Gonna Sell The Bitch's Car Ch. 02

We lasted eleven weeks as the house band, a pretty good run. Our agent said it best.

"House bands are like strippers, once they get used to your face they get bored."

While we were there I got close to Sandy and Sammi, as friends. Because our schedules actually matched we could get together and go to movies, art galleries, flea markets, or just hang out. I thought things were fine until Sandy forced the issue.

"Look Wiley, you have to know we both like you. It's time to take it up a notch. We're not Mormons, polygamy isn't working for us."

I felt like I was about to go tap dancing in a minefield.

"I don't know. What if I decide I like you best but I just don't do it for you. What if I like Sammi and it ruins your friendship? Or ours?"

She grinned.

"We're big girls. Plus, we're not that close."

Well, no pain, no gain.

"Since you took the first step, are you by chance free Sunday?"

"Well" she smiled, "I was going to wash my hair, but since you asked so nicely I would be happy to see you Sunday."

"What would you like to do then?"

She surprised me.

"Oh no, you have to pick. Be creative, I get bored easily."

"All right. I'll pick you up at 2:00. Wear a nice conservative dress. And bring along jeans, at some point you might like to change. I have to go tune up now."

I saw her talking to Sammi later and she seemed irritated. I found out she assumed I would ask her first later...

When I went to pick up Sandy she was waiting at the door. At first she didn't recognize me because she was staring at my car. Up until then she had only seen my van.

"Is this your car?"

"No, I stole it to my way way over to make me look cool. Is it working?"

Not the response she was expecting.

"Yes it is. Now, when did you get this?"

"I've had it for about three years."

"It" was my 1969 Mach 1. It had the original 351 Cleveland engine, rebuilt. Loud 'glass pack' mufflers, a Holly dual line 780 four barrel carb, rebuilt three speed transmission with a short throw shifter. It would bark the tires in first and second. I had no idea what the top end was, I always chickened out about 110. No airbags.

What set mine apart from all the other 1969 Mach 1s' in the world was the paint job. It was a light blue, Carolina blue to be exact. And where the others had a black hood scoop, mine was pearl white.

I can hear the purists out there screaming. When I got it, it was dark blue. Possibly the ugliest stock color Ford ever had. It was heavily damaged on the driver side, by the time the body work was done I had already decided the paint scheme. I had seen one similar on a 1967 Chevelle and was impressed.

My paint and body man asked about the color, and when I told him what I wanted he almost paled.

"Not stock?" he said.

"No."

He argued, then stalled trying to change my mind. After two weeks I told him a wrecker would be coming tomorrow to take it to another paint shop. He had it finished in a week.

As little as I paid for it I felt like I was stealing it. After the body work, paint, and mechanical work I had just under nine thousand in it. It had 6,000 miles on the rebuild.

"How do you like my dress?"

It was a muted print with a knee lenght hemline.

"If you were going for school teacher sexy you nailed it. You look great."

I walked her to the car and opened the door for her. She seemed surprised.

"I'm kind of old fashioned. If you don't want me to open doors or pull out chairs, tell me now."

"No, I like it. I'm just not used to it. So, where are we going?"

"No, no. Surprise, remember."

We drove at a nice conservative pace, at no time did I go over 15 miles above the speed limit. By the look on her face when we pulled into the church parking lot I think my surprise worked.

"A church? Really?"

I could tell she wanted to ask more as she gave me her hand getting out of the car.

"You'll see." I said.

It was a performance of music from the fifteenth and sixteenth century, in period dress and using traditional instruments. It was mostly hymns, with ballads and the odd drinking song, cleaned up lyrically of course. The performers were from the local college music department.

I think she enjoyed at least part of it. It is an acquired taste.

Afterward we didn't talk much because of the crowd. I knew most of the performers and many in the audience, so I was constantly being greeted. We were separated for a few minutes but I quickly moved back to her. She changed into jeans and a tee in the church office, by permission of course.

We didn't talk much in the car, but she did hold my hand, as much as possible with a straight drive.

By then it was about six,on a pleasant early September day, Not too hot, not too cold, perfect for a picnic. I drove to a small state park that I knew wouldn't be too crowded this time of day. There were only three cars in the parking lot, all belonging to fishermen. There was a sixty acre lake, a large shelter for group functions, and picnic tables scattered around the lake shore.

After helping her out of the car, we got a picnic basket, a cooler, and a blanket out of the trunk. She picked a table and we set the stuff on it.

"So, we're on a picnic?"

"I thought you were smart. Would you like to eat now, or take a walk first?"

She chose to walk. We took one or the nature trails around the lake. I'd like to say we held hands, but the trail was at times to narrow and often uneven, so we talked. She would stop to look at the lake, or some tree or flower that took her interest. We made approving noises when an old man proudly showed us the two small mouth bass he had caught.

After we make the circle back to the picnic area I laid out our dinner, not letting her help..

Chicken salad with walnuts and chopped red grapes, a loaf of french bread, potato salad dressed with sour cream, fresh tarragon and chives, and a gallette, a rustic pie made with fresh winesap apples for dessert. Bottled water and a nice zinfandel for later.

She did slice the bread while I laid out the plates and silverware. There were only two of us and I hated plastic ware. We sat side by side on the blanket spread on the seat.

Sandy must have missed lunch, she ate two sandwiches, a large serving of potato salad, and a small piece of the pie. When she finished the first piece she got another. Didn't want to hurt my feelings, I guess.

"Where did you get lunch?" she asked as I uncorked the wine.

"I made it."

"Really?"

"Yes, really." It always irked me that women thought that if you had a penis you couldn't turn on an oven or read directions. If you lived alone, you either learned to cook or lived a pretty dull life gastronomically. And my mother made sure both her boys knew how to cook.

Sipping wine she giggled.

"Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in an apron."

"You should see it. It says "Kiss me or get food poisoning."

She snorted into her wine.

Later as we were repacking the basket she asked how I knew so many people at the church.

"I went to school with some, have played with some, and I'm a member."

"Really?"

"Is that your favorite expression?"

"Sorry, I just have a hard time picturing you in church."

I should probably stop now and describe myself. Six feet tall, about 180 lbs. I go to the gym about twice a week to maintain my weight. Musicians aren't the healthiest of eaters and decided early on I didn't want to be the fat one in the band. Male pattern baldness started hitting hard around twenty five, a legacy from both grandfathers. I didn't want to be addicted to rogaine for the rest of my life so I buzzed my long hair down to a quarter inch, and grew a handle bar mustache and a long pointed goatee. Naturally brown, at odd times I've dyed it black, red, blond, even purple and green. Hey, bass players are supposed to be eccentric, right? Jimmie, the drummer, hated it when I dyed it red. He said he felt like he was playing with the devil. Can you guess how I dressed when we played Halloween parties?

I promised her I would take her with me sometime and that we would sit in the front pew.

I opened the car door but she stopped me.

"This has been a really great day. Only one thing could make it better."

I fell right into it.

"What would that be?"

"Can I drive home?"

Now , I like my car, but I not fanatical about it. I do have another car beside the van, but only one other person will ever drive it. And I hadn't met her yet.

"Do you know how to drive a stick?"

She just smiled and held out her hand for the keys. Then she gave me a kiss. It was only a couple of seconds, closed mouth, but it felt great.

She wasn't too bad. After pressing my imaginary brake pedal half a dozen times I gently asked how many points she had on her license, she took the hint and slowed down.

We pulled into her apartment lot about 9:30. As I helped her out of the car she gave me her version of puppy eyes.

"One more thing?"

I was always a sucker for puppy eyes.

"What would you like, honey?'

It was the first term of endearment I had used and it brought an large smile.

"I'm not much of a cook. Can I have the leftovers?"

I carried the cooler to the door for her. She stopped me there.

"I'd love to invite you in but my roommate is home and it would be awkward. Maybe next time we could go to your house."

She leaned in and wrapped her arms around me. She gave me a goodnight kiss. Then she gave me another. They were getting longer and I was just feeling a bit of tongue when the porch light came on.

"Damn, is your roommate your mother?'

Trying to hold in laughter she said "No she's just nosey, We'll discuss this after I go in. I really had a great time. Thank you."

She grabbed me and gave me a probing, intense kiss, neighbors and roommate be damned. Then she went into her apartment laughing.

I had just had one of the best dates of my life, and I was still home by 10:30.

.................................................

The date with Sammi went in a totally different direction. I had a rare Thursday night off, she changed shifts with one of the other waitresses so we could go out.

We went to a larger town thirty miles away. There was a new dance club she heard good things about. She was disappointed when I showed up in the van.

"Where's your hot car?"

It's at home under cover." It wasn't, I had it stored somewhere else.

"I wanted to ride in it. It looks so cool."

"We can go get it, but if we do we have to change plans. I don't know what kind of area this club is in. I heard it was in an old warehouse, warehouse districts aren't too secure. Plus it will be in a crowded parking lot where people will be less than vigilant because of alcohol. I know a great jazz club, if you would like to go there."

I could see the gears turning. Hot car or hot club? she went with the club.

We went to a sushi restaurant, her choice. I'm not a fan, but it wasn't bad. She had three cups of sake. She had the beginnings of a buzz before we got to the club.

It was about what I expected. An old warehouse with very little decor, it was dirty and drafty. The tables were cheap, the bar barely functional, and the sound system was about three times as powerful as it needed to be for the size of the building. As a general rule I don't like djs, every time someone hires one I feel like we lost the job, but this guy was pretty good.

Ever hear the old expression "This is about five minutes away from being five minutes ago?" I figure this place was in it's third minute.

That's why places like this don't spend a lot of money on decor or long term leases. They know they're just one buzz word away from extinction. So they jack up the drink prices and slip the reviewers a little something to keep their name on they're lips, and ride it until it falls over. Then they fade away only to pop up in a month or two somewhere else. If I sound disillusioned I'm not. It's just the way it is.

We quickly hooked up with George and Lynn, a couple we knew from the bar. I liked Lynn, but George seemed a little oily.

We got a table and ordered drinks. When the music started she grabbed me and we spent the next thirty minutes on the floor. Surprisingly, most musicians aren't good dancers. Too busy playing to learn I guess. I could dance fairly well, but had exhausted all my moves quickly. I dragged her off the floor to take a break and get something to drink. Seven bucks for a coke.

Sammi was swaying in her chair, George was bouncing in his chair, Lynn and I were just trying to catch our breath. Lynn looked at me and said "Should we turn them loose for a bit?"

I thought about it. This could be a test. If Sammi goes onto the floor without my input any relationship we could have would be over instantly. If she clears it with me first or flat out refuses her stock would go up quickly. I nodded yes.

She bent over and said something to George. He looked at me and got Sammi up. At first she refused and then looked at me.

"Do you mind?"

"Not if it's just dancing."

She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

"I knew you had potential."

Off she went. They danced twice, and then a slow song started. He reached for her, but she stopped him and came back to me.

"Come on babe, let's get close."

And we did. She molded her body into mine and we swayed to the music. She didn't exactly grind on me, but made sure no dead space got between us.

We danced a few more fast numbers and then she took a break. She held my hand while we sat. Some guy we didn't know came over and asked her to dance. She just held my hand tighter and didn't say a thing. He got the hint and left.

We danced until two. She danced a couple more times with George, and when neither of us wanted to she grabbed Lynn and hauled her onto the floor. I liked to watch her dance. Swinging and swaying, body parts shooting off in all directions only to be snapped back to center at the last minute.

I found her outfit interesting. Bright red short shorts, a yellow scoop neck form fitting top that seemed to dare her breasts to fall out, and red three inch heels. It looked a lot like a brighter version of what she wore to work. I asked her about it a couple months later and she said she was used to it and didn't it make her look hot? Couldn't argue with that.

We went to a nearby IHOP for coffee. Lynn and George joined us, and George invited us over to party, and by us I mean Sams' boobs. Both Lynn and Sam looked disgusted. We declined.

On the way home she thanked me for allowing her to dance with George.

"I'm glad you're not one of those jealous guys."

"I am a bit of a jealous guy, but you gave me no reason to be. You asked me if it was okay first, and stayed where I could see you. When that guy asked you without clearing it with me and you shot him down. I trust you because you give me no reason not to. The first time you do otherwise, we'll stop dating. Life's too short."

I was giving her a message, and she got it.

I walked her to her door at 4:00 a.m. The goodnight kisses started slow but got steamier. At the end I was sure she was trying to verify that my tonsils had been removed with her tongue. Then the porch light flipped on. She drew back.

"Bitch!" She hissed.

"Payback." I laughed.

That's right, they were roommates. I didn't know it until I asked Sammi out and asked where to pick her up and she said "You were just there yesterday. Have you already forgotten?

"You mean you and Sandy are living together?"

"I would say roommates, living together takes on a whole new meaning."

They both assured me they were comfortable with it , But I had my doubts. I wasn't.

It was kind of creepy kissing a girl good night while the girl you were kissing yesterday could be watching you through the blinds.

This couldn't go on much longer, and it came to a head about a month later. Sandy was on my couch. We had been getting progressively more passionate, and she had about two thirds of a bottle of wine in her. I had the lights low, a fire going, and I had gotten farther than I ever had before. I had been nuzzling her neck and nipping her earlobes, something I knew turned her on. She had a button up blouse on instead of her usual tee. I was caressing her through the material, and gently undid a button. Instead of stopping me she pushed forward. Encouraged, I undid another. And another. Soon I was on my knees kissing her throat, her shoulders, and her breasts above her bra. It was a front clasp bra, and soon it was dangling and I had one of her thick, plump nipples in my mouth. Rolling across my tongue, the sweet/salt flavor was so good I had to taste the other. Even better. She was arching forwards, trying to thrust her entire mammary gland down my throat. I was trying my best to swallow it, but losing.

Abandoning those impressive badges of womanhood I slowly nibbled down her stomach, circling her navel, licking along the waistband of her jeans. She was making soft, whispering sounds and caressing the back of my head. I was tugging at her snap when she pushed me back.

"STOP! Please Wiley, stop."

The blood wasn't flowing uphill for me so it took a minute to adjust.

"Don't you like it?"

She had my head in her hands, staring into my eyes.

"Yes I do baby, very much. I think my panties melted, I'm so hot. But I won't, not without some ground rules."

Uncharitably, I thought she should have brought this up thirty minutes ago. If you're a guy, I'm sure at one time or another you've had an erection that actually hurts. I was aching. Honestly, between romancing both girls I had gone the longest without sex in my adult life. I wanted to end the dry spell.

"What rules?"

She had the decency to close her top and motion me to sit beside her.

"Wiley, by now you must know I'm half in love with you, maybe more than half. You're the sweetest, most considerate man I've ever been with. Most guys would have given up on me by now. If you want me, I'm yours. But it has to be just me, understand? And I know about your past, some of the guys from the other bands that play my club have talked. As heartless as it sounds, if you choose me I'll want a clean bill of health from you, understand?"

Well, it was what it was. Sometimes history can bite you in the ass.

"Please don't answer me now. Think about it hard. Just know, if you're sure, I'll be worth the wait."

She wiped the tears away and asked me to take her home. It was a quiet ride, but she held tightly to my hand.

I walked her to the door. Her kiss was soft, chaste, but wonderful.

"Call me in a few days, my darling Wiley."

She made a sound halfway between a sigh and a sob and closed the door.

I didn't sleep much that night.

.................................................

If my life wasn't complicated enough,guess who showed up on my door step the next day. Sammi.

"We need to talk, Wiley."

Damn, how men hate to hear those words.

Blasting by me, she settled on the couch. Patting it , she motioned for me to sit beside her. Just like Sandy the night before. Deja vu all over again.

"I'll cut to the chase Wiley. Sandy talked to me last night, actually she cried on my shoulder. This makes what I'm going to say made me feel like a louse."

She leaned over and gave me a long, long kiss.

Drawing back, she cried out "I'm in love with you!"

"I've never been with anyone who treats me as well as you do. You make me feel like a woman, not some piece of meat you want to use."

I felt like a fish out of water, opening and closing my mouth, trying to form words. She place her hand over my mouth.

"Don't talk, do what you do well, listen to me. I know I'm a little wilder than Sandy, and sometimes you do things you don't really want to just to make me happy, but I try not to abuse that trust. I 'll do anything you want if we get together. You know both of us get miserable when the other is with you. If you choose me, you'll never regret it, I promise."