by M. R. Joseph
Oh, God, I seriously want to bang my head against this window. If it’s going to be this boring all summer long, next year I’ll stay home. I’ll get a permanent job somewhere in the city. It’ll be a lot more exciting with all the drug dealers and gang members, that’s for sure. I’ll miss this though. The shore house, the summers with no worries. Fuck worrying. Oh, whoa, oh… Oh… Looks like my night just got better. Look at this car driving 10 mph and swerving back and forth. Holy shit, I may just have hit the jackpot. God damn drunks. I have to pull out and start flashing those pretty lights.
Thank God they’re pulling over, and I don’t have to chase them. A car chase would be super cool. Never did one of those before. That will have to wait for another day. The person shut their car off, but left their lights on. The sand and gravel beneath my feet is noisy as I approach the car. I tap on the window. The headlights from my car shine straight through the drunk’s car, which I know will piss this asshole off to no end. Drunks have no patience. Ask my crack-head mom. Did I mention she’s a drunk too? The drunk rolls down the window. It’s a chick, but I only see her profile. The bright lights are blinding her, so she stares straight ahead, squinting at the reflection of my headlights in her rear-view mirror.
“License and registration, please. Have you been drinking this evening?”
She speaks quietly as she rummages through her glove compartment for her car registration.
“No, no sir. I’m lost. I’m on my way to my rental house and I have no idea where I’m going. It’s only the second time I’ve been to this shore point.”
Oh, man, I don’t need her whole God damn life story.
“Just give me your license and registration first please, then we can discuss this.” She hands it over, her head down. I snatch it from her hands and take a look. I shine my flashlight down onto the license.
Then I feel it. The dropping of my stomach. The undeniable shock as I look at the name on the license.
Holy fucking shit. Her name is Harlow. The name swirls around in my head, makes me dizzy still. A year later.
Harlow, as in the girl I fucked in the bathroom of one of the bars down here last summer. Harlow… Harlow. Still to this day, I find that name so odd. Guess that’s why it stuck in my head, my smaller head actually. Who the fuck names their kid Harlow? Then again, who names their kid Raphael. Oh, yea, that’s right. My crack-head mother.
Still, it’s her. I will never forget her or that tight as fuck pussy of hers. She never gave me her last name, so I had no idea where to find her. If I can remember that night after the dozen and a half beers I had, I’d go back for seconds. It doesn’t happen often, well actually, not really at all, but you don’t forget a hot-pocket like hers. What I also remember is that she was cold, bitchy, but she was dominant and had complete control over the situation. I recall the major headache I had later that night, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. Instead, it was from the constant pulling of my hair as she hung on to it as I lifted her ass and legs and slid my cock in. It was single-handedly the hottest thing I have ever done in my life; fuck a stranger in a bathroom, not giving last names. I’ve practically done it all. You name it, I’ve done it, and then some. Sometimes two at a time, but this was new for me. If I remember correctly, it was the same way for her, just for a fuck, to get in, and you heard it before my friends, to get off, and to get out.
That little light bulb goes off above my head.
Revenge is sweet, just like that snatch of hers. I silently laugh inside, and I feel like a mad scientist ready to have his experiment come to life. Cue my maniacal laugh.
Harlow Hannum.
Hannum.
“Miss Hannum, will you please step out of the car and make your way to the back of your vehicle.”
She starts to protest and with an attitude. Imagine that. I stand with my arms securely crossed over my chest, legs slightly apart, in an intimidating stance mind you.
“Sir, I haven’t done anything wrong. I was going slowly because I was looking for the street my rental house is on. I may have swerved a few times, but that’s because I dropped my phone on the floor of my car and I was trying to pick it up. I’m not drunk.”
I clear my throat to scare her. Miss Pissy Pants puts her head down and lets out a sigh.
“I’ll be the judge of that Miss Hannum. Please step out of the vehicle.”
She reluctantly steps out with her head still down and makes her way to the back of her car. I pull my hat down a little further. No way am I having this chick recognize me. Maybe she wouldn’t anyway, but I’m not taking that chance.
She tries to turn to look at me as I make my way back towards where she is standing. I can tell she’s wearing glasses, and her hair is pulled up in a ponytail.
“Sir, if you would just let me explain.”
“No need to right now, Miss Hannum. I’m going to give you a sobriety test. If you fail, you are coming down to the station with me for a blood alcohol test. Do you understand?”
She nods. I notice she’s acting shy, not looking up at me, and submitting to my demands. That’s a totally different girl than the one I screwed. Do you have any idea how many times over the last year I jerked off to that scenario? Hmm, let me count! ALOT! All I know is this is going to be fun!
“Have you ever had a sobriety test before, Miss Hannum?” Her side is to me, and she’s leaning against the car, but is still refusing to look up. I’m praying she hasn’t had one before, so she doesn’t see straight through my plan.
“No, sir. I have not.”
Ohh, her calling me sir makes my cock twitch.
“Then you have no idea what’s involved. Is that correct, Miss Hannum?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
Thank God.
“I have never been pulled over before. If you just check my driving record, you will see that I have never even had a ticket. I’m a teacher, sir, and I can’t afford to have a blemish on my record.”
A teacher, she tells me. Now stop and wait a damn minute. Back up the truck. That just made our whole encounter last year so, so much hotter. I fucked a teacher in a bathroom of a bar, didn’t know her last name, and now I’m pulling her over. Where the fuck is David Lee Roth when you need him to serenade you?
“Fine, Miss Hannum. You will do everything I tell you to do. First, I need you to face sideways and close your eyes. Then I need you to extend your arms outward, take each of your index fingers and touch the tip of your nose, and return them to the outward position.” She sighs. She fucking sighs like she’s annoyed. I have to laugh to myself because I’m enjoying watching her be miffed. She does what I say. I bite the inside of my lip as I watch her. That’s it, dirty girl, do as I say.
“I need you to walk along the edge of this grass line with one foot in front of the other.”
She does what I tell her with a little less annoyance.
“Fine, Miss Hannum. Now please close your eyes and recite the alphabet.” She crosses her arms, pushing up those nice, big chesticles as she does so. I immediately make her stop.
I say in my cockiest voice, “Backwards, Miss Hannum, backwards. You’re a teacher. It shouldn’t be that difficult.”
“Are you serious?” She answers in a high pitched squeal.
“As a heart attack, Miss Hannum. Now proceed.”
And she does it. She fucking recites the alphabet backwards. That’s fucking hot.
“Very good, Miss Hannum. Now I need you to repeat after me, dum what diddy, diddy dum, diddy do.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Oh, she’s feisty. Me likey.
“Language, Miss Hannum. Now do as I say or I will be forced to handcuff you and take you down to the station.”
Side note: handcuffing her sounds pretty cool right about now.
“Ugh, fine.” She repeats it, and I so want to laugh right in her face. That’s what you get for being a hot, fan-fucking-tastic lay with the blood as cold as a snake.
“We are almost done. Next thing is I nee
d you to stand by your car, turn and face the back of the vehicle, and perform the moves to the Macarena.”
She turns suddenly and throws her arms in the air. When she does so, her shirt rides up the slightest bit to reveal her flat stomach and belly button. Her shirt hangs off her one shoulder. Her skin shines from the lights, and it looks soft. My dick so badly wants to escape into her vertical smile, so I do my best not to look at it like it’s a piece of taffy I want to lick. I silently plead to Morty, my penis.
Now is not the time boy, behave, and I will get you a treat later.
“Is this some kind of a joke? I’ve had a rough night. I’m lost. My phone died, and I’ve been driving for over three hours. My friends expected me to be here hours ago.”
She’s so flustered, and I’m enjoying every fucking second of it. I lower my voice an octave.
“This is no joke. This is how we do things at the Jersey Shore, ma’am. Now just do it.”
And she does. She’s so God damn submissive. Guess she’s not as smart as she looks. She shakes her ass and does all the moves associated with that stupid-ass dance. I remember those moves, the way her ass shook that night at the bar. My dick was at full attention, and the memory of it is making my pants a little tighter now. Shit, I can’t have a boner while I’m giving her a sobriety test. I better bail, even though she keeps doing the dance, jumping from spot to spot, and then repeats it. Oh, God am I going to have some stories for the guys tomorrow.
“Ok. You are finished, Miss Hannum. Please return to your vehicle while I call in your license and registration.”
She turns to me, so I turn my head towards my patrol car when she speaks.
“Wait, if I’m not mistaken, aren’t you supposed to do that before you give me a sobriety test?”
Oh, crap, she’s on to me. Think Cruz, think with that handsome head of yours.
“We do things differently here at the shore, Miss Hannum.”
She doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest. She just goes and sits in her car. I have no intention of calling this in. She’s obviously not drunk. Her explanations make sense. I wait a few minutes, check my phone for texts, there are none. Everyone is most likely passed out. I get out and travel back to her car to hand her her things back. I pull my hat down a little more and try not to make eye contact with her.
“Here are your things, Miss Hannum. I strongly suggest you make sure that when traveling long distances, your phone is completely charged and if it drops on the car floor, either pull over to retrieve it, or leave it there. You should be smarter than that, being a teacher and all.”
She looks up at me, and for a nanosecond our eyes meet. My blues with her blues, surrounded by black horn rimmed frames. Hot for teacher, baby, hot for teacher. She still doesn’t recognize me.
“Thank you Officer… Cruz. You know, for a split second you looked familiar to me. Do I know you from somewhere?” She looked at my name tag.
R. Cruz. Glad it doesn’t say our first names. As soon as she’s done looking, I bow my head.
I’m done messing with her.
“No, that’s impossible. I live here, and you obviously don’t. Have a good night, Miss Hannum. Stay safe.” I think I just dodged a bullet. She shrugs and turns the ignition on her car.
“You know I’m still not sure of the way you conduct things here Officer Cruz, but do you know where Barnacle Lane is? That’s the street my rental house is on.” Now I’m frozen.
Is there a hidden camera here, in the street light, in a tree somewhere? This is impossible, unimaginable, and just plain old mother fucking insane.
“What’s the house number?”
“1027.”
“I happen to know exactly where that is, Miss Hannum. Just follow me.”
***
CHAPTER 2
Now I Know Why They Call Cops ‘Pigs’
Harlow~
Patrol car number… check. Badge number… check. Last name of the bastard who totally embarrassed me with his, ‘I’m the law, now bow down to me, ‘cause I’m about to make you look like an ass with my fake sobriety test’ attitude… check. I know what I’m doing first thing in the morning. I’m reporting the grade-A ass of a cop. He may think I was the deer-in-the-headlights, never getting pulled over before, but when I get his ass canned, he’ll know better. That’s really all I needed to end this horrific night. I’m tired. I’m cranky, and he messed with the wrong girl. Willow and the rest of the girls are probably so worried, unless they’re drunk and don’t even realize I’m late. I should have been there three hours ago. Last summer when I came down for the weekend with Willow, she drove, and of course, I didn’t pay attention. My nose was most likely stuck in a book. Studying for the Praxis was a bitch. So was student teaching, but I loved it. They were amazing kids, and I’ll miss them, but since it all went so well, I pray that they will hire me before the end of the summer. For now, I just want this summer to be relaxing before I enter into the real world. I want to sleep till noon if I want. I want to go to the beach, read, drink, and just have fun. I want a no-worry, stress-free summer. God knows these past few years have been horrific, for reasons I can’t allow myself to think about right now.
This cop is going so fast, someone should pull him over. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m bringing this jerk down.
Dickcop, yep new name for him, pulls up to the address I gave him. Dickcop is rolling down his window and sticks his hand out to point to the house. It’s a three-story twin, with a huge deck on the top floor, spanning the length of the front of the house and the house attached to it. There are parking spots under the deck that are now occupied, so I guess my car will be ok if I park in front of the house. I can still see a few people on the deck. Red solo cups as far as the eye can see cover tables, and the only lights that are on are the ones on the street illuminating the deck. Guess I missed a good party. I get out of the car, and I can smell the salt in the air, and the distant, sweet scent of cotton candy from the boardwalk. I inhale as droplets of memories flood my senses about the last time I was here. They are blurry, but I didn’t forget. I can feel my cheeks heat up, and all I can do is shake my head.
I see a guy in a short, black mohawk peek over the railing. He doesn’t spot me yet.
“Who’s down there?” I look up at him as he notices Dickcop’s car. Dickcop is ignoring him. He’s now backing up his patrol car, and rip roars it down the street. Nice. Doesn’t even wait to see if I get inside okay. So much for depending on the safety of law enforcement. That just solidifies the fact that cops are pigs. Bacon bits, pork heads, I can’t think of another analogy right now. My head hurts.
“Hey, who are you? Is that Cruz?” Mohawk man yells down to me.
“Harlow.”
“Harlow…” He taps his finger to his chin, squints his eyes, and takes a sip from his cup. “Harlow, oh, Willow’s friend. You are in big trouble, Missy. She’s been having a heart attack waiting for you.” Mohawk man smiles. I roll my eyes. I knew it. Willow is so high strung, and I’m surprised she didn’t have a search party out looking for me. I pop my trunk and grab my suitcase. When I close the trunk and look back up towards mohawk man, he’s gone. Second man tonight who has the manners of a Neanderthal. Twenty three year old guys are assholes. I spin around after retrieving my suitcase, and standing there, hand extended out to me, is mohawk man.
“Max Vincent. Nice to meet you.” I return the gesture.
“Nice to meet you. Harlow Hannum.”
“You are in the dog house with that crazy friend of yours. She’s nuts, you know that right?”
I chuckle because his statement is right on the nose.
“Yes, this is true. I’ve known her since the 6th grade.” I give him a half-smile.
I know she’s nuts. Now a stranger knows it too. Way to make a good first impression, Willow.
“Well, I’ve known her for less than a day, and I too know this is true. Let me grab that suitcase for you. Anything else I can bring up?”
Max see
ms like a nice guy. Cute, polite, and I dig the close-cropped mohawk, his ‘Keep Calm and Party On’ t-shirt, and the black Chuck Taylor’s. “I’m good. Just have to get a box of stuff from the back seat.”
“Ok, great. I’ll carry this up for you.”
Max grabs my suitcase and begins to walk up a flight of wooden steps that are located beside the house I’m staying in. It’s dark so I’m not really sure what the house is like. There are a lot of windows, that I can tell. We reach the top, and I follow Max through a sliding glass door which leads to a kitchen. I see Willow sitting there with our other friend, Thea. She turns and just the way she looks at me, makes me think, yep, I’m in big trouble. Max turns to my ear and whispers, “Certifiably crazy. I feel bad for ya.” He winks at me and flashes a smile.
“Harlow Hannum, where in the hell have you been? I was ready to call the cops.” She hops up and stalks towards me, grabbing my shoulders, and I can faintly smell the scent of hops and barley on her breath.
“No need, I was just with them. I got pulled over.”
“Why would you get stopped by the cops? What did you do?” Willow asks in a tone a mother would use to scold a teenager. She flips her long, blonde hair over one shoulder and takes an autocratic stance before me.
“Nothing. He thought I was drinking and driving, but I bent down to get my phone that dropped on the floor of my car. I may have swerved off the road a bit.”
“Great, Har. You are in town for five minutes and already have a run in with the fuzz. Am I going to have to put a leash on you this summer?”
“First time in Sandy Cove I take it.”
“No, Mr. Mohawk. It’s not her first time. We were here last summer, stayed at the Beach Comber Inn,” Willow spews at Max, obviously annoyed with his questioning.
“Were you invited into this conversation what’s-your-name… Max is it?” Willow says with attitude.
“Geez, bring it down a notch, Miss Crazy Pants. I helped her with her suitcase.”
“Willow, relax. The cop, who pulled me over, led me here. I was lost, and he knew where the house was. Max was on the deck and asked who I was when I pulled up.”