Lie To Me

I would like to take this opportunity to Thank blackrandl1958, for her generosity, assistance, guidance and wonderful editing. I would also like to say, Thank you so much for the invitation to participate in this event.

*****

As always, I held him in my arms and kissed him as he walked out the door. His embrace tight, and his lips moist... His eyes glistened. "I love you, Niki."

"I love you too, Anton. Please be safe."

"Hey... Don't look so sad. I'll be back tomorrow night."

"I know, but I miss you, and I worry about you."

He was gone in a flash, and it was time to get ready for work. Sometimes I hated being married to a pilot. Specially an international one at that. He would be back tomorrow night, but He wouldn't be here tonight, and that's what hurt. So many lonely nights over the last year.

Maybe if he wasn't so handsome, so friendly and outgoing, I wouldn't worry so much. Everybody loved Anton, especially the flight attendants. He was one of those people, you know the type. Ten minutes after walking into a room full of strangers he was everybody's best friend. He knew everybody's name, remembered their partner's names. It was, for want of a better word, his super power.

It wasn't like a weird pretend persona, he wasn't one of those cheesy false people. That's just who he was. He genuinely loved people.

I went off to work myself, and soon the day disappeared in a series of meetings and planning sessions.

I loved my job as much as Anton loved his, but for a whole bunch of different reasons. My role as logistics manager for one of the largest transport firms in the country pushed all the right buttons for me...

My father had been a truck driver his whole life. He drove long haul, and as a kid, I missed him like crazy when he was gone.

It changed once I was old enough. From then, he started taking me with him on some of his jobs. God, I loved those days, sitting in the cab, high up watching Dad flicking through the gears and guiding the big rig. Sixteen gears, and he moved them so easily, so swiftly. Damn, he was a great driver. All those years on the job, and never one single accident.

I felt like we were special, sitting up in that cab, Dad in command, the engine growling.

Me with his radio in hand telling other truckies where we were, what we were doing. I learned all the jargon; I could share traffic info with the best of them. I adored him, and those days were special memories.

Most people referred to me as a tomboy, but it didn't worry me. I loved trucks and mud and tractors. I loved everything mechanical. I was good with machines and useless with people.

I often wondered how two such completely different people as Anton and myself managed to fall in love...

For me it had been instant, one of those old time magical movie moments. Our eyes met across a crowded room, well in this case a dirty oily noisy pit area.

Yep, that's right, pits. I raced motorcycles at the time. I wasn't exactly great, but I finished middle of the pack most times. More importantly, I loved it.

Another thing my father got me into... Although he was more into cruisers than street bikes. Me going racing was all his idea, though.

See, Dad got me into bikes as well. He had a big old Harley Dyna Glide, and he loved to ride. He saw me watching him ride away, the sad pout impossible to hide. If it wasn't bad enough he had been away in the truck. When he returned, he rode off on his bike.

Seeing dad ride off hurt, because it meant there would be no working in the workshop on one of Dad's projects. That was something that I picked up from Dad. I loved working on machinery. Engines, bodywork, suspension, I loved it. I was never happier than when we were working on some machine.

Seeing Dad ride away meant I had to go and amuse myself, or help Mum. Not that I didn't love my mum, because nothing could be further from the truth. It was just vacuuming, or window washing didn't hold the same attraction for me.

My world flipped the day he stared at me from atop his bike, the engine idling roughly. Me glaring sulkily at him. He must have felt guilty, because he asked. "Do you want to come for a ride?"

Did I. "Hell yeah." I almost screamed.

He laughed, then said seriously. "Then you go and ask your mother. If she says yes, then we can go. If she says no, then tough luck. Got it?

Not a chance in hell was Mum agreeing to that. I hated it, but we made a deal, and Dad was adamant, that our word was our bond. He rode off on his ride, and I stalked sulkily around. Staring angrily at my poor mother.

"Don't you give me that look, young lady. It's bad enough you spend all day out in that blasted shed with him all day. Coming in here looking like a miniature grease money. You are not getting on that damned bike."

She caught me later, while Dad was still off riding around. She drew me into her arms. "My love, motorbikes are dangerous machines. People get killed on them...

Dad, thankfully, was on my side, and he tried. I heard the arguments over the next couple of weeks. Luckily for me, Mum finally caved. I don't know what Dad had to give up, but from that day forward, it was me standing beside his bike with my helmet in hand, waiting impatiently.

A new world had opened up... Motorcycles... I absolutely loved it. Gee, I got him in so much trouble screaming at him to go faster. Always pushing him; I knew he couldn't say no to me. Sitting on the back of his bike, my arms around his waist, the wind in our faces, the motor growling, the sound of the tarmac beneath the wheels, God I loved everything about it, the heat from the engine, the smell of petrol.

I had a new passion, and that burned bright. Speed, god I loved it.

Dad helped me when I brought my first bike. First things first. He helped me convince Mum. He helped me rebuild the blown motor. Showed me how to lap valves, how to set timing, how to install high performance pistons, fit brake shoes, bleed brakes. I did feel sorry for him because he had to give up riding. Every weekend now was helping me with the bike.

Not that he complained or said anything. Secretly, he loved teaching me, passing on his knowledge. I was his surrogate son.

That was a chilly period in our home. Mum was not happy. She made Dad pay, oh boy, did she.

I loved the speed, the craziness of it, the thrill, the excitement. The feeling of being on the edge, the machine verging on being out of control, the tyres sliding, no room for error.

After I lost my license for the second time, it was Pop who said. "If you want to keep your flaming license, you have got to stop racing around like a dipshit on public roads."

"What are you suggesting, Pop?"

"I think you should go racing. Get it out of your system, at least on the race track the traffic is all going in the same direction."

My mother had a fit when she found out. I don't think Dad was getting any loving for the next three months...

That assumption might have been on the lighter side, because after he volunteered to spend a lot of his time with me in the shed working on my new track bike.

Racing... what can I say... I had a new love...

Of course it meant racing in the same fields as men. There wasn't a separate class for women.

I loved the fact I was the only girl racing. It was me against the boys. It's a weird thing. They hated having to race against a girl. It seemed to me they were insulted by the fact I was allowed to compete against them.

They hated it more when I started to beat some of them. The sulky bastards wouldn't talk to me. I was supposed to accept it, take it like a good sport. They, on the other hand, they were like spoiled brats. Getting their arses kicked by a girl hurt their fragile little man ego's. It was my introduction to the fragile male ego.

I wasn't a great racer, but I was super competitive. I hated to lose. I soon got a reputation for being crazy. Nobody wanted to go into the hairpin with me on the inside. Win it or bin it, that was my philosophy.

After several crashes, Dad took me aside. "Sweetheart, can you take it a little easier please? Your mother, has only just forgiven me for getting you involved. Every crash you have puts me back on the sofa."

We both laughed at his joke.

It was in the pits at Ruapuna where I met Anton. He was working as pit crew for a mate. Their area was right beside mine. I noticed him staring as I worked on my bike. The GSXR 600 was nearing the end of its life. That meant lots of breakdowns, and lots of repairs, and it certainly wasn't competitive.

I was leaning over the bike, helping Dad fit a new muffler. I'd binned her in the sweeper, pushing to hard as usual. One of the regular riders, Daniel, who I detested because of his petulant stupidity about being beaten by me. Anyway, he had a new bike, it was fast, and it pissed me off even more. Knowing that he was going to finish in front of me, just because he had more money to spend, pissed me right off.

We had battled for the whole race; we were in seventh or eight depending on who left their braking the latest. On three separate laps I almost lost it, pushing way too hard. His bike was faster, so if I was going to beat the smarmy pretentious knob head, it had to be under brakes. I lined up my planned overtaking manoeuvre, putting my front wheel up the inside of his a couple of times. I wanted him to know I was coming in the hope he would get nervous and leave the door open.

Two hundred kilometres an hour, down to sixty at the hairpin, meant that was my one shot. I left it to the last lap, knowing that even if I did get past, he would have the speed to get me on the short straightaway to the finish line.

The six pot calipers squealed, as I left my braking till way past the marker. The rear wheel chirped as it lifted of the ground. The front suspension compressed to the max.

He heard me coming, and panicked, running wide, and I dived up the inside, my knee the only thing holding the GSXR up. Unfortunately, although my plan was good, my execution terrible. I was in way too hot, of course, I lost the front end, and as it let go, it slid into Daniel's bike, taking him out as well.

Yeah, it was a cheap shot, but I did smile. At least his new bike didn't look so flashy now, and he wasn't going to beat me.

As I picked myself up off the tarmac, Daniel came rushing at me screaming. "You stupid fucking bitch. You were never going to pull that off. What the fuck were you thinking?" His eyes were full of hatred.

With a wide smirk, I hissed. "I was thinking there's no way that a fucking dickhead like you was going to beat me. Guess what, mother fucker? You didn't."

I think he would have actually punched me, but by then the marshals had arrived to see if we were okay.

In the pits, Dad just shook his head. "Can we please not tell your mother?"

"No worries, Pop. I almost had him.

"Bullshit, Niki. You were never going to make that stick."

"Yeah, well, I tried."

"Sweetheart, you have to realise you aren't going to win all the time."

We got the muffler fitted, but every time I looked up, there were those big green eyes staring at me. I smirked when I caught him a couple of times. Most of the guys didn't even bother talking to me, so I was surprised when I sensed the shadow fall over me.

"Nice bike; you did all right for a girl. Especially considering it must be the oldest bike in the field."

Dad jumped in before I could answer. He knew I was going to snap at the "for a girl" remark. "She does great; this bloody bike is buggered. Nobody else could get the finishes she gets. If she had a new bike, she'd be battling with the leaders."

The handsome guy stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Anton."

"I'm Niki, and this is my dad, Lawry." I replied.

That's the way it was with Anton. Ten minutes and it felt like I'd known him my whole life. He disappeared after a while, but came back with a couple of cokes and hot dogs for all of us.

Dad, who hated boys hanging around me, forgot his anxiety and hostility. For some reason, he was comfortable with Anton.

That was it. After that day, he was in my pit with my dad. We worked as a team. He didn't find it weird that I loved being covered in oil, and grease. He didn't care that I swore like a sailor, or in my case, a trucker.

I never went to Uni, I left school straight after sixth form. I went to work for the company my dad worked for. Shit, I'd been working for them ever since I was fourteen, anyway. I swept out offices, did coffee runs, filed, typed, helped out around the office.

I would've preferred to be out in the maintenance department, but I sort of liked the office. It was the heart of the business. It was great being in control. Dad always complained how the company fucked the drivers over by not having everything planned and scheduled.

I started just doing the schedules, but after a lot of hard work and extra studies, I found myself in charge of logistics.

Knowing how the drivers felt gave me the edge. I wanted to make Dad and the other drivers lives easier. I never wanted to hear them complain about me the way they did about the previous logistics schedulers.

We might have been chalk and cheese, but there was a connection. We both knew it, right from that first day. Mum loved him, my granddad loved him, and he was more protective than Dad.

Ten minutes, I swear that's all it took for him to win my family over.

Mum invited him to dinners, lunches. Dad invited him to their anniversary party. Mum loved him, because I guess he was the first guy to get to me. I don't mean sexually. I lost my virginity to a truck driver. I'd had a few boyfriends, but Anton was the first to get me to wear a dress, to want to look nice for him.

Yeah, I saw all the other girls looking at him and knew. If he was going to be mine. I needed to look my best. Gradually, all the money I spent on my bike slowly filtered into makeup, hairdressers and new clothes. Racing slowly lost it's importance, and my bike stayed parked under a tarpaulin in my parents' garage..

Not that I didn't still love riding, it was just now it was to and from work. With the occasional weekend ride.

It was the only thing we disagreed about.

"Do you want to come for a ride?" I asked one day when he turned up at home and I was preparing to go for a ride.

He laughed derisively. "Not a chance in hell am I getting on the back of that thing. You're a nut case."

"Cheeky bastard," I blurted out, and he laughed harder. "Seriously babe. You're crazy."

"Yeah, whatever dude." I left him standing staring after me, as I did a mono out the driveway.

Anton managed to bring out a side of me that had previously never existed. He took me to parties and dinners. There was always this hoard of gorgeous, and I mean stunningly gorgeous, women hanging around him. It was obvious to me at least that they all wanted him.

It left me feeling completely insecure. I wasn't like that. My hair was short, boyishly short. It was easy to keep clean when your hands are covered in oil. I was never going to match it with those girls, never in a thousand years.

I didn't have the figures those girls had. I was always skinny. Mum said I was lucky, because I could eat the horse, chase the rider and never put on a kilo.

Still, there were many nights when we prepared to go out I found myself with my hands holding my barely noticeable boobs. The only advantage being I could go braless if I wanted.

It didn't help as I watched other women pressing their large pillowy boobs against him.

Those insecurities were mine. I had to continuously battle my anxiety levels whenever we went out.

Bloody flight attendants. Shit, scatty bitches who I'm sure threw themselves at him every chance they got.

Once we started living together I had to keep my jealousy in check. He hated it when I got moody about where he was staying and who the flight attendants were going to be.

"Niki, you have to learn to trust me. I promise there's nothing going on..." Yeah right... "Lie to me..."

Our wedding was really the first time we argued. He wanted this huge flashy wedding with all his pilot mates and his family. I felt for my parents, because my dad was a proud man, and there was no way in hell he was letting anybody else pay for his only daughter's wedding.

I saw the costs piling up, and I overheard a few conversations between Mum and Dad. Enough to know the costs were hurting.

I tackled Anton. "Honey, we have to cut back on the wedding okay. It's too much. Mum and Dad can't afford it."

"Why didn't he say something? I'm happy to pay, and my folks will be only be to happy to put some money in."

I sniggered. "How well do you know my dad?"

"Yes, all right. I get it. He might be upset at first, but he'll get over it."

"Like hell. If you so much as offer, you will be lying on the ground wondering who turned the lights out."

He laughed at my choice of words. He was also clever enough to read between the lines. I won the fight, and we had a smaller wedding. I hated the fact that Dad had to work extra overtime to pay so those bitchy flight attendants could come to my wedding. I didn't even like them.

It got worse after we married. He clocked up flying hours and did the training. Within two years, he was flying internationally. His new schedule meant he spent at least five nights per week somewhere else. His routes took him all around Australasia and the Pacific, Asia and America. They were all layover flights. When he started the London, and Dubai routes, it got even worse.

Yeah, it meant financially we were well off. We wanted for nothing... Nothing but time together.

"I love only you, Niki." He always said when we shared our last kiss. I always drove him to the airport when he was long hauling it. That was torture watching him walk off surrounded by several gorgeous women.

Okay, a lot of them were now friends of mine, as well, and that did ease my anxiety. Surely they wouldn't try to screw me over. Not since we were friends.

There were a couple that I didn't like at all, shallow bitches who actually hunted down the pilots. They were worse than men wanting to have another pilot on their "been there done that" list.

Still, Anton had never done anything to make me question his love or fidelity. It worried me more because of the way it made me feel. I hated being so insecure and needy, but those resentful feelings just wouldn't go away. I hated that I ceded control to those empty-headed shallow bitches.

Having a pilot for a husband did have some advantages, though. We had some fabulous holidays.

It was at one of Anton's best mate's birthday party when I started questioning my marriage. Rueben was also a pilot, although he lived a bachelor's life style. He had his up-town apartment, the typical bachelor's pad. Huge TV, with sports playing.

Anton and I had been there most of the day. We helped, get everything ready and I spent ages preparing salads and food. I really liked Rueben; he was a lovely guy. He was honest about not wanting to get married. He always had a pretty girl on his arm, but I did notice he veered away from the flight attendants.

I did ask him why, and as usual, he was forthright. "Niki, the hosties are nice, and if I'm away from home, then yeah. I might go there, but they're a weird bunch. There's a group of them who are in competition to score with as many pilots as they can."

"Surely that's no worse than what you do." I replied.

"No, it's completely different. I like sex as much as the next guy, but it's never about numbers. If I'm horny and feeling lonely. I let them use me, but that's it. I don't like the idea they're comparing notes."