Rebel Betty

by Michaels, Carla

  She had not been this close to a man since the heady first days with Brett. Thinking about her former fiancé made a cold ball form in her chest. He was the first man she had ever loved, and perhaps part of her still loved him. And he had loved her, just not enough.

  But Brett was part of her past, left behind in California. This was her future. Mackenzie, the farm, and perhaps the man who had come so unexpectedly into her life. It was time that he knew about her complicated history. Not to tell him was perilously close to a lie.

  Just not today. She could not stand to see the light of interest die in his eyes, the warm admiration when he looked at her. The revelations would put an end to their budding romance, and perhaps the friendship as well.

  They spent an hour at the park, leaving when Mackenzie began showing signs of boredom and hunger. Thad located a restaurant with a deck that looked out over a smooth patch of grass. It was past the afternoon rush, and half of the tables were empty.

  After a quick glance around, they took a seat outside, allowing Kenzie to run through the lawn, returning every few minutes to have another sip of her drink or eat a French fry.

  He was buzzing with ideas. The small vacation from the site had reignited his enthusiasm, and he kept up a stream of conversation about his plans for the coming year. Lara sat back and listened, and she could not help but be struck by the way he spoke. It was never "his" dig, or "his" site, it was theirs, something that would be shared, as though she were already his partner on the journey.

  After their meal had been consumed, Lara visited the bathroom, walking past the waitress station on her way. After she was done, she looked in the mirror, smiling at how different the face was from that she would have seen two years or even two months ago. Color had flooded her cheeks and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She looked...happy, for the first time in a very long time.

  She rubbed at her arms, visualizing the lines of the tattoos that had once painted her skin. She could still see them, even if no one else could. Sometimes, when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, there was a moment of dissonance, expecting the long, curling black mane and cat’s eye makeup that had been her trademark look. At least she had stopped seeing her image on the covers of magazines and tabloids. That had been awful.

  She took the time to work out a few tangles in her hair before heading back to the table. It was time to visit the salon again soon. There was a streak of black beginning to show at the roots of her hair. "Black Irish" her father had always called them, their dark hair and eyes the product of Spanish sailors left stranded in Ireland after a failed invasion. She liked the browny red color it was now, but mostly because it formed an effective camouflage.

  As she returned to the table, a herd of teenagers was waiting to be seated, their uniforms dusty and covered in grass stains. She paused, and then cocked her head when she caught snatches of conversation from the two waitresses who were glancing out the door to the patio. Thad had Mackenzie on his lap and they were industriously coloring, the blonde curls of their hair mingling together, different shades of the same gold.

  “My ovaries just exploded,” one waitress said, brushing her pink tipped hair away from her face. She looked very young, hardly old enough to be working, let alone flirting with men decades her senior.

  “He’s hotttt,” Kelly, their waitress agreed. “Think she would notice if I slipped him my number?” She cocked her hip in a flirtatious manner. Clad in skintight yoga pants, the girl was undeniably attractive and Lara had watched her attempts to flirt with Thad during the course of the meal with annoyance.

  “She totally would,” Lara interrupted them, grinning maliciously when the two had the grace to look abashed.

  Although Thad tried to take the check when it was brought, Lara snagged the black plastic tray first, her reflexes lightening quick.

  “You promised I could buy you lunch,” she reminded him with a wink, leaving the waitress a 30% tip. Miss Yoga pants would probably be expecting her to walk off without paying a gratuity, and the generosity would annoy the hell out of her.

  “As long as you don't think I am one of those guys that put out on the first date,” he murmured. Mackenzie clung to his neck when he stood, and he carried her out of the restaurant.

  As they left, Lara caught the tender glances thrown at the charming pair from every corner of the restaurant. Tiny fingers were tunneling through the professor’s hair, and Mackenzie's face wore a peaceful smile. They looked like a family.

  Chapter 11

  Music was streaming from the barn.

  At first, groggy and blind without his glasses, Thaddeus had thought it was only the last remaining fireworks from the night before. Or gunshots from the fools down the road.

  It had been a hell of a 4th of July celebration, one that he would never forget, although in his mind, the small, fifteen minute pyrotechnic display put on by the town had been eclipsed by Lara wearing a red, white and blue striped bikini top and denim shorts. Starbursts of light from the sparklers illuminated her face as they sat together and drank beer. After the steaks were consumed, she sat on his lap. They had kissed and laughed, drank and kissed some more until a light sprinkling of rain had driven them apart, her back to the house and him to the trailer.

  Lara had offered to let him come inside, but knowing where it would lead, he had refused. The effort nearly killed him. He wanted her. Jesus, he wanted her. But there were only a few weeks left until the child custody hearing and it would make things a lot easier for Lara if they maintained some distance.

  And, more importantly, he wanted to do this relationship right. Jumping in the sack with her at the first opportunity would satisfy him on some level, but he wanted more.

  Opening the door of the trailer, he saw that the rain had stopped, leaving the grass with a light coating of moisture. Most of the clouds had blown over, and through breaks in the cover, he could see stars, many more than were visible in town. Except for the music, the night was peaceful. There were lights on in the house. A quick glance at his watch showed that it was not even midnight.

  The music seemed to be coming from the pole barn, the only place on the farm where he had never ventured.

  Pulling on his jeans and a rumpled t-shirt , he followed the sound of the music. Gravel crunched under his feet. A chorus of crickets filed the night with their songs, blending with the low murmurs of the sheep from the barn. A hint of some sweet scent played on the breeze, probably the old fashioned roses planted near the back door.

  The door was closed. He knocked, and then realized the pounding music would render it inaudible. He pushed open the door and walked inside, giving his eyes a second to adjust to the bright artificial light.

  His shoes squeaked on the shiny epoxy flooring. He paused to look around, and then had to bite back a low whistle at the sight of the car. A 1969 Dodge Charger in deep purple was shining in the dim light, polished and glossy. It was an amazing car, the kind he would never have been able to afford, even if he had saved for years.

  The motorcycle that occupied pride of place under the banks of industrial lighting was no less stunning. Although he had never owned one, he knew something about motorcycles, having brothers who could think of nothing else from the time they hit puberty. The restored Harley Davidson Knucklehead seemed to roar with life, its deep red paint like spilt blood and the chrome glowing. A monstrous engine bulged under the teardrop-shaped gas tank. The single bulbous light glistened, reflecting the lights overhead.

  Even a novice like himself could appreciate the beauty of the bike. Lara sat on the black leather seat with a cloth in her hand, polishing the chrome between the handlebars. The harsh lighting overhead played on her features, emphasizing the sharp lines of her cheekbones. Even her clothing was different from what she normally wore. It was still jeans and a t-shirt, but the pants looked as though they had been painted on and allowed to wear with age. High heeled black leather boots rested against the concrete. Her t-shirt was strategically slashed acro
ss the back, showing lace inserts while allowing the hints of her tattoo to shine forth.

  Suddenly, the pieces clicked into place: the motorcycle, the smile, the dark cat-eyes that seemed to hold a million secrets, and her resemblance to Bettie Page.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed, stunned into unaccustomed vulgarity. “You’re Rebel Betty.”

  Lara turned at the sound of his voice. "Who?" she asked, voice a study in careful nonchalance.

  She swung off the bike, seeming to be at ease although Thad noticed the involuntary tightening of her muscles when he spoke. The shoulder blades displayed by the black shirt pinched together, then loosened as she brought herself under control.

  “Don't give me that shit. I recognize the bike.” He stalked forward, suddenly so angry that he had difficulty keeping his voice from shaking. “My Teaching Assistant last year had a huge poster of you hanging in his cubicle. Rebel Betty, who built motorcycles for rock stars and dated them. Jesus Christ, I think I caught him beating off once, looking at it!”

  Lara turned to face him. In the high heeled boots, she was almost as tall as he was, and her finger poked him in the chest. “Don't you dare yell at me, Thaddeus Gilbert, or you can just get the hell out!” Her voice was furious.

  They glared at one another across an icy wall of resentment.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” He asked, no longer yelling. There was a ball of something cold in the center of his chest where his heart had just been. The past weeks with her had been a lie. All of it. She was not the sweet, sexy woman he had been falling in love with. She was not the hard worker, the farm girl with a heart of gold. She was not the woman he had thought about spending his life with.

  She was…a rock star. After learning from Scott that she was a local girl, he’d begun noticing her image, and seen her on the covers of a dozen magazines. Tabloids had printed her picture linked with a boozy, hard living rock star, their on-again, off-again relationship adding fodder to the gossip mill for years. When her company had been sold to the Japanese, it had made all the papers. Though the details were secret, there was speculation that she had made over ten million dollars from a company she had started in a garage.

  The shock of it was like finding out that Elvis was alive and changing oil at the local Walmart. He could not wrap his mind around it.

  “Tell you what, exactly? That I was her?” She pointed to the wall, where a life sized cardboard cutout of her draped over a motorcycle rested in a lifeless crumple, looking as though it had been used as a dart board. “That was the lie, I was never Rebel Betty. That was...duct tape and Photoshop and not being able to eat for three days. It's an image, nothing more, not reality.” Lara turned away, stalking over to the workbench, where the parts of an engine were spread out, each piece precisely organized.

  “Then what were you, Betty?”

  "Don't call me that," she snapped, and there were tears in her voice that dampened his anger more effectively than a bucket of water.

  "I'm sorry," he apologized, though he could still hear the anger in his words, feel it gathered in his chest like a hot coal. Part of him wanted to storm out, to hitch his trailer up and be gone before the morning dawned. She had lied to him.

  Then he paused, uncertain. Had she actually lied? Looking at her rigid back, he thought that maybe it had not been a true lie, only an omission. A huge fucking omission that could have been cleared up with a single sentence, "Oh, by the way, I am famous," but she had always avoided speaking of her past. Now, perhaps he could understand why.

  He made an effort to control his voice. "Can you talk to me about it? I'm really...confused." Confused was a good word for it. Along with angry, sad, disappointed and, though he tried to suppress it, turned on. Rebel Betty was the embodiment of a teenage boy's wet dream: beautiful, sexy, and slightly dangerous.

  She shrugged and returned to the bike. She hopped up, draping one impossibly long leg over the side while curling the other beneath her. Picking up the cloth, she began polishing the chrome again, her arm moving in small, tight circles.

  “Do you really care?” she asked, not meeting his eyes.

  “Yes, Lara.” She looked up at his use of her real name, not one millions had known her by, and his anger drained completely away at the sadness in her eyes. Whatever she had been in the past, Lara was the person in front of him now. The person that he wanted to be with. “I’m an asshole for yelling at you. But tell me who you really are.”

  Lara snorted. “You really want to know? I’m the girl who could barely pass high school English because I am dyslexic. The one all her teachers thought should be in special education classes."

  Abruptly, he was furious again. "Jesus Christ, would you stop talking about yourself like you are some kind of moron? You are a millionaire, for fuck's sake, off a business you started. If that isn't brilliant I don't know what is." He could not seem to control his mouth, or the anger that was bubbling like acid.

  She laughed, but it was a world weary, sad sound. "Brilliant, no. But I have a gift. Mechanical things make sense to me in a way that reading or history never did. Before my 8th birthday I could rebuild engines better than my dad. And I raced. I was good at it, I liked to go fast. So instead of studying for tests or going on dates, I traveled to every motorcycle builder and mechanic in the state with my dad, getting them to teach me what they knew. It made them all laugh, the skinny girl with grease on her face, but they taught me. I went to LA because that’s what people said I needed to do, to make a name for myself. Two years after I moved to California, I was making more money than my dad ever did as a farmer.”

  There was something very poignant about her, standing beside the motorcycle that had made her famous, talking about her triumph with tears welling in her eyes.

  “How did Rebel Betty come to be?”

  “I did the whole party scene for a while. I went to some athlete's party dressed as Bettie Page and the picture went everywhere. Like I said, I’ve heard about the resemblance for years. But I met an advertising executive there who wanted me to build a bike for him and I took part of the money in trade for help with marketing. He was the one who came up with it. Bad Girls making Baaad Bikes.” She drew out the syllables, rolling her eyes in derision. “It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard of, but it worked. He landed me a photo shoot rebuilding an engine dressed in a latex suit and people went crazy. Sales skyrocketed and I was trapped.” Lara turned and presented her wrists to him, held together as though bound with cuffs. “Suddenly I couldn't work in the shop any more, I might chip a nail. And God forbid that I wanted to have nachos for lunch, there was a photo shoot next week.”

  He could see how it happened. Her natural beauty and charm would have proved an irresistible temptation to someone who knew how to exploit them. "Golden handcuffs?”

  “Exactly.” She breathed out the word. “I made more money in those seven years than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams, but I was happier building with my dad in the back barn.”

  “I’ve never seen you ride,” he realized. “Even on the days that Mackenzie is gone.”

  “I have not ridden in almost a year. I can’t risk it. If something were to happen to me...” Lara bit her lip. Grief twisted her face, and tears began to fill her eyes that she ruthlessly blinked back. “And Will killed himself on the bike I made for him. The last one I ever built."

  “What about Brett McNair? Was that real?”

  “It was. At least for a little while.” She stood and turned to face him, and all of the shields were finally down. Her eyes gleamed suspiciously, but her chin was held at an angle, daring him to judge her. “You want to call me names now? Go ahead. I’ve heard them all. Slut. Sell-out. Groupie. Take your pick.”

  So many things finally made sense to him: the secrecy about her past, the conflict with the social worker, her money.

  “You are not a slut,” he said, voice rough.

  “Yeah? Then what am I, Professor? You tell me.”

  She
crossed her arms over her chest and for the first time he noticed the faint shadows of old tattoos on her arms, their color erased by a laser. She walked over and leaned her butt against the work table.

  The answer was on the tip of his tongue and tumbling out before he had time to consider if he was ready to reveal the depths of his fascination with her. “You are the person I want to be with.”

  Hope flared in the dark eyes, only to be replaced by skepticism. “Men say that all the time. For a night, for a weekend, that's all it means. I can’t do that kind of relationship right now, Thad. You know why. I have to think about Mackenzie.”

  “I have been thinking about her, too. That's why I have tried to keep my hands off of you, even though it has nearly killed me. But I can’t anymore and I am tired of trying. Besides, there is nothing casual about how I feel about you,” he said, stepping forward until he stood pressed in between her thighs.

  He leaned in until their noses were almost touching and his lips could brush against hers.

  “You are amazing. Beautiful. You gave up everything you had built to care for your brother’s child. I’m in awe. And Christ, I want you so badly that I ache.”

  “Is that because of…,” She pulled back and turned, gesturing to the leather clad Betty with darts for eyes.

  “God, no.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead in the curve of her neck. He inhaled, loving the way that her scent melded with motor oil and leather. That had always been the missing element, he realized, the scent he could not place. Lara was flowers overlaid with a machine shop. It was as unique a blend as the woman herself. “That‘s intimidating as hell, to be honest.” He edged closer until her body molded against his hard frame all the way down to her knees. The swell of his erection pressed into her ass. “I have been thinking about this since the first time I saw you.”