by Ryan Schow
Sac town just beat Hollywood.
“Looks like we’re at an impasse,” he replied, not taking his eyes off her, not blinking.
The truth was, he was up to his ears in work and though he wasn’t short staffed, he was certainly understaffed, which not only made him impatient, it made him cranky. Add that to his other list of problems and the last thing he needed was some Hollywood floozy telling him how he needed to run his business.
She stared at him for a moment, then something in her expression changed. Like she had the big, bright idea. The way to fix all this. The way to win.
“You know how nerds always get that fantasy that some amazing looking superstar will show up on their patch of grass in the middle of nowhere important and somehow they’ll make this unexpected love connection that eventually turns into great sex right before the superstar leaves town and heads back to her real life, forever changing the nerd?”
“I haven’t heard that story,” he said, holding up three fingers. “Three days.”
“You could write that story, Rock. I mean, I’m not a bad looking woman, you’re not a bad looking guy. C’mon man. Work with me here.”
“How did you get here?” he asked, his patience drawing thin. “I mean, who sent you?”
“The buyer,” she said. With a little extra bite to her tone because he wasn’t budging, she said, “He assured me you were the best at what you do.”
“I am.”
“He also said you were very cute, but that sadly, you were into girls.”
Rock laughed at this. Was she actually becoming human? He didn’t think that was even possible. To this, he said, “I am, and I am,”
“Well, I happen to be a girl…” she said, toying with her hair, now laying on the charm. He wasn’t going to lie, her behavior was not entirely ineffective.
She was an actress though.
“And I happen to like your Lamborghini,” he replied, causing her to drop her hair and frown. “Look, I appreciate you being forward and all. And it would be flattering if I was into that sort of thing, but the truth is, you caught me at a time when morality matters to me. I don’t do random sex, certainly not with actresses, and I won’t overcharge you—as you so eloquently suggested—just because I can. That’s bad business.”
“Are you always this standoffish?” she said, her tone changing back to “business Amber.”
“To women, yes.”
“And here I thought I should be the one playing hard to get.”
He didn’t know how to reply, so he just looked into her glasses where he thought her eyes should be. All he saw was his own reflection, one of him in each lens.
“So I can have it early on the third day?” she asked, barely masking her disappointment. “Because if I can have it then without you having to get your panties in a twist about three days, I think I can live with that.”
He took a deep breath…
“On the morning of the third day, assuming I get the wrap tonight or tomorrow, I’ll give it an early inspection and call you if it’s good. If there are not issues, then you can come pick it up first thing in the morning.”
“Or you could pick me up in it,” she said with a grin.
“I could, but I won’t.”
“Have you driven a Lamborghini before?”
“Just in and out of the shop where I’m insured,” he said. “I prefer older cars.”
“Well then my gift to you is that you can come and pick me up in it. I’ll sign a wavier if you would like. But none of that NASCAR business.”
“I’m not like that, but I appreciate it.”
Giddy like a girl who finally got her way, she jumped up and down twice then gave him a hug that nearly broke his back. Standing back, she patted him on the chest and said, “Seriously though, you should’ve taken the money.”
“Can I be honest with you about something?” he said.
“Sure.”
“I was lying about the car. It’s amazing. But the whole sex, money and fame racket? It’s cute on the big screen if you’re selling movies, but that nonsense only works in Hollywood. Not here. We’re real people and we don’t really fall for that kind of cornswaggle.”
She laughed, then took off her glasses and said, “What the hell is cornswaggle?”
“It’s like trying to pull the wool over someone’s eyes without putting too much thought into it. Almost like it’s second nature to you, but not to us normal, down-to-earth folks. What I’m saying is we see through that crap because we’re not stupid.”
She rolled her eyes and waved his statement off, plainly rebuffing him. Then: “Let me tell you something, Rocky, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in Hollywood that’s served me wherever I go, it’s that we’re all commodities, just like cash or favors. We don’t want to see that, and when we do we’ll almost refuse to admit it, but it’s true.”
“That’s sad. And it’s Rock, by the way. Not Rocky, not Rocky Road and not Rocky Mountains. Just Rock, or Roque.”
“Yeah, well my morals are a little loose and I have a Lamborghini, and your morals are as tight as a drum and you’re working on my Lamborghini. It seems maybe your principles are a bit outdated.”
“Now the price is double,” he said, not a hint of humor to be found.
“Only if you give me a ride back to my hotel,” she said, unmoved. “I’m not taking an Uber in this freaking cow town.”
“Before you leave,” he said, holding up a finger. Rock turned to Leonardo, waved him over and the kid came outside looking like he was about to pee himself. Turning back to her, he said, “This is so you don’t have to leave thinking someone didn’t gush over you.”
“Leonardo, this is Amy Gunn,” he said straight-faced
“It’s Amber,” she replied.
“Amber Gunn, sorry,” Rock said sarcastically. “Amber, this is Leonardo Abbracciavento. We used to call him Abracadabra, but then we realized how good he is with wraps, so now he’s known simply as ‘The Magician.’”
Leonardo promptly stood in front of Amber and prattled away, talking about the last action movie she starred in—a new chapter in the “Underworld” franchise of films—and how girls who fight in leather pants are way hotter than girls who fight in jeans or skirts.
Amber glanced over Leonardo’s shoulder where Rock was standing, her eyes holding Rock’s for a moment too long. A mischievous grin crawled onto his face and he refused to put it away. Splitting her attention between Leo and Rock, Amber touched her cheek, discretely holding up two fingers.
His grin turned to a smirk. He held up three fingers in response. As in three days. Her smile faltered a bit but didn’t fall away completely. Amber was pretending to listen to Leonardo, but her two fingers were still on her face, until she lowered one of them, leaving only the middle finger for him to see.
He let out an involuntary huff then interrupted them. “I’ll be right back,” he said, speaking to them both. Then to Leo: “While I’m gone, you need to finish what you’re doing. We’re on a tight schedule here for the next three days.”
“Two and a half,” Amber said.
“We can totally do two and a half days,” Leo quickly replied, to which Rock said, “Leo, you don’t even know the scope of the job.”
“I just wanted to hang out with her a bit while we finished up, boss.” Then back to her, Leo said, “You seem super chill for being a big deal.”
“Wish some of that had rubbed off on your boss,” she called out. “He seems very passive-aggressive.”
“Oh, yeah. He hates the whole Hollywood vibe,” Rock heard Leo saying. “Too many opinions, not enough good movies. I like your movies though!”
When he went in back, Rock grabbed the keys to The Rooster. The Rooster was an old, convertible two-seater fire truck. It was nothing like the big fire trucks today. This was a pump truck from Rock’s grandfather’s era. To him, it looked more like a convertible pickup truck with a single bench seat and a fire hose wrapped around a bib and ready to
go. It had to be from the twenties or thirties at least. He’d tried looking it up a few times, but wasn’t able to find much. It didn’t matter, though. He wasn’t going to sell it. This was his project car. A keepsake.
He snatched the keys off the key board, climbed in, took a breath.
“Amber freaking Gunn,” he said with a mix of laughter and disbelief in his voice, “you’re going to hate this in the worst way.”
The BG Mack pumper was a family heirloom that was handed down from one generation to the next until it fell into the possession of a portly redneck named Buck Bradshaw. Buck wasn’t a real go-getter in the working world, so he wasn’t flush with cash. He had a pretty cherry Corvette Stingray though, so when Rock quoted him on a wrap for the Stingray, he claimed to have a fire truck that was worth more. They swapped the fire truck for one of Rock’s best wraps. In the end, Rock felt like he got the better deal of the two of them, but then again, so did Buck.
When Buck first fired up the pumper’s engine, it sounded craggy and old, exactly like a last-chance lawnmower. Wondering how Amber would take to it, he thought about the first day Buck brought the pump truck to him and started to laugh.
Sitting in the truck and grinning that day, Buck had honked the horn twice, startling everyone in a quarter-mile foot radius. The loud-as-hell digitized rooster rant that came from the truck could be heard for miles. This was Buck’s idea of a good time.
“What year is this thing?” Rock had asked Buck after his hearing returned.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Decade?”
“I don’t know, maybe the thirties?” he said. A question, not an answer. “All I know is that it runs decent, and if you can do for it what you do for every other car you’ve ever touched, this thing is going to be a timeless dream machine.”
The Rooster was the distraction he needed when Jill grated on his nerves. Jill Murdock was his on-again, off-again girlfriend. She had a short temper and a long memory, two things any guy in their right mind would call “a recipe for disaster.” As ferocious as she could be in their relationship, she was even more fiery in bed. Contrary to popular belief, good sex alone won’t fortify a long term relationship.
Hence, on-again, off-again…
The Rooster was for tough times when he and Jill were together and even tougher times when they were separated. Like now. This was their longest break to date. This was why Rock refused to muddy the already dirty waters of his love life with some high-rent Hollywood doxy, irresistible as she was.
Shaking his head at the thought of both Jill and Amber, he fired up the motor and it still sounded like lung cancer with a cough. On the upside, the bench seat had new black leather, the vehicle’s muted cranberry paint was brand new and gorgeous, and the grill was polished to a high shine. He put the work-in-progress into gear and pulled it around front where Amber turned and managed to look mortified.
“Hop in Hollywood,” he said to her with a grin.
“I’m not getting in that.”
“I can call you an Uber, if you want. Or some working class taxi driver. If that doesn’t work, you could even take the bus. If you walk four blocks down, there’s a Regional Transit stop, but last time I drove by there some guy was shooting up. He was also wearing his underwear outside his pants. Either way, I’m sure it’s safe. Bums don’t kill people, drugs kill people. Remember that.”
With the biggest frown he’d ever seen on a woman—and he’d put some pretty big frowns on some pretty good-looking faces—Amber climbed in and fastened the lap belt. He then hit the rooster horn, scaring her and further humiliating her.
“Are you getting off on this?” she asked.
“Immensely.”
“We’re going straight to the hotel, right? Because I’m sure by the time we get there, my hair is going to be an absolute wreck.”
“Just promise me this,” he said. “If I see anyone I know, put your head down and pretend we’re not together.”
“I don’t have to pretend,” she said with a scowl.
They hit the road and he went though the gears, the lawnmower engine getting louder and more obnoxious by the mile.
Finally she turned and all but yelled, “Is this why you brought me in this hunk of crap? So I won’t be able to talk to you?”
“And here I thought all you Hollyweird types were low IQ and mouthy,” he said, matching her volume.
“I’m not low IQ!” she said. Her eyes were angry, and this only made him laugh harder. If only she knew how he really felt about her…
“I’m sorry,” he said, juicing it and creating more noise, “I just can’t seem to hear you!”
They got to the hotel and he pulled up to valet parking where everyone could see her and The Rooster. Four people complimented his low-slung pumper truck, but only two people made a big deal over seeing the Amber Gunn.
He gave her a victorious smile; she frowned through a fake smile.
Sac town two, Hollywood zero.
“Give me your phone number,” she finally said, snippy. “Just in case.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. It opened up to Jill’s picture. She stopped.
“Wow, she’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful women are the worst,” he said.
She looked up and scowled, then she entered her phone number, hit “save contact” and handed back the phone. When he looked, he saw she’d entered her name as Hot Ginger.
“Ha! My girlfriend should get a kick out of that.”
She pulled her phone out and said, “Text me back so I have your number.” He punched in a quick text then hit send.
Her phone pinged; she looked at it and shook her head.
“Unavailable White Guy?” she said, looking up at him in utter disbelief. “And here I thought you were Hispanic. Isn’t Dimas Hispanic?”
He smiled even wider because she was right but that wasn’t the point. He put the vehicle in gear, then turned and looked right at her.
She took off her glasses, leveled him with those big green eyes, those big green disarming eyes, then said, “Are you this much of a jerk to all your customers?”
“Three days,” he said, holding up three fingers as he drove off.
“Two and a half!”
Chapter Two
Don Donovan not only sold Amber the Lamborghini, he was the one who gave her Rock’s name in Sacramento. He called that night, just as she was about to get into the giant bathtub.
“Hi, Don,” she said.
“Hi, Amber. I just wanted to see how you like the car and make sure you were able to get things moving in Sacramento.”
“First off, I love it! And second, yes. Although Rock Dimas is a bit of an acquired taste.”
“I understand he used to be a cop,” he said. When she didn’t say anything, he said, “They’re like that, cops. Not much personality, but only because they’ve seen a ton of horrible things and they keep them locked away. They turn into control freaks. They get grumpy.”
“How do you know this? About Rock, I mean.”
“My boyfriend had some work done on his Bentley. He said Rock broke his heart by not being gay or available. This was before we were together, of course.”
The two of them shared a jovial laugh, but it was short lived.
“Well I can say one thing for sure, the man is highly unpleasant and uncooperative at best,” Amber replied.
“Yes, but he does some amazing work. Most of the guys I know, they go up there to use him.”
“He’s got the car now. But listen, I’m about to step out with some girlfriends, can I call you later if anything comes up?”
“Sure, no problem.”
They hung up, Amber undressed and climbed into the big tub. The first thing she did was text Vincent Fitzgerald, her soon to be boyfriend.
Amber: R U ALONE
A few minutes later, her phone pinged with a return text.
Vincent: W/ PAM, WHAT’S UP
Amber: I HATE BEING ALONE
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Vincent: CALL AN ESCORT HAHAHAHA
Amber: NOT FUNNY I WANT U
Vincent: TOLD YOU NEED TO FINISH SERIES FIRST THEN PAM GO BYEBYE. SPLIT NOW EQUALS CANCELED SHOW. U KNOW THIS
Amber: GETTING HIGH L8R. LETS SWAP PICS
Vincent: U FIRST.
She set her phone aside, luxuriated in the bath for nearly an hour, then got out of the tub dried herself off and fished the baggie of coke out of her purse. On the coffee table, she chopped two lines, rolled a fifty dollar bill and snorted them both.
She stood straight, let the white pony kick, then dropped her robe and took her first selfie. It started out as chest only, but then she ventured further south. She was floating though, riding that pillowy high, thinking these pics were better than the last ones she sent Vincent, so his should be better than the ones he sent her.
She bent down, stabilized herself after almost falling, then did another line. Laughing to herself, scrolling through her pics, she uploaded her three favorite and sent them over. After that she giggled mercilessly to herself, then collapsed on the bed.
The phone pinged.
She stirred, smiled and said, “Vincent, baby, come through for me!” But when she sat up and read the text, it sounded nothing like Vincent.
AS MUCH AS I APPRECIATE THIS, TWO DAYS IS IMPOSSIBLE. STILL THREE…
“Oh my GOD!” she screamed, shooting out of bed.
Another text came in.
Unavailable White Guy: WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME NUDES? IT’S NEARLY MIDNIGHT. PLUS I DON’T EVEN LIKE YOU.
Literally jumping around and freaking out inside, she let her fingers hover over the phone’s keyboard, banging out three different texts and erasing them all. Finally she just fired one out for the sake of damage control.
Amber: I’M EMBARRASSED. THEY WERE NOT FOR YOU. THEY WERE FOR VINCENT, WHICH IS NEXT TO UNAVAILABLE WHITE GUY IN MY CONTACTS.
He didn’t text her back.
Amber: WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE JUST PUT IN YOUR NAME LIKE A NORMAL PERSON???
She followed this up with a row of frowny faces.
No reply.
Amber was sobering up fast, wondering how everything happened. She knew though. God, if these pictures got out, it could ruin her!