the lemonade. Maybe there’s one thing that’s not satisfied, I thought, and set the sign down.
“My brother is on his way over with a fresh batch. I’m afraid the two of us drank all we made.”
The man’s thoughts were projected over his face as he wiped the edges of his mouth. I wondered if he too ran a magazine in Chicago.
“Aren’t you a little old for this anyway?”
“Oh, I’m just helping out my brother,” I lied, glancing back at the house. Louie was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing.
“This is a nice car,” I said, resting on the passenger window, leaning in. The man beamed as he ran his hands over the leather seats.
“I’ve worked hard on it.”
“The ’67 Sting Ray is actually one of my favorite cars. One of the only ones I know,” I laughed, “but my favorite.”
The man was awe-struck. I’m sure his female flings never had a clue what the hot rod was he sped them around in. So to have me know the make and even the year the car was released must have been quite surprising.
“Little lady, would you care to take a spin?” He asked, tossing beer bottles under the seat and pushing open the passenger door.
“I’d love to.”
Drunken stranger or not, such opportunities only come along once in a lifetime, and I wasn’t about to let this one pass me by. The door slammed behind me. The lock latched. Inside the car, it was everything I imagined and more. The upholstery was like velvet and shined as white as a dentist’s teeth. I peered over the dashboard at the endless road ahead and took a deep breath. I admit I was a bit scared. Actually, very scared. I rode in larger vehicles like buses and tractors, but was a virgin to the sports car. It was so low to the ground and with a glance to the speedometer I saw it topped out at 150 MPH—90 miles faster than I had ever traveled.
“Let me show you what this baby can do!”
The Sting Ray whirred into gear and shot forward as my head snapped back against the seat. The car picked up speed as exhilaration overtook fear. Air whistled through a sliver in the window as again the car shifted gears, launching us forward. The whistle became a shrill scream, and at this point I was laughing and giggling uncontrollably. The man looked over and chuckled.
“What’s your name?”
I started to reply but stopped. I don’t know why, but at that instant there was nothing more I wanted to do than hurl myself onto him, gouge at his eyes, kick him out the door, and make off with the car, taking it as far away as possible. But the idea of leaving Louie closed the door on the fantasy before I could even get my seat belt off. I knew even if I doubled back, I’d never be able to convince Louie to come with me. He wasn’t ready to leave the nest, at least not yet. I was working on that, showing him that if we left and ran away, things wouldn’t be disastrous, that we could stay afloat, get a job somewhere, make ends meet.
“What is it?”
“Ivey,” I replied. “What’s yours?”
He shifted the car into fifth as I glanced at the speedometer. We were nearing 90 MPH. A new personal record!
“Chuck,” he said, as he eyed my dress and bonnet. “Have you lived out here your whole life?”
“Never been anywhere else.”
He gave an empathetic hmmm.
“Where are you from?”
“California,” he began, and my heart fluttered.
It was a lifelong dream of mine to live on the beaches of California, either under a lifeguard tower or beneath the shade of a palm tree abundant in coconuts.
“Although I spend a helluva lot of time in Mexico and driving cross country on business. You know, I’ve probably traveled more miles today than you have in your entire life. Crazy thought. I mean, my god. There’s so much world you’re missing out on. See it all and then settle in, fine. But you can’t settle without having lived and died first. I bet that’s what those parents of yours did. Saw the inferno and then settled. I could see myself doing that, I guess. I might even enjoy it, getting out of this chaotic bustle of who’s the pit bull and who’s the bitch. What’s the phrase? Urban jungle? I guess I could see myself getting out. But then again, what would I do with these trusty bottles here? They’re mother’s teat, am I right?” He laughed, although I’m not exactly sure why. “You should explain to those parents that you, having lived out here in nowheresville your whole life, you’re being brought along the wrong way. It’s not right. Live and die first. Live and die, mi nuevo amiga.”
“Trust me, I have.”
There was another empathetic hmmm. He stroked his chin as if my problems had just become his next project. “You know, I should take you with me. I’d be more than happy to. Could take you a bunch of places, ending up on the California bluffs overlooking the world’s largest bathtub. It’d expand your horizons and I’d show you a helluva good time. Would be good for you, you know?”
“That’s alright,” I said with colossal restraint. The words came out squeaky and pained. Chuck put his hand on my shoulder and frowned. He understood the predicament. I had talked to Louie about running away many times, but he remained firm that we wait until both of us were high school graduates. And while I told him I thought this was an excuse, a way of putting off a tough decision, I wasn’t about to run off on my own and leave him behind. Since we were infants we stood by one another, protected the other, fought for each other. That was what being brother and sister was all about. Unlike Mom and Dad, we understood what family meant and wouldn’t let anything break us apart.
“Shall we turn back?” Chuck said, already decelerating.
I nodded as the car pirouetted 180 degrees and stopped. He pulled out his wallet. I glanced over and saw the edges of three hundred dollar bills. He must have seen me wide-eyed because he started laughing, giving me his business card. I turned it over and traced the engraved gold lettering. It reminded me of the print on Mom’s Bible. The card had Chuck’s home address, telephone number, cell number, and job occupation: Furniture Dealer.
This I didn’t believe for a second.
“What’s this for?”
“If you’re ever out in California, give me a call. We’ll get together and have a good time.” He winked, then sped back to the lemonade stand.
The Sting Ray rounded the hill. Louie was in the middle of the street advertising a look of deep concern— probably thinking he lost the sale. I stuck my hand out the window into the cool blast and yelled his name. He scowled and didn’t respond. Chuck turned the car around for the last time and parked. I looked up at Louie from the passenger seat. His eyes beat down on me like lights in an interrogation room. I opened the door and climbed out. Louie put the cup forward.
“Thanks,” Chuck said, handing Louie two quarters and asking for another. I tried to help Louie with the pitcher, but he shrugged me off.
“Where you headed, mister?” Louie asked, giving Chuck the second lemonade.
“All over. It’d be easier to tell you where I’m not going.”
He peppered the throttle with his foot. The engine growled and then quieted back to a purr.
“Ivey,” Chuck said, leaning over into the passenger seat to look up at me. Louie caught a whiff of the vodka and gave me a cold glare. “It was very cool meeting you. And I’ll be waiting for you to take me up on that offer.”
My cheeks flushed. Chuck gave a salute and then rolled up the window. The Corvette slid into gear, sped off with a deafening cry, and disappeared up and over the horizon.
Louie waited for an explanation. I ignored him and went and sat down. “Since when have you been the type to take rides from strangers? You never...” his voice quivered.