Arvin finally was able to cobble together a few words. "Uh- umm, h-how did you know my name?"

"That's not really important, is it? She breezily dismissed his inquiry. "I've been looking for you. I need to talk with you about some things." She gave him a classic Mona Lisa smile that further disturbed Arvin.

He quickly flashed back to an uncomfortable evening he spent with Auburn and a bunch of her techie friends on a rare trip home. Auburn wasn't a techie herself. She was just a receptionist at one of the tech companies in the valley. He figured hanging with them just made her feel important. They were having a spirited discussion about the meaning of Mona Lisa's smile. Arvin didn't really understand Valley Speak, so his ability to comprehend the argument was only exceeded by his indifference to it.

Finally, one of the twenty to thirty-something geniuses Auburn liked to surround herself with, asked his opinion. Arvin innocently replied that he always thought it meant, 'I know something, you don't.' The room got silent. You would have thought that he had farted in church. The trouble with being smart, Arvin Supposed, was that you had to make everything more complicated than it was. They ignored him after that, until he got up and quietly left unnoticed. Later on, when Arvin had put two and two together, he realized the boy wonder, who had asked him the question, turned out to be his replacement.

"I'm making you uncomfortable, aren't I?"

Arvin was jolted from his thoughts. He managed to get out. "Yes, you are." He was still dazed by what was happening. "I don't even know your name, and I sense you already know everything about me. And, why am I the only one in here that seems to even notice you?" A quick glance around confirmed for Arvin that no one was paying attention to what was unfolding between the two of them. The bartender hadn't even appeared to take her drink order. He was idly drying a glass with a towel staring at whatever game was on the television. "Honestly, it's freaking me out."

"Well, my name is Asteria, and the reason no one is looking at me is that I don't look the same to them, as I do to you."

Oh, oh. Arvin gave a furtive glance towards the exit, but before he could make a move, she gently placed her hand over Arvin's. Her touch sent a jolt of heart-stopping electricity throughout his body. After it passed through him, an incredible calm came over him.

"I look like this to you Arvin, because I thought it would make you more comfortable. If I came in here looking like I really do, well, let's just say things would have become very weird, very quickly. Are you feeling more at ease now?" Her voice was the most soothing thing he had ever heard. He was terrified and intrigued at the same time. Kind of like watching a train wreck.

Arvin could only nod his head. What the hell is happening here?

"I normally like to ease into things more, but I don't have a lot of time, so let me explain how I got here and why I have come to speak with you. Would that be all right?" He nodded again. Asteria then went on an extended monologue.

Arvin wasn't sure how long Asteria had spoken. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours. But it was the most unbelievably fantastic story he had ever heard. He frequently nodded but never interrupted her. He wondered why he didn't feel more emotion. It was the most outlandish and inconceivable story anyone ever uttered. He should have been stunned and in shocked disbelief. Had he been smart, Arvin thought he should have bolted for the door a while ago. But, Asteria still grasped his arm, and Arvin didn't want the pulsating pleasure sensations washing through him to stop. He hadn't felt anything in so long that this felt so good.

But as she told her story, it seemed to Arvin that it was an almost casual recital of her everyday life, not some fantastic story she was making up. He noticed Asteria never let go of his hand until she was finished. By the time she was done though, Arvin was ninety-five percent sure he was in love with her.