Date with a Drifter

She drove away from the town, heading towards the mountains that overlooked the forest, taking snaking roads rarely traveled by anyone but logging crews. He was beginning to understand what she saw in this. Unlike traveling in a car, feeling the wind and acceleration gave one a distinct sense of freedom.

They couldn't speak during the ride, the noise of the wind and the purr of the engine would have drowned out their voices, so Matt contented himself with admiring the scenery. They climbed the foothills, the tops of the pine trees looking like an ocean of greenery as they rose above them, the road winding and twisting as it hugged the mountainous terrain. The sun was rising higher in the sky now, its golden rays beating down on the snowy peaks in the distance, sheathed in puffy clouds.

They finally pulled into at a layover at the side of the road, the motorcycle slowing to a stop as its engine petered out. The sheer drop down into the valley was guarded by a metal railing that would stop any curious sightseers from falling over the edge. The woman propped her bike up on its kickstand and hopped off, stretching her legs and pulling off her helmet. She walked over to the railing, leaning on it as she peered down into the evergreen forest below, a gentle wind rustling the pine needles as the trees swayed back and forth.

Matt joined her, his legs shaky, not from fear or nervousness but from the exhilaration of their ride up there. He sidled up beside her and looked out over the valley, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun with one hand.

"I like it up here," she said, running her fingers through her blowing hair. "The air is clean, there's no civilization for miles. You take a step off the road, and suddenly it's like you're walking through an untouched land. I wonder who besides me has stood where I'm standing. The last person might have been some trapper a hundred years ago, or maybe a native even further back. Perhaps nobody has been here before, and I'm the first."

"Sounds like you don't enjoy city life," Matt replied with a chuckle.

"No, I don't. I have to live in the city for work but once a month I take a few days off, and I ride down into Cascadia, see where the road takes me. This time it took me to you."

He wanted to ask her name again, but things might get awkward if he pressed the issue. It seemed like she was trying to escape from something. Perhaps a crappy job and a pokey apartment as she claimed, or maybe it was something more than that. He didn't know her well enough to ask such probing, personal questions yet.

"Have you always lived out here?" she asked.

"Yeah," Matt replied, "I grew up in town. Besides spending a few years at college, I've never really left. Not for any significant amount of time at least."

"Do you like it here?"

"Yeah," he said, after considering his answer for a moment. "I do. Sometimes I complain about the internet connection being terrible or how long it takes for packages to reach me, but I feel pretty lucky to have had the chance to grow up somewhere like this."

"Close to nature," she added, and he nodded in agreement.

"I love walking my dog in the woods, I can let him off his leash so that he can have a run around and there's no danger of him being hit by a car or anything like that."

"You have a dog?" she asked excitedly. "I love dogs!"

"Yeah, a Husky called Smoke. It's nice to have someone to come home to."

"My landlord won't let me keep pets, it sucks." Her tone became sly, and she turned her attention away from the landscape to glance at him. "I take it there's no Mrs.Chef, then?"

"Most assuredly not," he laughed. "The only girl I know works down at the bar, and she's older than most of these trees."

She was so forward, so confident. It made his heart skip, and it was more than a little intimidating. He didn't really know anything about her, but that seemed to be the way that she wanted it. She was a mysterious stranger, and she intended to stay that way.

She sauntered around behind him, her tight road leathers creaking again. As he turned to face her, she pressed up against him. He backed away, feeling the cold metal guardrail against his butt, the biker planting her hands to either side of him on the rail as he leaned back precariously over the sheer drop. She was a little shorter than him, her soft breasts compressing against his parka through her form-fitting jacket. He could smell the leather, and he could feel the warmth of her body contrasting with the chill of the mountain air.

"I like you," she whispered, her rosy lips an inch from his cheek.

"Aren't you...moving kind of fast?" Matt asked, her aggression taking him off guard. "We only met yesterday, we don't really know anything about each other yet..."

"You have to move fast when you're short on time. What's the matter, don't you like me?"

"Of course I do," he laughed nervously, "but I don't even know your name."

"Who needs names? Will you enjoy my company any less if I never tell you?"

"I...suppose not. But why all the secrecy? Why do you say that you're short on time?"

"Why all the questions?" she shot back, grinning up at him. She hadn't exactly told him to can it, but the implication was there, and he wasn't about to jeopardize whatever was happening here by being too curious. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, and never question why a biker chick in skin-tight pants is coming on to you.

"I'll only be in town for a couple more days," she said, "then I'll have to move on. So let's have a good time, okay?"

He nodded, and she pecked him on the cheek, his face flushing red as she smirked at him.

"Stop worrying about the details and just go with it, you'll find life a whole lot more enjoyable that way."

"Like following the road and seeing where it takes you?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile, "like that."

He cleared his throat as she stepped back to let him free, standing with her hands on her hips as she waited for him to make the next move.

"You know, there's this spot a ways up the mountain that overlooks a river," he said. "It's pretty scenic. I like to walk down to the bank and take my shoes off, dip my feet in the water. What say we drive up there and stay a while? By the time we make it back to town, it'll be about noon, and I can make you some lunch down at the diner."

"Deal," she replied, putting her helmet back on and walking over to her bike. Matt brushed himself off, straightening his parka as he made his way over to join her.

***

Matt watched as the woman finished off her burger, marveling at her appetite as she sucked her fingers clean. She was so trim, yet she ate like it was going out of style. He had scarcely had time to make it halfway through his own helping. He had made them some beef burgers using steak and blue cheese, a gourmet twist on some common fast food, and she had gone wild for it. Cooking for her was a lot of fun, she seemed delighted by whatever he produced. It was refreshing to meet somebody who appreciated his cooking skills rather than just asking for an omelet or a sandwich.

He would close up the diner again when they were done eating, he wasn't about to pass up the chance to spend the rest of the day with her for the sake of the one or two truckers who might pass by. He doubted that anyone would even notice that the establishment wasn't open. His parents weren't due back for weeks, and they weren't exactly expecting him to be rolling in money when they got home.

"So what else is there to do round these parts?" she asked, pulling a cigarette from the packet with her lips as she leaned on the counter and flicking her Zippo lighter until it finally produced a wavering flame. She took a long draw, exhaling slowly, seeming to savor the taste. "What do you people do for fun?"

"Well, there's the bar, besides that there's not really any entertainment to speak of. We don't have a movie theater or a bowling alley, no arcade, no mini golf. Most people in town hang out down there, waste their paychecks on beer, play pool and darts. It's a veritable roadhouse."

"Sounds like my kind of place," she said as she exhaled a cloud of smoke. Matt prepared a retort before looking her up and down, choosing to keep his mouth shut. It probably was, she certainly looked the part. She wouldn't have been out of place in some dingy biker bar.

"So I take it you don't think much of the nightlife in your little corner of the North West?"

"I'm not much of a drinker, nor am I logger or a trucker. You can probably imagine that small town watering holes aren't very welcoming of college boys and gourmet chefs. Not that I'm complaining, drunken brawls and poker games aren't really my scene."

"They say that you should do one thing every day that scares you," she said with a smirk, Matt's brow furrowing.

"I'm not scared to go to the bar."

"Then you won't complain if we go down there and get a few drinks in us."

He spread his arms in a gesture of exasperation as she stood and beckoned to him, walking backwards towards the door and sporting a villainous grin.

"Come on kid, putting a little liqueur in your system might loosen you up a bit, and trust me when I say that getting me drunk is in your best interests."

CHAPTER 2: TOUGH AS LEATHER

Matt followed her through the door of the bar, the stink of cigarette smoke and booze immediately stinging his nose. The dingy room was lit by yellow lamps, casting their dull glow through the hazy atmosphere, almost like smog rolling in over a city as it lingered in the air. Flickering neon signs pierced the gloom in bright blues and pinks, advertising different brands of beer as they hung above the bar. Their light reflected on silver taps that lined the counter and the shelves below them were illuminated by lighting strips, stacked with colorful bottles of spirits and liqueurs.

There was a red felt pool table in the center of the room, surrounded by burly truckers clad in denim and flannel, many as wide as they were tall. They nursed frothing pints of beer, the butts of their cigarettes glowing orange as they lined up shots with their cues, some of them turning to get a look at the newcomers. The space was populated by maybe a dozen tables, most of which were occupied, their patrons looking up from card games and their conversations halting as they noticed the strangers. There were a few drunks at the bar, leaning on the counter as they chased their troubles away with harder drinks. The bartender paused as he filled a glass from one of the taps, sizing up Matt and his female companion as they made their way between the tables towards him.

His companion took a seat on one of the stools at the bar, Matt following behind sheepishly, sitting down next to her as he glanced about the room. He could feel the eyes of the patrons on his back, it was like a damned Twilight Zone episode.

His new friend lit another cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke as the bartender walked over to her. His white apron was a patchwork of stains old and new, his rolled-up sleeves exposing forearms that could only have been described as furry. His face was adorned with a bushy beard that was peppered with grey hairs, and his eyebrows looked like a pair of fuzzy caterpillars. If Santa Claus had ever done a stint in prison, this is what he would have looked like.

"What'll it be?" he asked, his tone giving Matt the impression that he wasn't too thrilled to have them in his bar.

"Neat bourbon, on the rocks," the woman replied. The bartender turned his attention towards Matt, who looked so out of place in his blue parka that he might as well have been wearing a sequined ball gown.

"I...don't really drink," he stammered, "I'll just have a-"

"Give him the same," his companion interjected, shooting Matt a sly grin.

Matt leaned closer to whisper to her as the bartender left to pour their drinks.

"Come on, I told you that I don't drink."

"Well today you're drinking," she shot back, punctuating the statement by blowing a smoke ring into his face. Matt wafted it away, suppressing a cough as she laughed at his reaction.

"You know those things will kill you," he said, but she just rolled the cigarette around with her tongue and winked at him.

"Loosen up, kid."

The barman returned and handed them their glasses, filled with ice and amber liquid. Matt took a tentative sip, finding it smooth and pleasant, the drink warming his belly. The woman wasted no time, rolling her cigarette to one side of her mouth and taking a swig, clearly an advanced user. He took a second draw, and she leaned over to give him a hard pat on the back that almost knocked the air out of his lungs.

"See, it ain't so bad. Now I'm going to get drunk and then you're going to take me back to your place..." She finished the sentence with a suggestive pause, watching Matt's cheek redden with a smile on her face. "...to meet your dog," she added.

He laughed nervously, taking another sip of his drink and glancing about the room. Many of the patrons had gone back to their business, but a few of the men who were hanging around the pool table were muttering under their breaths and staring in their direction. Matt had never been inside the bar before, but he passed it every morning and every night on his way to and from the diner. He had witnessed more than his fair share of drunken brawls in the parking lot, and the dive had a bad reputation in the relatively small town.

"It's all about confidence," his companion muttered, Matt turning his attention back to her.

"What?"

"Confidence. That's what people respond to, not your clothes. The clothes don't make the man, you don't need leather and tats to be cool. You can rock that parka, you just have to own it."

She was remarkably perceptive, like she could smell the insecurity on him. He had to admit, he would have expected most women to be turned off by that, what was her game? Why had she taken a liking to him as quickly as she had? Was it the food? They did say that the path to a person's heart was through their stomach after all, but he doubted that biker chicks appreciated the sensitive types.

"So," he started, mustering all of his courage and putting on a confident face. "Are you gonna tell me more about yourself or is it a secret?"

"Depends what you want to know," she replied, swirling the melting ice cubes around in her glass of bourbon.

"Well you won't tell me your name, so maybe I can get to know you in other ways. What kind of music do you like?"

"Guess..."

"Korean Pop," he volunteered sarcastically, and she laughed into her gloved hand.

"Try again."

"Mongolian throat singing?"

"I don't think you're taking this very seriously," she whispered, failing to suppress her grin as she took another long draw from her glass. She was burning through it remarkably quickly, she wasn't joking about wanting to get drunk. Come to think of it, she drank and smoked like someone twice her age, yet she was healthy and spry. To his annoyance, she kept referring to him as kid too, but by the look of her she couldn't have been a day over twenty-five. While travelers often accrued wisdom and experienced beyond their years, it was not enough to explain her mannerisms.

"Alright, Motörhead."

"What am I, a stereotype? You're getting warmer though."

"AC/DC."

"Invalid," she said, wagging her finger at him. "Everyone likes AC/DC."

"You'll have to give me some kind of clue," he pleaded, and she considered for a moment as she nursed her drink.

"I say Kashmir, you say..."

"Led Zeppelin?"

"Bingo."

"So like...late sixties, early seventies rock?"

"I might be a stereotype after all," she chuckled, slamming her empty glass down on the counter to get the attention of the bartender. The stout man walked over to her, his expression one of perpetual displeasure, scowling at her as he began to pour her a refill. Matt noticed that one of the patrons a few seats over to their left was now passed out drunk, or perhaps sleeping on the counter, the bartender seemed indifferent and made no attempt to rouse him.

"Still think this is your kind of place?" Matt asked, his voice low so that the other patrons didn't overhear him.

"I'm liking the vibe so far, but we'll see where the night takes us."

She almost seemed to be waiting for something, but Matt wasn't sure what that might be.

***

They drank and chatted for perhaps another hour. She had been right, Matt was getting looser and more relaxed as he worked his way through his drink. The woman was now on her fourth or maybe even fifth refill. She drank like a fish, and she showed no sign of slowing down. He felt that it should have been enough to floor someone of her weight, and yet she remained alert and conversational, the two of them talking at length about music.

She regaled him with amusing stories about the concerts that she had been to, but Matt was fairly knowledgeable when it came to classic rock, and he was certain that some of the bands whose concerts she claimed to have attended had not toured since the mid-eighties. Even if she had been able to sneak into those concerts at fifteen or sixteen years old, that would put her current age at well over forty. Was she lying? If that was the case, then they were elaborate lies. Besides, asking her age would have been incredibly rude.

As she was recounting one of her many stories, a large man wearing a faded denim jacket sat down heavily to her left, occupying the closest empty seat between her and the sleeping drunk. He was somewhat overweight but heavily muscled, he looked to Matt like a shaved gorilla in human clothing. He sported a trucker's cap, and his chin was adorned with a bushy, black beard. He had not come to order a drink, he already held a can of beer in his hand, dwarfed by his sausage-like fingers. Matt remarked that he smelled of alcohol, inebriated judging by the way that he swayed as he leaned an elbow on the bar for balance.

"Hey beautiful," he said gruffly, leaning closer to the woman than was appropriate as if attempting to whisper. He was too drunk to control the volume of his voice, however, and the whole bar could overhear the conversation.

"How 'bout you ditch this pussy and come home with a real man tonight?"

He patted his beer belly as if to punctuate his statement, laughing riotously as Matt recoiled in disgust. The woman simply continued to sip at her drink as if she hadn't heard him. There were some cheers and whistles of encouragement from a table across the dingy room, no doubt the man's cohorts. This was something that Matt should have foreseen, they probably didn't get many women in this establishment and wasted truckers who might have been on the road for days did not make for polite company.

Matt was no fighter, and this man looked to be thrice his weight, he had hairy fists the size of cinder blocks.

"I think that's our cue to leave," he whispered hurriedly to his companion. She didn't respond, however, and she made no move to get up from her seat. He didn't sense any fear in her, yet she was smaller than Matt was, tiny in comparison to her burly neighbor.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you," the man slurred.

"We were just leaving," Matt added in an attempt to diffuse the situation, getting out of his seat and trying to pull the woman along with him by the arm. She sat stoically on her stool, taking another drink from her glass of bourbon as the drunken trucker glanced between the two of them.

"What are you?" he asked, directing his attention towards Matt now. "Her boyfriend or somethin'?"

"Look, buddy, I think you've had too much to drink. Just let us leave, and we'll be out of your hair."

Matt looked towards the bartender for support, but he was merely watching, drying a pint glass with a rag as the confrontation played out. The trucker took the woman's forearm in his large hand, pinning it against the bar, apparently angered by Matt's suggestion.