by Leslie Pike
STEVEN
Here she comes. She looked so serious when the elevator doors opened. Deep in thought. But now she’s spotted me, and it’s impossible to mistake her smile, or those azure blue eyes. Gorgeous.
I take her in, as she comes my way. This is what a natural beauty looks like. I can’t detect any makeup or jewelry or designer labels.
She doesn’t need any of it.
And that beauty mark on her left cheek, up at the top of her well defined cheekbones, that’s hard to forget.
And something else. There’s a goodness about her. She was so quick to defend that teenager who felt defenseless. After my last relationship, a woman’s good character is at the top of my must have list.
Her gifts have not stained her soul. How fucking sexy is that?
As she reaches me I notice her shoes, or more to the point her feet. Groomed, delicate and surprisingly arousing. Stem to stern, the girl is a knockout.
“Hi.”
Her voice has a smooth, earthy quality.
“Hi back. Was your shower as good as mine was?”
“It was spectacular.”
A tiny grin says more than her words. Did she do what I’m thinking? That’s sexy as hell.
“Shall we walk?” she asks.
I’d actually like to take my car. I hate leaving it in the gym parking lot. But the girl wants to walk, so that’s what we’ll do. My cock tells me I’d ride flying monkeys there if it pleased her.
I don’t have to get my way every time. But the woman I’m with should afford me the same courtesy. I expect to get all the things I’m willing to give. All the things.
We walk out of the gym, and onto the street leading to Lighthouse Avenue. It’s easy to see the appeal of this town.
“Are you from here, Bliss?”
“No. But it’s my favorite place in the world.”
We turn right onto the main street.
“The Red House is just a block down.”
“I’ve never been here. It’s different from what I expected.”
“How so?”
“Usually film locations aren’t the best. More often than not we’re in a shit-hole of a city. Or somewhere that’s been beaten by weather or the economy. This is the antithesis of that.
I look in the windows as we pass.
“I see galleries and interesting restaurants. Everywhere I look I see rare cars. And the best thing is it’s apart from the spotlight shining on Monterey and Carmel. This is right up my alley.”
“Are you a car guy?”
I put my hand on her arm, and stop her in her tracks.
“Am I a car guy?”
I lift my forearm for her to see my tattoo. It’s a Cobra snake.
“This is my favorite tattoo. Do you know what it signifies? What car it represents?”
“No. But I want to hear that story.”
We’ve reached our destination.
“Let’s go inside, and I’ll tell you.”
I let her lead the way up the three wooden steps. This place appeals to me. It looks like a pocket-sized house that belongs in a forest somewhere.
Opening the door, I follow her through.
A friendly rosy cheeked girl with long blonde braids approaches. “This way.”
She lightly touches my arm. She’s a little too friendly, and I see Bliss notice and let out a little laugh. We follow her to the back of the restaurant, where an enclosed porch shelters two tables and chairs.
We are the only diners there.
“Is this ok?” the girl asks.
“It’s perfect.” I answer.
We’re handed menus, and left to our own company. We begin to search the choices.
“This place is charming, don’t you think?” Bliss asks.
She looks happy here, like she’s sharing a secret hiding place.
“It is. It definitely is.”
Suddenly I’m happy too.
She puts down her menu.
“I’d like a hazelnut latte and a scone.”
“That sounds right, me too.”
I love that she’s going to actually eat something. No lettuce leaves or skinny margaritas in sight. I signal to the waitress who comes to the table.
“Two lattes and scones, please.”
Braid girl jots down our choices. She doesn’t try to conceal her meaningful gaze as she leaves to fill our order. But my interest is with the woman sitting across from me.
Bliss points to my arm.
“Now tell me about the Cobra.”
“My father was a respected stuntman in films and TV for over fifty years. But before he was a stuntman he was a race car driver. Before he was a driver he was a mechanic. And he worked for a man called Carroll Shelby.”
“I’ve heard of him of course. He’s been honored here many times, at the Concours and the racetrack.”
“You probably know he was the creator of the Cobra car, one of the most famous cars in automotive history. My dad played a role in that story. He was the engine shop manager, a mechanic and the show car manager at Shelby American from start to finish.”
“That’s awesome. So it’s in your blood, and you’ve honored him with the tattoo.”
“Yes, but that’s not the whole story.”
“Tell me.”
I like that she’s really listening intently. There no cell phone interruptions, no quick glance at something behind me, no loss of eye contact.
“When Elvis Presley was going to make “Viva Las Vegas,” Colonel Parker, Elvis’ manager, called Carroll Shelby asking for the use of his Cobras for the race scenes. Carroll said ‘yes, but you have to use my drivers.’
So my dad and one other guy went to Vegas, and did all the stunt driving in the film. So the Cobra played a role in both of his passions, racing and stunts. And to this day he’s still collecting residuals on that film.”
“What? What year was that?”
“1962.”
“I’m beginning to see the stunt business is very profitable.”
“It can be, if you build a reputation and you’re good at what you do.”
She smiles when she asks, “Would you say that’s true about you?”
I smile right back.
“I wouldn’t be able to answer that. You’d have to ask the people who know me.”
We are mercifully interrupted by the braid girl. She has the scones and lattes, sets them down and exits.
“What about you Bliss? What fills up your life?” She takes a moment to consider the question.
“Basically, my company markets exceptional real estate properties. The best of the best. We film multimillion dollar estates, to spotlight their specific qualities, then showcase them to local, national and international marketplaces.”
“How did you get such a unique job?”
“I created it. It’s my company. I’ve been in business for ten years now. We’re based in San Francisco.”
“That’s really an accomplishment,” I say, and mean it.
She’s self-made, and self-supporting. She’s smart.
I hear the answers, but all I can concentrate on is her mouth. More specifically her full bottom lip. I’d like to be sucking on that right now.
She takes a bite of her scone, and motions me to follow. I do. She makes the happy eater sound. “Ummmm.” We laugh in unison.
The more I talk with her, the more layers I see. The face, the body, they’re only the facade. The gatekeepers to what lies deeper. This one could be trouble, could throw a curveball in what has been a successful way of life for me. I like my life as it is, and have no interest in changing it.
“And one of the perks of owning my own business is that I can spend as much time here as I please. I only go in to the city a few times a month. Really, everything I do can be done via my cellphone or computer.”
“You must have employees who you trust to be able to do that.”
“True. My best friend Nikki is my C.O.O., and I trust her with it all. She never comes
unhinged. That leaves me with time now to pursue other interests that had to wait before.”
“You mean relationships?”
“No. I didn’t mean that. I don’t think that’s something a person should avoid just because they’re nurturing a career. I meant looking at the thing you could be passionate about, but that you didn’t pursue. You know, Robert Frosts’ road not taken.”
“What’s that for you?”
“It’s not really something I want to share at this point.”
She says this with the confidence of someone who’s sure of themselves and can’t be pressed to say anything they don’t want to.
“Of course. But I’m a closet singer. I’m pretty much unmatched in the shower. Is your thing crazier than that?”
We both laugh, then sit quiet for a few moments. I like that she can be still, and be comfortable in that stillness.
“What about you? Have you managed to successfully avoid the horrors of relationships because of your job?” she asks, grinning.
“No, not really. But I have avoided marriage.”
“I’ve come to the same conclusion.”
“It’s not really a conclusion, just what I’ve experienced up to this point.”
“Well, you were smarter than I was. I married at eighteen. Too young for any rational thought. But luckily no children.”
She pauses for a few beats, and I watch as she drifts off to some hidden memory. But it’s a private journey, and it’s over before it can become uncomfortable.
I need to get back to the place we were before I stupidly asked her about the past. I lead with a smile.
“Bliss, how about I take us for a ride along the coast? I know you most likely have other plans, but if not, I’d love to take in this beautiful scenery with you.”
I see her consider the offer. I’m more concerned than I should be. That’s new. Very few females have ever said no to me. I don’t say that out of vanity. It’s fact, and one I’m grateful for. I love women, and they have loved me. And loved me. And loved me again. She’s taking longer to decide than I’m used to. I know I like that about her.
“We should definitely do that,” she says with conviction.
“Great. I’ll pay our tab, then run back to get the car. Pick you up in ten.”
I leave forty dollars on the table, not knowing exactly what the tab will be. She can decide on the tip. She should give blondie braids a good one. After all she brought us to this private porch where we were able to talk and listen without distractions. The only distraction was Bliss.
As I walk out of the Red House I’m tempted to turn and see if she’s watching. But I don’t. What’s happening? Who is this guy?
I’m back to the gym parking lot in less than five. I have incentive. I make it to my car, and fire it up. There’s no sound like the sound of a Cobra, and I’ve heard this one since I was a child.
It was my thirty-fifth birthday gift from my father. He knew I’d love it just as he had, since he drove it in “Viva Las Vegas.”
But today that engine sounds like the theme song of my psyche.
I pullout of the driveway. The Cobra takes the corner, and I see her ahead, standing, waiting. When I pull up to the curb she takes in the beauty of my ride.
“Very nice. What a beautiful blue. You look good in it. “
“Do you mind being out in the sun and wind?”
I get out, come around, and open the door for her.
“No. I prefer it.”
She slides in, and I get a good look at her legs as they navigate the interior. I feel a familiar tug. I return to my side and join her.
We take off and it feels like it does every time to me, unbound, powerful and somehow modern. But there’s a difference, a subtle shift in perception. She has added to the experience.
We pull away and take off toward the coast.
“I know I’m going in the general direction, but you’re going to have to be the navigator,” I say.
“I’ll be the guide. Let me take you to my favorite spot in Pacific Grove. Go down here to Forest, and make a left. It’s about a mile from there.”
I race ahead, the Cobra purring. It’s in its element. Cool weather, open roads and passengers that appreciate the exceptional drive.
I make the directed turn, and head down the road. We’re immediately met with an almost raw beauty. The sapphire-blue sea, the rocky shore and the neon purple of the blankets of ice plants all come together in an arresting scene.
We drive for a few minutes in complete silence. It would be wrong somehow to tarnish the moment with words.
I think she feels the same. Her body language is saying she’s relaxed and basking in the day. I almost wish we could drive on forever. If I didn’t need to kiss her so much.
“Here, turn right at that yellow post.”
I follow her directions and turn onto a narrow street. It winds closer to the water with every twist.
“This is my secret route, and this spot my touchstone.”
“I’m glad you’re sharing it with me.”
I follow the road till it narrows to a sandy clearing and a rocky path. I hear the crashing waves hiding somewhere beyond my sight.
“Ok, we’ve got to go down this path on foot. But it’ll be worth it. You up for that?” she asks.
Oh yeah, I’m definitely up.
“Sure. I want to see. Let’s go,” I answer instead.
We get out of the car, and lock her purse in the trunk. She leads me onto the path.
It’s very narrow, so she walks ahead of me. So far I have no complaints. She looks as good from behind as she does from the front. Her ass has a rounded high curve. In an instinctive reflex my cock moves. But it would do me no good to have a hard on when she turns around. I look away.
We round the last turn and I see it. The beautiful Pacific in all its glory. This is almost too beautiful to be real. To our left a wooden trail winds through the dunes, but today there’s no pedestrians to be seen.
The rocky shoreline stands watch against the relentless waves, and all along the narrow sandy beach are coves.
She turns and smiles.
“This is Asilomar Beach. Pretty great, huh?”
I put my hand on my heart. “Crazy beautiful.”
“Those coves are home to thousands of species, and it’s a protected sanctuary.”
We walk down to the sand.
“This is where I come when I want to think, or be alone or write.”
“Write?” I say.
She grimaces. “That was a slip. That’s my secret road. You’re a closet singer, and I’m a writer.”
The wind moves her hair in graceful wisps around her face. It’s hard to look at or hear anything else. The background scenery is no match.
“What kind of writing?” I manage to refocus.
“I’m an aspiring screenwriter. My ex was an actor, and I’d read his scripts. I thought I could do that. That’s my story. For the most part I’m self-taught.”
I’ve been asked to read a hundred unsolicited scripts. It rarely works out. I’m a stuntman, not a writer. That’s my stock answer. But not today it isn’t.
“Have you had any bites?”
“I’ve never shown them to anyone in the business, except for my ex. That’s the fatal flaw in my plan, right?” She laughs.
“But when I took some classes the instructors were very encouraging. Maybe they are to everybody. I don’t really know.”
“Do you think you’re any good at it?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“If you want some feedback I’d be happy to read one. I’ve read a thousand scripts in my life, and I know what it takes.”
What a hypocrite I am. But I’ll be a reader for her.
“No. Thank you anyway. It’s just for me.”
“Alright, but if it’s a passion of yours you should take opportunities when they come. In this business they’re rare. I’d be happy to introduce you to the writer, on our film. His name is
Albie Levine, and he’s our director too.
But your work will have to stand on its own. It’s just getting you the chance to have your work read and critiqued by a professional.” She mulls this over.
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
We return to silence, walking along the shore, dipping our toes in the icy water. I take her hand, and she doesn’t resist. Her skin is velvety, and makes me wonder if that’s what the rest of her feels like.
“I’ll think about it,” she absentmindedly repeats.
We walk and immerse ourselves in this private Eden. There are absolutely no other people on the entire stretch of beach.
I can hardly reign myself in. Everything about her arouses me. I turn her so that we’re facing each other. She doesn’t stop me as I draw her closer. For a moment we just look into each other’s eyes. I think hers say yes. I know mine do.
“I want to kiss you so much it’s just about killing me.” I tell her.
I don’t ask her permission, I just go for it.
It’s just a ghost of a kiss at first, but the sensation is electric. More intensely now. Oh Christ. Deeper and with lust, so much lust. It’s as if we’ve uncovered a hidden source of energy. If I thought I was hard before, what do I call this? I’m certain she can feel it against her.
We part for a beat, and I can see her nipples poking against her shirt, begging to be sucked. She’s aroused. Her breathing is quickened. I look around. There are no people, there are no houses, there’s no stopping us.
The sand is firm here, less loose grains to make their way up or in anything. But I’ve got my eyes on the cove behind us. I think out the entire scenario in a matter of seconds.
“I want you.” That’s all I say, because it says it all.
She looks at me with confidence in her eyes.
“Right here.”
That did it. I take her hand and lead her to the cove. There’s a close protected area where we can have at least a small amount of privacy.
I take off my T-shirt, and lay it on the sand. Bliss makes no objections. I unbutton my jeans.
“Yes?”
“Yes,” she answers.
I take off my jeans, and throw them to the side. My cock fights to break free from my shorts.