All of Anna Conde’s information on California came from reruns of Baywatch and Sigmund and the Sea Monsters, where she learned that swimsuits were the accepted daily attire for the land of eternal sunny days.
She now questioned if San Francisco was truly part of California. The climate varied between chilly and cold with every shift of the winds, making her regret her wardrobe choice of a two-piece bikini and leather satchel. Her toes curled into the cold sand along the banks of the San Francisco Bay.
“This is the Golden Gate,” she said to herself. “Why is it orange?” She added this to her list of disillusionments, along with Where are the palm trees? and Why is it so cold?
She opened her satchel and took out a clear plastic jar, its plastic cap tightly screwed on. The greenish liquid contents sloshed gently as she held it up. “Hello, my babies,” she cooed at the liquid. “Mommy’s so sorry to take you so far from home.” She kissed the side of the jar, stroking the lid. “But Mommy’s brought you to a new playground now. Are you ready to go for a swim? Hmm?”
She waded confidently into the waters of the bay, getting hip-deep in the water before she shrieked. “Ay dios mio!” Her muscles clenched and her cinnamon skin became speckled with goosebumps, including two prominent goosebumps that forced the impression of their shape against the fabric of her seal-skin bikini. “Esta agua es puto congelación! It’s freezing!”
Teeth chattering, she forced herself to begin wading toward the nearest concrete support block. She swam out to the next support, further out into the bay.
Treading water, she undid the cap to the container. “Swim free, mis pequeños,” she said. “Mama will miss you.” She tipped the container and let the greenish liquid inside drizzle against the concrete of the bridge anchor. “Eat quickly before you die of cold,” she added, hopeful that her specially-bred algae were strong enough to succeed. Now all she had to do was leave quickly and ensure the money hit her account.
“Hey! Hey, you down there!”
Anna Conde closed her eyes. “Maldición,” she muttered to herself, letting the plastic container in her hand float away. She turned and saw the SFPD patrol car parked on the access road near the shoreline, a uniformed officer standing beside it, his hand at his hip.
Officer Sean Klein had seen his share of nutty behavior. It was part of being a police officer in California. And it wasn’t the first time he’d had to order someone out of the water for swimming in a restricted area. However, they were usually college kids following up on a dare, or looking for a place to party. Not many of them were adult women.
As Anna Conde got within wading distance of the shoreline, he watched her emerge with interest. Hip deep in the chill waters, she reminded him of Botticelli’s painting of Venus. All she needed was a seashell. But though she was beautiful, the law was the law, and he was going to have to take her in.
“Ees there a problem, officer?” Anna purred from where she stood in the water.
Officer Klein’s demeanor became more alert and more accepting upon hearing Anna’s accent. “Sorry, ma’am,” he apologized. “I didn’t realize you were an immigrant. Here, let me help you out of the water. You’ll catch your death of cold.”
He stepped into the water and put an arm around her shoulders to warm her. She was probably the most gorgeous Latina he had ever seen—if not the brightest. Swimming in San Francisco Harbor? You’d have to be nuts.
“You like my swimsuit?” she asked as they stepped onto the shore.
The officer purposely locked eyes with her. “Sorry again, ma’am,” he stammered. “It’s the material, actually. Never seen anything like it.”
Anna Conde smiled. “It’s seal skin,” she said.
“Seal?” he asked. “Like, the animal?”
“Sí,” she said. “It is muy suave. Very soft and good for swimming. Here, feel.”
She took his wrist and before he knew what was happening, his palm was placed firmly against her breast. The fabric absolutely felt like animal skin. He could feel the short, wet fur of seal conform to her bosom. “Yep, that’s very soft,” he stuttered. “Very nice.”
“If you like that, you should feel my beaver.”
He coughed. “Excuse me?”
“It’s much softer,” she said. “It is furrier, and is very durable for water sports.”
Officer Klein looked the bikini-clad woman up and down, appreciatively this time. He couldn’t make out if she was propositioning him or just winding him up. He caught a glimpse of the gold band on his left hand, and frowned. Remembering his wife reminded him of his paycheck that she spent every week, and remembering the paycheck reminded him of the one he would no longer get if he were to be falsely accused of sexually assaulting an undocumented citizen in a sanctuary city. That was all the cold shower Officer Klein needed to focus on his job, instead of his hormones.
“Why don’t we just walk up to my car?” he asked. “I can take you anywhere you need to go.”
“Thank you so much,” she replied. “You are so nice. But I must get my bag.” She indicated the leather satchel a few yards up the shoreline. He accompanied her as they stepped over to retrieve it.
“I never travel anywhere without my babies,” she said, opening the pouch and rifling through the contents.
Klein looked confused. “Your ‘babies’, ma’am?”
“Sí,” she replied. “Oh, not like human babies,” she laughed, seeing his reaction. “My little ones.” She held up one of the small plastic containers, filled to near the top with a flaky brownish-green substance.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Officer Klein said. “But is that cannabis?”
“Marijuana?” She laughed again. “No, this is much better. This is ambrosia.”
“Do you mind if I take a look at that?” he asked, reaching warily for the container.
Anna Conde made no sudden moves, but offered the container to the nice policeman with a sweet smile. “But of course,” she said. “It is nothing illegal.”
Klein looked up at her as he unscrewed the top, and looked closely at the flakes. If they were drugs, they weren’t a type he recognized. He poked at the contents tentatively with his fingertip, stirring them around just a bit.
The breeze shifted again, and the flakes stirred, rising into the air. Officer Klein dropped the container to the ground as his eyes began to water fiercely. He sneezed, repeatedly, clutching his throat, which was rapidly swelling shut.
“I told you,” Anna Conde said, stooping to collect the dropped container and seal up what remained inside. “It is ambrosia. Or, as you call it here, ragweed. A very special strain I have cultivated. Oh, I hope you are not allergic.”
Klein fell to his knees, then to his side. His red-rimmed eyes bulged and his mouth gasped for air. His vision blurred, obliterating the last thing he would ever see: the retreating willowy form of the woman in the sealskin bikini.