Chapter Two
--Two Capuccinos

While Marty sat gunning the engine in the trusty old '75 VW Microbus, Alex was busy with the four locks to the dome door, turning keys he kept on a chain that secured his wallet to his belt; he had them on a sliding ring so that he didn't have to pull out his wallet every time he wanted to lock the door. He used to always have to pull his wallet till he got the idea of that sliding ring.

The bus was loaded with little more than their brand new backpacks, a case of CD's and not least, the last few bricks of their season's produce all stashed right out in plain view, according to an idea inspired by a Cheech and Chong movie where those two guys drove a van with a body made out of marihuana instead of steel across the border at Tijuana, only these guys from Amador had it a whole lot simpler: all that pot was pressed into half-kilogram slabs sealed in a layer of shrink wrap, and concealed under a covering of glued walnut wood-grain veneer; each slab comprising one side of a speaker cabinet, of which there were four such units with the backs left open, just in case of rough handling in any event of forced roadside inspections by over-zealous uniformed officials, namely, the cops. These boxes had real speakers mounted within, and the boys had them set up for that stereo, "surround-sound" effect, secured either side to eye hooks in the bus panels by bungee chords: they were located all the way in the back and hooked up by wires to the VW sound system. They seemed to resonate best when a Grateful Dead CD was playing; one such as *Steal Your Face*, which Marty was just placing into the deck when Alex climbed aboard on the passenger side.

Marty pushed in on the clutch. "Everything ship-shape?"

"Lookin' good." After reassuring himself by a glance over his shoulder at the speaker boxes, Alex reached for a button on the CD player to advance through the tracks to the Dead's good ol' version of Chuck Berry's "Promised Land"; Marty threw into gear, and they were on the move, rolling down that red dirt road, leading through the oaks toward Highway 49.

"Left my home in Norfolk, Virginia,
California on my mind,
Straddled that greyhound,
And rode him past Raleigh,
On across Caroline,
Stopped in Charlotte,
By-passed Rock Hill,
Never was a minute late . . . "

Alex had a big grin on his face. "Don't you dig these cool, dry autumn days, Dude? Can't you just totally groove down on the smell of all that oak dust in the air? Oooo--oooo!"

"Soooo fine." Marty looked around. "And you know, the poison oak is so pretty and red this time of year."

Alex looked at him. "Don't knock the poison oak, Dude."

"No way!" Marty shifted into second. "We would never disrespect a plant."

"Plants are our thing."

"Totally."

"The plants make us happy." Alex pulled a joint from his pocket

"Oh, yes."

"They make us a living."

"Yep," said Marty. "They keep us healthy."

"And horny!" Alex put the joint to his lips.

"Huh?" Marty looked at him.

Alex shoved in the cigarette lighter. "Remember that time we got all brain-dead and stupid on that Mexican opium and woke up in that whorehouse in Sonora ?"

"Oh, man." Marty nodded. "Yeah."

"And when we got home, we broke out with that nasty case of the hives?"

Marty shifted into third, shaking his head with a look of grim amusement. "Never did find out what that creeping crud was, either."

The lighter popped and Alex put it to the joint. "Damn. How long were we itchin' with that stuff, Moon Man?"

Turning into a down sloping curve, Marty tilted his head in thought. "A little better than a year, I'd say, right on up to the day we got into that poison oak, breaking that new ground in our bare feet, like we did that time?"

Alex made a shivering motion. "I get the itches just to think of it."

"There we were with our poor little ol' naked toes right down in all that sap bleeding out the poison oak roots?" Feeling Alex hit his arm he looked down to take the joint from his hand. "Agh! Thought I was like to die."

"Yeah, and 'member long about the third day when you were standing there on account of how you couldn't sit, or lay down, or eat or sleep, and the skin on your back was jumping around, all over the place?"

"Aye-yi-yi. I can feel it now; it just got to rippling around my whole damn body."

"Your skin was just moving, man, like the waves of the sea! What a freak out." Marty handed him the joint. "And then, couple o' weeks later, that nasty ol' whorehouse rash was gone right along with the P.O."

Still holding smoke from the last toke, Marty croaked, "Hallelujah!"

"Never came back, either."

Marty nodded meditatively. "We thank the Great Spirit for all the pretty little plants."

"Amen, brother."

"Oh, yes." Marty took the joint. "We totally have dug that what might seem like the uncoolest thing on the earth, like poison oak, just might be foolin' us 'cause we're still too uncool to dig what it's good for."

Alex sat forward to look one way, then the other. "Get down."

The VW had arrived at the intersection with Highway 49. Marty turned to Alex and grinned. Alex, chewing on the roach gave a wink. "Are we ready to boogie, Baby?"

Marty popped the clutch and shouted "Kick ass!" The VW lurched, spun some dirt and a few small stones as it turned with a jerk out on to the highway.

The boys had a nice drive all the way into Berkeley. Once there, they stopped to see the owner of a health food emporium who was a long-time customer. To this man, they traded one speaker cabinet for a three month's supply of organic freeze-dried fruit, vegetables, and crunchy granola. Following this, they made the trip over the Bay to Sausalito where they had arranged to stay with some other friends. Being in no big hurry, the boys took some time to become acclimatized to the Bay Area scene. They visited Fisherman's Wharf, drove down the coast to relax in the sun at the beach on the Great Highway. They did the regular San Francisco thing. They parked the VW and rode up Nob Hill on a trolley. They were no squares.

There came a moment one early afternoon, while brainstorming their plans in a Berkeley coffee house, when Marty started wiggling his eyebrows as he leaned forward over the cup of espresso he wasn't drinking; he pointed and nodded for Alex to look over his shoulder.

Alex turned to see two women in shorts and tank tops coming in the door. His mouth opened; he stared; he turned back to Marty. "Damn Dude, they got Greenspeak caps on just like ours!"

Marty nodded. "Talk about made to order. So, like, what shall we do?"

Alex laconically raised a brow. "Go talk to them. You're the Dapper Dan of this outfit."

Marty's hands came up, then disappeared back under the table: "Me? No way. You know me. I'm too bashful. You go. I wouldn't know what to say to chicks like that."

"Chicks're chicks. You just go up to 'em and say, you know, like, 'What's happenin', babe?'"

Marty considered it. He shook his head. "Hey, get real, Toker. You can't talk to these up-scale college types like that, treat 'em like they really were babes; they'd look at you like you were a pile of dirty gauze from the free clinic."

"Come off it, Marty; a babe is a babe."

"Wrong. Not of late. This is not the 80's, Dude, and you've been in the hills too long if that's how you think. Now, me? I got a mother to visit in Stockton. So I come down to the flatland once in a while. But you? You're Rip Van Winkle, man. Time to wake up and smell the changes." Marty breathed a heavy sigh.

Alex snorted, got up, and turned from the table. He saw that the women were now standing at the front service bar. He felt a tug at the hem of his shirt. He turned.

"Order two more espressos--or no! Cappucinos, this time. And don't screw up!"

Alex smoothed his hair, hiked his pants, turned and started across toward the bar. He came up behind the women who had already ordered and were waiting. Upon his approach, the brunette turned toward Alex. She had very little makeup, no lipstick, her brown hair was finger-combed. Her eyes moved up from the colorful palms on Alex's shirt, from the red hair on his chest, to his beard, the long hair of his head. Wrinkling her nose at the strong dose of patchouli oil exuding from him, potent enough to asphyxiate the whole staff of a Haight Street hippie whorehouse, she turned away, moving a bit closer to her blonde friend.

Feeling the brunt of the affront, Alex turned to glance at his buddy who started gesticulating with much vehemence, urging him toward making his move. He knew that Marty would never let him off the hook if he didn't give it a go.

"Excuse me, Ladies?"

Shocked into motion, the brunette turned, looking all around. The blonde drilled a look directly into him, then with a delicate hand indicated herself and her friend. "Uh! Does he mean us?"

The brunette returned her friend's look. "Did I hear 'Ladies'?"

"Like, sorry." Alex smiled. "I forgot. Okay, 'ladies' is not hip, but umm . . . let's see . . ." As their silence and stares remained unbroken, he tried again. "Persons?" His smile started to get tugged downward at the corners of his moustache.

"As if!" The brunette snorted: "Who, really, is this male talking to, anyway?"

The blonde looked at him directly. "Is there something you want?"

"No. Well . . . I mean, maybe. Like, I just wanted to ask, you know, like, what's happenin', babes?"

"Gawd," said the blonde. The brunette rolled her eyes."

"Hey, really. Like, maybe the two of you could join my pal and I at our table to talk about Greenspeak?" He reached for his cap to tip the bill, but forgot it was turned toward the back of his head. He took it off and held it before them, pointing to the Greenspeak logo. "What say, Homegirls?"

The blonde stared. "Yuck!"

"Sorry. Homewomen?" He bit his lip. "No." He shrugged. "Not homewomen. Let's see . . ."

He clapped his cap back on his head, bill forward. He leaned back, till he bumped into some guy behind him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and swiveled on his hip.

"Is there some problem here?" So lisped the young man working behind the counter as he adjusted the white, paper, Boy Scout type cap on his head.

Alex shrugged, looked around.

"Uh!" The brunette pegged the waiter with a stare. "If it's all the same to you?"

"Oh, well, excuse me!" The waiter turned to Alex. "Okay, guy. What can we do for you?"

"Two cappucinos, with whipped cream on top."

"Is that all?"

"Hold the pickles and mustard."

The waiter rolled his eyes. "I knew when I got up this morning that this day was cursed." He picked up two mugs and turned to the huge stainless urns.

Alex had noticed the women's widening eyes following his gesture toward Marty, who despite his hirsute appearance was, again, in a certain light, quite a strikingly good-looking man: this light was good, and the rough-cut charm of his aspect was not being lost upon their sensibilities.

Alex turned toward the blonde. "So, just answer me one question, willya?"

She 'tsked'. "What now?"

"Just like, set me straight here: if a man can't, um, like, address the modern, you know, woman as 'Lady', and if like, 'Girls', is way out of line, then how is anybody supposed to, you know, talk to you at all; I mean . . .?" They both snapped their eyes, each to the other, then back to Alex.

"Uh!" The blonde turned to her friend. "I can't believe I heard that."

"Well, just like, tell me, if ya please? How 'bout 'dolls', or like, 'gals'? Gals is pretty . . . No? Are those out too, now?"

"Definitely," said the brunette.

"Totally," said the blonde.

Taking his left hand from his pocket he swiveled his red-haired wrist under it's black plastic Super Diver watchband, brought the hand to the side of his mouth to whisper, "'Chicks'?"

The brunette took a step toward him. "Do you see any feathers on me?" She observed as Alex looked her over, up and down, around to the side, taking his time about it. "Uh, are you about done?"

Alex shrugged. "Didn't see any." Watching their dismay, he smiled a little, then raised his hand. "Okay, I know you women want to be called, like, 'women'. But did you ever stop to think that you can't just call a woman 'woman' without sounding like . . . you know?"

Quizzically, the blonde looked at him. "I know?"

"Well, ya, you know, like, 'Woman! Bring me my pipe and slippers.' Like that." Alex watched a certain fire coming into the brunette's eyes. He took a step back.

"Two cappucinos with whipped cream--hold the pickles and mustard!" The boy scout set the mugs on the counter top. As Alex fumbled for his wallet, the blonde handed her friend a mug and was drawing her away from the counter.

As they were passing the boys' table, the brunette suddenly stopped. She looked at Marty. "Do you mind if we join you?" Marty stared. "Well?"

"No!" Marty was immediately on his feet. "I mean yes. Like, please do.'' He moved to pull a chair.

The blonde came to her friend's side. "Zelda! Are you crazy?"

"Maybe," said Zelda. She turned to Marty, taking hold of the chair. "I can seat myself, thank you." Marty deferred, then nodding to the blonde, he gestured to the other chair.

The blonde sat down. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
__

Chapter Three
--Vision Quest

Alex, after receiving his change, shoved the coins in his pocket; he took up the mugs, turned, and headed toward the table. His rubber soles squeaked to a stop as the image of the two women sitting there suddenly registered. He grit his teeth and bit back a howl as his glance followed the course of many other eyes down his leg to a cappucino stained right shoe.

He looked up to find Marty's grin. "Nice play, Shakespeare." Zelda's glance rolled off him to land in the eyes of the blonde. Alex set the full mug down as he handed the other to Marty.

The blonde smirked. "All's Well That Ends Well."

Marty looked into his half-empty mug. "Hey, Dude?"

Alex, now seated, watched with open mouth as Marty grabbed the full mug and poured into his.

Zelda looked at the blonde. "There's justice for you."

Marty gave Alex his mug back. "So, like, where you girls from anyway?"

The women looked at one another in half-smiling ironic silence.

Alex shrugged. "Okay, I guess you're students here, right?"

Zelda yawned, then deigned to look at him. "We're here doing post-grad studies in cetology."

The boys exchanged an empty glance. "Hm . . . " Alex drummed his fingers on the table. "Seems to me I heard of that 'cetology' thing somewhere."

Valentina smirked. "It's a study of whales."

With jaws dropping in unison, the boys turned to face one another. The women looked on in puzzlement. Alex snapped his fingers. "We knew who you were, the minute you came through that door."

Val looked at them in dismay. "Knew us?"

Alex waved a hand. "Not personally, and not just because of your Greenspeak caps, either, even if that was a sign." He looked at Marty.

"Definitely." Marty turned his cap around forward. "So there you go. We could dig right away that you were sent by the Great Spirit to guide us in our vision quest."

Valentina's eyes flew to the rafters. "Oh, gawd."

Alex sat up a bit. "Are you hip to a 'vision quest'?"

Zelda rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

Marty turned his mug and looked up. "See, how it works, is like, okay, we knew that the right people would be along at the right time."

Alex smiled. "It always happens like that with us."

Marty leaned forward in earnest affirmation. "It's always either the right people or the wrong people."

"But it'll be one or the other."

Valentina nodded knowingly. "I guess you're just a couple of real mystics."

"Activists, mainly," said Marty.

"Oh, really?" Zelda set down her mug. "What sort?"

"Plants," said Alex. "We're into plants, and you know, like trees?"

Marty was nodding. "Both plants and trees."

Zelda and Valentina traded a glance. Zelda kept her eyes on her friend. "Weeds more than anything else, I'd guess."

Marty shrugged. "We care about them, too. Even the poison oak."

"We care for them all." Alex smiled.

Marty sat straight up. "We have a plan to save the plants in the Amazon rain forest."

Valentina turned her eyes to Zelda. "They have a plan to save the rain forest."

"I heard." Having bent over toward Alex, Zelda was sniffing the air near him. "What on earth is that odor about you?" Alex stared at her, his eyes widening. Zelda was still sniffing. "Is that patchouli oil?"

"Yes," said Marty. "Alex inherited a whole huge vat of the stuff from his old man."

"Okay." Valentina looked to Alex. "So, what has saving the rain forest to do with our studies in cetology?"

Alex nodded, happy to answer the question. "We have a plan that involves saving a whale as part of the whole quest."

With an arm on the table, Marty leaned forward a little. "Kill two birds with one stone, as they say."

Valentina pulled back in her chair. "Let's get atta here."

Zelda's hand flew to her hand. "No, wait. I want to set them straight, first." She sat back and glanced between the boys. "I'm sure you find it very meaningful in terms of your plans to come into this place and find that Val and I happen to be here as members of the Greenspeak organization doing post-doctoral studies on the migratory habits of the California Gray Whale."

"Oh yes," said Alex. "It was meant to happen."

"Part of the Vision." Marty nodded with a big smile.

Val laughed. "As if!"

Zelda's mirth joined hers. "It isn't even a coincidence. I mean, is this Berkeley?"

Their words were utterly lost upon the boys, as the meaningful sense of it all was beyond being vanquished, and remarkably, as the interest they began to express in the women's area of expertise started to work its charm, the two marine biologists, despite strong reservations from Valentina, eventually agreed to meet the boys later that evening for beers at a certain pub on Telegraph Avenue, just to the purpose, so they insisted, of setting them straight with the facts in order that they might become assured that their plan, as the boys had briefly outlined it for them, was an absurdity so utter and complete that it didn't even rise to the distinction of plain nonsence. More importantly, it was their concern to do all they could to save the whales--from these two 'maniacs'.
__
Chapters 4-6
__