by Bill Orton
“No one would buy it if you did,” said December, with a chuckle. “And I don’t do porn, driver-girl.” December looked toward Larry, almost tenderly. “I make people happy. And I don’t hurt anyone, or steal anything.”
“This car isn’t stolen,” yelled Lori.
“Then how come it’s registered to some man in Hermosa Beach, huh?” said December. “Like I don’t know how to open a glove compartment. You think I’m stupid?” December aimed her corn chip bag towards Larry, who reached in for a handful.
“My District Manager loaned me this car during my vacation,” said Lori, an air of nervousness in her voice. December leapt at it.
“Who borrows someone’s car on vacation?” said December. “I thought you were Miss Manager? Can’t you afford to rent one or are you just a manager who doesn’t get paid more then anyone else, but has to work twice as bard?” December took a long sip, puckering hard and releasing the straw with a pop.
Alongside the convertible, a California Highway Patrol cruiser kept pace with Lori. She glanced several times to the left. The cruiser sped up and weaved through traffic.
“Should I just wave my arms for him to come back?” said December, nodding with her chin towards the CHP cruiser now several truck lengths ahead.
“Why?” said Lori. “So... so they can get you for indecent exposure?”
“My exposure is more than decent, as your man will find out when he’s holding the camera during our little show,” said December, looking straight to Larry.
“Stop, please,” said Larry. Both women said nothing more. After a few seconds, Larry repeated, “No, I mean, stop... please... pull over.” Lori signaled, taking the convertible across two lanes before stopping on the shoulder. December quickly opened the door, jumped out and flipped the seat forward. Larry struggled to make it out, retching as soon as he was outside.
“Poor bracito,” cooed December, her hand on his back. “Must be her cooking.”
.
U.S. Interstate Five is a study in the lesson that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. The Five cuts through California’s great central valley, like a chalk line from the Tehachapi Mountains which separate Los Angeles from Bakersfield and, beyond that, to Sacramento and, if one were to just keep going, into Oregon and Washington. Reduced swiftly to two lanes in each direction after descending from the Grapevine – the pass that traverses the mountains – the Five lures every driver to find out how fast their vehicle can move. Like Las Vegas, where abundant light wipes out all sense of time, the blackness of night driving on the Five leaves one unsure of time or distance.
“Where’s Harris Ranch?” asked Lori, as she drove past a marker citing the number of miles to Sacramento,
“Coalinga,” said Larry, sifting his way through the outstretched bag of assorted snacks that December held for him. “We’ll smell it before we see it.” He pulled a bag of trail mix from the sack. “Getting to appreciate this stuff,” he said, using his teeth to open the bag.
“Is Harris Ranch close to Sac? Far from Sac?”
“I don’t remember,” said Larry, as he picked through the trail mix, pulling out the M&Ms and raisins. “Just that we can see it from the Five.”
“I know,” said December, quietly.
.
December leaned her seat back to where it almost touched Larry’s legs, stretched across the back seat. “So what’s this history you have with driver-girl?”
“Been best friends since high school,” said Larry, who watched Lori’s head above the seat.
“You act more like married people,” said December, “except you still obviously have a thing for her, and married people never do when they’re old like you, so you must be telling the truth.”
“He doesn’t have a thing for me,” said Lori. “That’s just how he is after he’s carsick.”
December laughed.
“So what are you?” asked Lori. “A webcam girl? Or sex tapes? Or....”
“Naw,” said December, “I don’t do sex movies. Just pix and vids of me and my milkshakes.”
“Classy”
“No,” said December, quickly. “It is classy. I tell them, the producers, no sleazy stuff... just keep the fans happy with the F-cups.”
“The whats?” said Lori.
“Double F,” corrected Larry.
“I’m 32-double-F,” said December. “God gave me this. It’s His gift for me. Some people are smart, some people are strong, and some people are good looking... everybody’s got a gift. It doesn’t mean you’re better, but you go with what you got. I mean, what’s your gift?”
Lori didn’t answer.
“I’m not dissing you,” said December. “I mean, like, what do you bring?”
“I don’t know,” said Lori.
“You’re even headed,” said Larry. “You never lose it. You hold it together. Even when you and Lawrence were on the ropes, you never raised your voice.”
“How come you said Lawrence here, but you never called him Lawrence to his face? That used to drive him nuts, you calling him Larry.”
“Cuz I knew it got under his skin.”
“Even... well, dat’s something,” said December. “Good in a getaway person, I guess.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Lori.
“If you ever leave management,” said December, who turned to Larry. “How about you, hunny? What’chu got?”
“I don’t give up,” said Larry.
“Gag,” said Lori. “C’mon, Larry.”
“I don’t give in.”
“Dat’s not what I mean,” said December. “I mean, like, okay, my milkshakes won’t always keep the boys coming around... but they sure do now, so I figure, they’re real, they’re mine, no one’s forcing me... so I use what I was given. And if you’ve looked around... hello! It’s pretty tough out there, especially for a Dreamer, so if I can use what God gave me and I’m not hurting anyone and I make people happy, then what’s so bad about that? Dat’s what I mean.”
Turning to Lori, December went on. “You’re in some guy’s car. What did you do that got him to say yes? I don’t think borrowing a convertible is in the employee manual.”
“We stuffed Cheetos up his nose til he said yes,” said Larry, matter of factly.
“Okay, you’re funny, we got your gift figured out,” said December, turning to Lori. “I mean, you’re tall... you’re thin... bet you don’t have to work hard to stay thin. That’s something.”
“Well, I don’t eat shit,” said Lori. “And I swim everyday.”
“Oh, c’mon,” said Larry. “You don’t starve yourself.”
“I mean I don’t eat crap. What is everyone pouring in to themselves? Sugar, salt and fat.” In the moments after she spoke, the car was filled with the sounds of two people munching on chips.
“Okay,” said December. “So, tall, thin, natural. Doesn’t make you better, but those’re gifts. You know how many girls wanna be thin? And every girl lies and says she’s an inch taller then she really is.”
“Everyone around me thought they were better,” said Larry. “My dad, the people in my neighborhood. Everyone, except my Grandma.”
“I love your grandmother,” Lori said, absently. “Wish I understood what she was saying.”
“No you don’t,” said Larry. “The sarcasm is okay cuz it’s funny, but she is always afraid that something terrible will happen. When I told her at dinner about the gun people, it scared the shit out of her.”
“What do you mean, gun people?” asked December. “People with guns are chasing you? I don’t do guns.”
“No,” said Larry. “Some people came in to her business....”
“Open carry people,” said Lori.
“Open what?”
“They carry their guns around,” said Lori.
“Dat’s legal?”
“If they’re unloaded and you can see them, yeh, I guess,” said Larry.
“And they’re after you? I’m se
rious,” said December. “I don’t do guns. My ex used to wave his around. You can just take me back.”
“No,” said Lori. “I don’t do guns either. I grew up, guns all around. I’m sick of guns. Went into the army to get away from the insane shooters in my neighborhood.”
“She chased out a bunch of open-carry people from her business.”
“Brave. Or crazy. At least one of those is a gift,” said December. “So who is this Lawrence guy?”
“Bankerman?” said Larry.
Lori stared straight ahead. “We all went to school together,” she said, flatly. “He’s ancient history.”
“Actually, you’ll meet him on Monday,” said Larry.
“W-h-a-t-!” said Lori.
“I need someone I can trust on the whole money thing,” said Larry, defensively.
“Aw, man,” said Lori. “I thought I was done with him with the divorce.”
“It’s okay,” said December, soothingly. “He won’t pay any attention to you with me around.”
.
“Stop dere,” said December. “I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”
“We have a choice,” said Lori, pulling off the freeway. “Denny’s, or what’s that over there....”
Larry and December both chimed in for Denny’s. Lori slowed as cars and trucks weaved onto and off the road connecting the freeway to gas stations and fast food joints. She let out a deep sigh after parking and switching the engine off.
“C’mon, hunny,” said December, after exiting the car and flipping up the seat. She held out her hand to help Larry uncork himself.
“Oh, puh-leeze,” said Lori, under her breath.
As they waited for a table, Lori stood at a distance and occasionally glanced at December, looking her over. Larry and December spent their time talking and laughing together, his eyes staying largely on hers. The two were each smiling easily when the hostess showed them to a table. All three asked for coffee. December hummed softly as she looked over the menu. Larry flipped through the dessert display with seriousness as Lori excused herself and walked to the restroom.
“She believes in clean bathrooms,” said Larry.
December leaned across the table to Larry. “So,” she whispered, “is it the lottery, den? Is dat da big pile of money?”
A waiter approached the table, smiling at Larry and December.
“Hello, I’m Ollie. I’ll be helping you tonight,” he said.
December, as if Larry may not have been aware another person had drawn near, let out two “shh” sounds and quickly said, “Oh, hello... we’re waiting for someone... still need a minute.”
The waiter, with a look on his face that suggested recognition, stood frozen.
“You can go away now and bring three coffees,” said December. When Ollie left, she leaned across the table again and whispered. “So the lottery, huh?”
“Yeh,” said Larry. “I finally hit it.”
“You hit it?” said December, trying to hold her voice down. “Like, all the way, hit it?”
“Yeh,” said Larry, with a slight laugh. “Big…. Crazy big.”
“Oh, hunny,” said December. “So now you got two girls and dis big pile of money... yeh baby.”
Ollie approached with three white mugs.
Lori approached the table and before she could choose whether to sit with Larry or December, each got up for their trips to the restroom, leaving Lori to choose her spot freely. She sat and sipped at the one remaining black coffee on the table. She moved the other two cups across the table and slid the place settings so she had her side to herself.
“Was everything okay?” asked Ollie, as he rang up Larry’s payment and gawked at December.
“Yeh, fine,” said Larry, tucking his VISA card away. “Hey, can I use that pen again?” he pulled out his folded lottery ticket and began to write his name on the back. The pen hit a grease spot and left no ink on the section for Name. Larry tried to put down a signature, but the pen made no more marks, even when be drew invisible circles on the credit card receipt. “Damn.” He refolded the ticket and put it with his VISA card, re-snapping and re-zipping his wallet.
Outside, Lori handed the keys to Larry.
“Drive, Larry. I’m tired.”
“I’m... uh...,” said Larry. “I really shouldn’t.” He handed back the keys.
“I’ll drive,” said December. “I like to drive.”
Lori hesitated, but gave the keys to December, who let out an “ooo yeh” squeal at the handoff. “Can I have the back, Larry? I need sleep.”
“Can you?” said Larry. “It’s all yours.”
.
December Carrera drove with the intensity of a race car driver, passing without hesitation and weaving through the lines of cars and trucks plying their way north through the night. She held her hands high on the wheel, giving Larry the opportunity to periodically watch her breasts jiggle under the loose hooded sweatshirt that otherwise effectively offered no real sense of a body that she charged subscribers like Larry thirty dollars a month to watch online.
“Dey call ‘em turn signals, bitch... use ‘em!” yelled December, as a car sped past on the right and cut directly in front of the convertible. “Aww,” said December, to Larry. “Must be hard to enjoy the show. Hold the wheel....” Not diverting her eyes from the road, December swiftly pulled her sweatshirt off, leaving her with only a purple satin underwire bra. “It’s okay, hunny,” she said, as Larry nervously grasped the steering wheel. “You can look at the girls.” December took the wheel again. “Even gentlemen like to look.” Larry gazed downward in the intervening long silence. “And you look at my face when we talk.”
“I’m not a gentleman,” said Larry, openly staring. “I’m not even nice, really.”
“Oh,” said December. “I’ve met plenty of gentlemen who weren’t very nice.”
Larry broke his eyes away from Miss Milkshakes’ chest and leaned his head back. “I’m just... some g-u-y,” said Larry, “with not very much going on in my life.”
“I don’t believe dat,” said December, revving the engine to motor past a Winnebago and quickly change lanes in front of it. “Dis girl, she’s nice, and she likes you, so you can’t just be some loser jerkwad.”
“I didn’t say I was a... a loser... jerk,” said Larry.
“Jerkwad,” corrected December. “And now you’re definitely not a loser jerkwad…. Yer Mister Money, hunny.” December shifted to the left lane, motored past three sedans and ducked back into the right lane.
“Yeh,” said Larry, with disbelief in his voice. “It seems that way.”
“Is dis the first time you’ve had big money, hunny?”
“Well,” said Larry, awkwardly, slowly, “my family has money, but....”
“But what?” said December, passing an SUV and returning to the right lane.
“I don’t like the money... or my family... mostly my family,” he said.
“Did your family do crimes or something? Is dat the people with the guns?”
“No,” said Larry. “It’s just my family has a bunch of money and mostly are assholes about it.” Larry looked to the darkness beyond the roadway. The car lurched ahead as December sped past a big-rig. As she motored past the truck, she took her foot off the gas pedal and slowed, so as not to pass a California Highway Patrol cruiser in front of the truck. She stayed parallel with the big-rig.
“How ‘bout you?” she asked. “How do you make your money?”
“I don’t have a job, or anything,” said Larry. He turned his face towards December, her body pulling his eyes downward. “I’m kind of just a loser, I guess.”
“Do you have a girl?” December lifted her hand to point with her thumb. “Is she your girl?”
“No,” said Larry. “We’ve always been just friends.”
“No fucking?”
“No,” said Larry, quickly. “No... None of that.”
“Ever?”
“Well… no, no,” he said. “Not ever.�
�
“It’s the kind of thing most people remember,” said December. With the voice of a calculator tallying numbers, she added, “Now you’ll have lots of women all over you, going for lottery man.” She nosed the car forward and saw the CHP cruiser. She fell back. “For a lot of people, the dollars, dat’s all they see.”
“Yeh, I know,” said Larry, looking up to December’s face, to the sculpted mountain of a nose rising from her olive skin. “I grew up... money was all anyone cared about, except my grandmother.”
“Did she grow up poor?”
“No, she’s had money her whole life,” said Larry. “But somehow, money doesn’t matter to her. Family has always been what makes her happy. And considering our family, that’s saying something.” His eyes again fell, at a moment when the uneven road made for swaying and bouncing that even in the darkness held him in a hypnotic daze. “My God, you have an incredible body.”
“Dat’s a nice thing to say,” said December, again, nosing the car and, not seeing the CHP cruiser, speeding up to pass the big-rig and pull into the right lane ahead of the truck. “Your gram’ma sounds nice.”
The cab of the convertible glowed red and blue, as a cruiser came from behind and hugged up tight to the car. Both cars slowed until they could safely make their way onto the shoulder. Both cars stopped, as the long train of vehicles sped past.
“Damn it,” said December. “You promise dis isn’t stolen?”
“It’s not,” said Larry, patting his pocket. “I have a note.”
From behind came yelling and then the crackle of a loudspeaker. “Place your hands on the dash. Hands on the dash!” Larry stopping fishing in his pocket and put both hands in front of him, on the dashboard. December kept her hands high on the steering wheel. A harsh, wide beam of light flooded the cab, moving to both sets of hands, across Larry’s face and then December’s. The light followed December’s face to her neck and, as though with hesitation, moved to reveal curves and shadows one typically wouldn’t expect.
“A note…,” said December. “Here we go.”
A knuckle lightly tapped the driver’s window. December lifted one hand to crank the window down. “Hello, officer,” said December.