Road Rally's End

The road rally ended on the greensward outside the country club, with the cars arrayed to show off their expensively preserved beauty. Carl's '47 Oldsmobile Custom Cruiser was the last to arrive.

"Slowpoke," said Arlene, with a mischievous look.

"I think that worked to your benefit," said Carl, smirking. "In this rally, there's no shame in being last to the finish line."

She winked as she opened the door, then lifted her sleek legs to disembark. He enjoyed the view as the hem of her skirt teased above her knees.

Carl stood tall as he emerged from the car. What a fine moment this was, with people of his age and status, and his values. The owner-drivers were all men. The women were accessories. Everyone saw that as fitting and proper.

He watched Arlene join the chat of three other women. Then his look shifted to four men gathered around Morrie's '51 Studebaker Commander. The hood was up, and Morrie pointed here and there, clearly proud of what he had done on a vehicle for which factory-origin replacement parts were no longer available.

There are so many pleasures we can derive from this, thought Carl. If Morrie's greatest satisfaction comes from the tinkering, I'm happy for him.

Carl could feel that his grin had expanded to stretch his skin. Tinkering interested him, but it soon became a chore. Yet it was the means to an end. Or ends. He had greatly enjoyed the ends today.

Strolling the greensward, Carl greeted other members of the classic car club. Sometimes he took genuine interest in one car's drive train upgrade, another's disguised use of modern electronics.

As always, he stayed out of the debate over whether the club should flatly ban seat belts. He saw no point in inviting the ire of law enforcement, and was himself content to leave the belts unfastened.

As were his passengers.

Carl saw the judges making their rounds. These men behaved as all event judges did, questioning the owner-drivers, recording data on clipboards and phone cameras, expressing no emotion.

Winnifred entered Carl's line of vision. "I missed you," she said with her usual, theatrical sigh.

He smiled at the willowy blonde. "It was not meant to be," he said, also theatrically.

"I suppose I could have waited for you at one of those stops, the tea room perhaps, or the nail salon. But when a driver barges in and makes me the first choice among all of the women there, It's so difficult to refuse. There are so many points at stake."

"I understand completely," said Carl. "How did you do?"

She brought her phone out of her shoulder bag, within which Carl glimpsed colorful fabric, perhaps thongs.

Proudly, Winnifred held out the phone and showed him a four-digit number. "This should be in the running for the win."

"Bravo," said Carl. He then gently took her free hand, and kissed it. This allowed them both to part company.

He strolled again, this time back in the direction of his car. The judges would arrive there shortly.

As he passed the women's tent, he made a show of averting his eyes--just after getting a glimpse of Arlene, standing at the end of the line. Yes, it would be improper, even perverse, for him to look at this part of the judging. An owner-driver was, after all, a gentleman.

Carl inhaled deeply, in satisfaction. There were so many simple pleasures, like the sight of the women's legs. No woman wore pants for this rally.

At last, Carl welcomed the judges. They looked under the hood, examined the paste wax job, and inquired about tire wear and oil use.

Finally, they asked Carl to open the passenger door. Carl complied, with great flair.

One judge removed from the glove box five pairs of panties.

Another judge read the names on the panties, and noted them on a clipboard.

The third, the chief judge, lightly sniffed the gussets, then sealed each of the panties in a plastic bag.

"Thank you, Mr. Tolliver," said the chief judge. "We have much to analyze, but I can say that you should not leave before results are announced."

"Of course," said Carl, again at max grin.

An hour later, Carl started the engine. He waved to the well-wishers nearby, his view still clear despite the first-place trophy strapped behind the hood ornament.

"Another fine rally," he declared, as he steered onto the pavement.

"If you say so," said Elizabeth, in a bored monotone.