She gave Darla a solemn look. “One more stop and we’ll head back.”
That one more stop was the highway patrol barracks on New Braunfels Avenue. Bette had Darla stop and Bette got out and sashayed in through the front doors. No more than a minute later she came out arm in arm with a tall, heavy set man wearing a rumpled shirt and a loosened tie. He also had a clipboard.
“Oh my god…” Darla murmured. “That’s Hard Ass Jackson.”
“What?” But then I recognized the name. “Holy shit…”
Raymond (Hard Ass) Jackson was the single most feared driver’s license test giver in the state. He’d been at it going on forty years and was a household name.
Darla’s hands tightened again on the wheel, her knuckles once again white.
“He has a seventy-five percent fail ratio. There’s a kid in my class that still won’t try again since he drove around with him—my brother’s girlfriend went into therapy last year after he failed her.”
What the hell was Bette thinking?
Bette and Hard Ass Jackson stopped beside the car, chatting away like old friends. She gave him one of her full-throated laughs—and then snorted. I’d never heard her snort before. It was so dorky yet adorable on her.
Finally the two pulled out of their shared reverie and Bette said, “These are my friends: Hope and Darla. Girls, this is my Uncle Jackson.”
My mouth fell open, as did Darla’s. Hard Ass Jackson was her uncle?
The man smiled… well, he grinned, his hawk sharp eyes taking us in and assessing us. His gaze honed in on Darla.
“Little Bette here tells me you’ve failed nine times.”
Little Bette?
Darla’s mouth snapped shut with a click, and she bowed her head. “Yes, sir. I get kinda nervous.”
“And she says your boyfriend makes you even more nervous.”
Darla grimaced and nodded her head.
“Look at me, girl,” Hard Ass said.
Darla raised her head and looked him square in the eye.
“That’s better. Now, as for your boyfriend, young men get stupid when around pretty girls and about their shiny automobiles. When you mix the two don’t be surprised when they turn downright idiotic.”
Darla smiled, her dimples making her absolutely gorgeous.
He nodded his head toward Bette. “My niece here tells me she’s been working with you all afternoon.” He took a long, slow breath. “That alone should earn you a medal.”
Bette punched Hard Ass in the shoulder, which he ignored.
“Uncle Jackson!”
He shrugged and looked decidedly satisfied with himself.
“Don’t fuss, girl. I’ll be on my very best behavior for your little friend.” The big man opened the driver’s side door to the Cadillac and dropped gracefully down in. I was impressed with how easily he moved. I was also impressed at how his massive shoulders completely blocked his side of the windshield.
“Miss?” he said, and I realized he was talking to me. “Only Miss Monroe and I can be in the car during the test.”
Miss Monroe? Was Marilyn here?
Then it hit me he was talking about Darla. I vaguely remember reading that on her state ID when I’d photocopied it.
“Oh… sorry.” I got out of the car.
“Now don’t go too hard on her, Uncle Jackson. That’s one sweet little girl you’ve got there.”
Hard Ass turned his head and smiled. It was the smile of a great white shark, and it made both Bette and I take a step back.
“Don’t worry about a thing, little Bette. I’ll treat her as if she were my own niece.”
Bette pursed her lips, her hands balling up into fists. “Goddamn it, Jackson. You can’t do that to her!”
He just grinned as the window slid up and he motioned Darla forward with a wave of his hand.
Darla’s eyes were wide with terror, but she managed to put the Caddy in drive and
smoothly move out of the parking lot and into the thickening afternoon traffic.
“That bastard!” Bette groaned.
I stood next to her and watched as they drove away. “So what did he do to you when you went and tested out?”
Her jaw clenched. “He wanted to make sure his “little Bette” wouldn’t go and get herself killed on the open road.” She took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “He knew my daddy didn’t want me driving… and neither did my husband. So he decided to put me through a not so standard obstacle course.”
“How ‘not so standard’.”
“He had me driving through a junk yard while some of his guys jumped out from behind stuff, or rolled barrels in my path.”
“Oh…” Damn.
“I had to do my maneuverability test on the ice of a hockey rink.”
“Oh…” Double damn.
“And I had to parallel park in front of the capital building during rush hour.”
Darla was doomed. “What a guy.”
“Crazy old bastard!”
Chapter 18
Hard Ass Jackson and Darla had been gone for over an hour and a half. Bette and I sat impatiently in the lobby of the patrol barracks, trying not to wilt from the anemic air conditioning.
I was trying to get engrossed in an article in Reader’s Digest. It was written by Teller (of Penn and Teller). It was a good article about magic and deceiving people. I was reading it so if by chance I ever had, say, a magician try to con me, I’d at least have a fighting chance.
Bette was using a copy of Field and Stream to fan herself. Two uniformed patrolmen leaned by the water cooler and tried not to stare at Bette’s ample assets. But who could really blame them? Bette had the body of Dolly Parton… and the beautiful face too. All topped off with curly, fiery red hair, and she was wearing a particularly low cut top that showed off her impressive décolletage to its best advantage.
A phone rang and after the third ring it occurred to one of the water cooler patrolmen to answer it. He tripped and spilled his untouched water all over the counter.
Bette sat serenely, a small, satisfied smile on her pretty face.
Bette’s white Caddy rolled to a stop outside the front door and Darla sat there for a moment, listening to Hard Ass Jackson intently as he spoke.
Bette leaned into me and held onto my arm. She was thinking the same thing I was: what the hell was he saying?
Hard Ass handed Darla a slip of paper—she looked down at it, seriousness etching her creamy young complexion.
“I should have never brought her here…” Bette whispered.
Darla turned and looked at us, and ever so slowly, a wide, devastatingly bright smile spread across her lips.
Hard Ass was already out of the car and heading for the front doors to the barracks. Darla opened her door, jumped out and flying tackled the old giant of a man, hugging his neck and kissing his cheek.
He stood there frozen for a moment, and then he rolled his eyes as a grudging smile overtook his face.
Bette slumped back in her seat. “Oh, thank god!” She slid on her shades again. “Should have known the old man wouldn’t have a chance against that girl; she has the charm of an angel, a movie star, and a politician, all rolled up into one.”
I smiled. “Yeah, she’s going to be the spitting image of you someday.”
Bette pursed her lips. “There’s only one of me, Hope. There will be no second generation.”
I turned to hide my smile. Darla and Bette were cut from the same cloth. That’s why they got along so well so quickly... once they made nice.
After Bette thanked Hard Ass—I mean, her Uncle Jackson—we piled into Bette’s trusty Caddy and headed to the DMV. We lucked out and there wasn’t a line, and before we knew it Darla was sitting to get her picture taken.
I would have suggested she come back when she’d had time to do her hair and change into something more fashionable… but it was Darla, and she would have looked good rolling out of bed and into a potato sack.
All she had to
do was smile.
Dimples…
###
Darla and Bette both wanted to celebrate with ice cream. And, of course, the closest ice cream joint was Crickster’s.
Drat, drat, double damn it to hell…
I hadn’t told Bette about that particular “date.” But I didn’t want to sully the celebratory atmosphere by begging off from ice cream. I mean, I’m a girl! No matter what has happened in the past, nothing on this earth should be able to lessen the wonderfulness of going out for ice cream.
Plus I’d been going to Crickster’s since I was seven. I so wasn’t going to let the memory of one little pseudo-date ruin it for me.
I just wasn’t!
Darla drove, and pulled into the ice cream parlor parking lot, almost mowing down a gaggle of little pre-teen Miss Texases. I’d held my breath, but Bette snorted her approval.
Darla was going to be a menace… just like Bette.
We moseyed on up to the order window: Bette got a soft-serve chocolate chocolate-dip. It wasn’t even in a waffle-cone! I just stared, not believing she had ordered soft-serve at an ice cream parlor.
It was un-American.
Darla ordered a strawberry shake and a small pistachio waffle cone. I could live with that.
I ordered my usual: a chocolate chip cookie dough double scooped waffle cone, and once our order was filled we congregated around an open picnic table. The sun was high and hot, and I sat and watched as Bette and Darla demolished their ice cream. I looked down and found my hand dripping with melted goodness. I gave my cone a cursory lick, the usually mouthwatering delight was sickly sweet on my tongue.
I got up and ditched the cone in the trash, going back to the order counter for a diet coke and a wet wipe.
I stood there a moment, wiping my hands off, and a sly, dry Texas wind blew past me, touching me all over, like the gentlest of lovers. It made me close my eyes, breathing in deep of the smell of pine trees and dust. And I could swear I heard Shania warbling that certain tune again. As the wind blew around me like a mini twister, I felt myself get lost in a memory.
Jake’s strong arms around me as we slow danced, not even ten feet away from where I stood now.
If I tried hard enough, could I smell his aftershave?
I shook my head and the memory vanished. Slowly opening my eyes, I took in the near empty parking lot. No one was here except Darla, Bette, and me.
Jake was not here…
That’s when a sleek, midnight blue 68’ Mustang roared into the lot. It shone like it was new, and rumbled like there was a pride of lions pacing around under the hood.
It stopped right in front of me, and I realized I recognized the two people sitting in it.
Billy and Georgia.
Well, hot damn. He’d actually gotten her to go out with him. But I remembered the “Just to talk,” Georgia had interjected in there when she’d first agreed.
Billy looked like he was ready to pant like a happy Great Dane. Georgia looked confused and wanting to be anywhere but where she was.
I waved when their two sets of eyes spotted me. Billy smiled broadly, looking too happy to live, and then he glanced over at Georgia and his smile turned Big Bad Wolf again; which reminded me I needed him to model for me sometime in the next couple weeks so I could get my next cover put together. From the look on her face I was seriously doubting Georgia would be joining him. Hopefully Billy knew more than just one girl…
The working title for the novel was Red’s Big Bad Wolf. It was an erotic retelling of the fairytale, set in modern-day New York City. Red lives a quiet, Sex and the City kind of life, a customer service rep for Prada by day, a cyber sex-advice columnist by night. That is until the night she runs afoul of a local werewolf pack Alpha. Turns out Red is a badass Wicca with a temper and a talent for catching things on fire: especially overbearing, arrogant alpha werewolves.
Red tames the Alpha boy’s beast, and bondage fun abounds. Her grandmother ends up being a werewolf hunter, though, and a wacky will she kill him, will she not plot blends into the endless rutting, spanking, and overall mess making.
Janine had high hopes for it to sell big.
I watched with interest as Billy leapt from the driver’s seat of his shiny beast, gave me a wave and a sexy smirk/eyebrow wriggle, and then jogged on over to open Georgia’s door for her.
Oh boy…
Billy opened her door, but she refused to let him help her out off the car.
“Hi guys,” I said as Georgia looked uncomfortable and tugged at the cute little silky top she had on, to make sure it was covering every possible inch of her lithe, curvy frame.
“Hi Miss Jones,” Georgia said. She walked over to where I stood, and looked relieved to be around someone other than Billy.
“I see he talked you into ice cream after all.” I prodded.
She looked over to where Billy was polishing a fingerprint from his metal beast, then to me. “I don’t know what to say to get him to back off.”
Oh…
“I mean, he’s nice and all, but I like Adam too much to…” She shrugged a shoulder and sighed. “I’ve even tried setting him up with a couple girls I know. They were willing, but he shut them down before I could even introduce them.”
Billy stopped to say hello to Darla and Bette sitting at the picnic table. Of course he’d know Darla. They were practically the same age.
I stepped closer to Georgia. “I don’t mean to come off all knowledge lady…” God knew I’d screwed my love life up to the point of implosion. “But I’d say you need to be as honest and direct with him as possible. If he hasn’t a chance in hell of getting you, then you need to let him know.” She looked at me and frowned. “And no sugar coating it. Blunt is best, especially if he’s not really hearing what you’re saying. Make sure there’s no wriggle room in what you’re saying.”
Georgia’s expression turned thoughtful, and then she rolled her eyes in frustration.
“I just don’t want to hurt him. I’ve known him almost my entire life, and he’s such a good friend to Adam…”
Billy waved goodbye to Darla and turned toward us. The Big Bad Wolf glowed in his eyes, and his smile was just lecherous.
Georgia gulped audibly. “Maybe you’re right.”
Billy swaggered over to us like a cowboy coming in from a long day of roping calves. With a visible effort he pried his gaze from Georgia to look at me.
“Hi there, photographer lady.”
“Hey Billy.” I smiled, trying to put as much happy in it as I could muster. I didn’t think I had much of that left in me, but I should at least try. Especially when talking to a model prospect. “So do you think you could come for a photo shoot sometime this week? I need to get a new cover ready.”
His pouty lips pursed as he mulled this around in his head. “Sure,” he said, absently scratching his broad, cotton clad chest. The deep green of his shirt made his eyes practically sparkle like emeralds.
“And if you can manage to bring a pretty girl with you?” I cajoled.
He glanced Georgia’s way and his smile deepened.
Damn…
If he wasn’t the perfect Big Bad Wolf, then I might need to turn to girls.
The thought kind of left me confused… and strangely warm inside.
Again with the head shaking. I needed to get these crazy ideas out of my head.
After all, I’d only had a big girl crush once, and that was on a fictional character: Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Alyson Hannigan is a lovely, beautiful actress, but I only had the yearning for her when she was the werewolf loving Wicca who turned lesbian halfway through season four.
Again I shook my head and blinked my eyes, trying to get the crazy to fall out of my head.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Billy said, licking his thick, pouty lips. “I’ve still got your card, so I’ll call you.”
“Perfect.”
I felt bad as he turned away and pulled Georgia into his wake, steering them toward
the order window. He didn’t have a chance at getting Georgia.
I sighed and headed over to the picnic table. Bette and Darla were finished with their ice cream, and Darla was on her cell phone telling Drew to pick her up at my house. She sounded sad as she said goodbye.
I looked askance at her.
She perked right up. “I want to surprise him with already having my license.” She smiled naughtily.
Bette snorted. “She wants to rub his cute little nose in it too.”
Darla shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
The two looked at each and burst out laughing.
“Maybe more than a little,” I said, and we headed back to Bette’s Caddy.
Chapter 19
In celebration of her passing the driver’s test, Bette conceded control of her Sirius satellite radio to Darla. We were treated to Fall Out Boy Light(ing) it Up, Kelly Clarkson sounding angry and liberated about People Like Us, and finally Pink hamming it up, singing that she’d just lost her husband, and didn’t know where he went…
It was at this moment that we rolled onto my block, and I closed my eyes and thanked god we’d somehow made it home all in one piece, and without even putting a scratch on Bette’s high priced automobile.
When I opened my eyes I saw a strange sight in my side yard, the one facing away from Bette’s house.
A tall, broad shouldered young man stood next to my sycamore tree, pulling off a white t-shirt, exposing not only luminous caramel colored skin, with some of the nicest, sculpted musculature I’d seen, but some swirly, multicolored tattoos curving down his right arm.
I felt myself straighten in my seat, and I leaned closer to the window to watch as the now shirtless man bent over—wow… that’s one nice bubble butt!
“Oh my…” Bette said breathlessly.
“Ah… who is t-t-that?” Darla stammered in the same tone of voice, and then reddened in embarrassment.
And then this veritable god stood up wielding a large yellow chainsaw, which he yanked the start-up chord on, widened his stance, and then started taking aim at the base of my tree.
That fucking lunatic was going to cut my tree down!
Love Him: A Love Him, Hate Him, Want Him Novel Page 13