1980: You Shook Me All Night Long (Love in the 80s #1) (2 page)

He crossed his arms, the sleeves pulled too-tight across his arms. “Traffic’s always a damn mess here.”

“That’s what I hear. So, thank you for the ride. I’ll be fine. Call me when you get home.” I hugged him, moving him out the door like a ninja. When I let go, he gaped like a fish. Mouth opened. Closed. Opened. Closed. “You totally look like a guppy. I’ll be fine. Gas up the car and go home. Call me when you get there!”

I shut the door before he could impersonate any other animals and turned, leaning my back against the wood. Two taps. “Lock the door.”

I sighed. He left after he heard the lock engage.

T
he bed closest
to the window was mine. I started unpacking the boxes, putting each item away before taking a new one out. With my clothes hanging on the left side of our tiny shared closet, my shoes neatly arranged beneath in rows, color-coded, the door burst open. I’d unlocked it after Dad left. No way would I leave the burbs of Portland to come to LA and lock myself away in a ten-by-ten room.

A tall blonde wearing shorts so short, they should be illegal and a see-through black shirt layered over a bright yellow tank smiled back at me. She tapped the toe of her pointed heel. “You must be Tina! I’m Georgia.”

Georgia had one bag, a giant one that crossed her body and nearly tipped her over. She eased the strap over her head and swung the bag onto the bed with a ka-whump. Then she tackle-hugged me. Unprepared for her exuberance, I stumbled backward, landing on my mattress. “This is like, going to be so much fun. I’ve totally always wanted a sister. And like, here you are!” Georgia squealed into my ear, hugging my neck.

When she let me go, I was smiling. “I hope it’s okay. I took this side of the room.”

Georgia waved me off. “No problem. Not like we’ll be doing much sleeping anyway, right?”

Wrong. I intended to study hard and graduate early. With honors.

She looked at the bag on her bed, fists on her hips. “Time to unpack.” She grabbed hold of the bag’s bottom and lifted up, spilling everything onto her bed. That was one deceptive bag. She had shoes, clothes, make-up, hair products, mirrors, a boom box, Walkman, cassettes, blanket, pillow, towels and cloths, soap and toiletries. Had she robbed a department store?

With a grin, Georgia began throwing things to me. “Hang these up for me?”

“Sure,” I said, catching the items against my chest one at a time until she stopped hurtling them at me.

Two weeks later and I was familiar with campus. The buildings were easy to recognize once you walked around them enough. Tommy Trojan, the beautiful but fierce warrior in bronze, was a landmark I used to figure out where I was on campus and how to get where I needed to be. I even became acquainted with the shuttle cocks, tiny buses that ran every ten minutes carting students from stop to stop.

Georgia was the sister I never had. We borrowed each other’s clothes—well, mostly she insisted that I wear hers. She promised to take me shopping for something more suitable for California. But we listened to music together and hung out when she wasn’t busy with her other friends or in class. Tonight, she was dragging me to an on-campus concert. She scored free tickets somehow. I didn’t ask. Georgia was definitely not shy when it came to getting what she wanted.

The band, Phantom’s Breath, was playing at the Auditorium across campus. “Five o’clock. Do not be late,” she’d warned.

We were meeting in our dorm, where she promised to fix my hair and apply my makeup. “We’re going to find you a totally yummy bod for the night.”

“I don’t need a bod,” I’d said. And I didn’t. The USC guys were definitely not part of my life plan. Guys were after one thing. Maybe that piece of my dad’s advice was actually right. It didn’t matter what kind of guy either. Jocks. Nerds. Bad boys. All bad news. They were distractions I couldn’t afford and didn’t want. I wanted to get a great education, have a successful career and do something positive for this world. Men would just complicate things right now.

I’d let Georgia dye my dark hair blonde, inserted like into every sentence like she said was a must. My transformation was nearly complete. “You look like Madonna!” she’d squealed after revealing my bleached tresses. “Holy shit! Let’s tease it!”

And tease it we did. Classes passed in a blur. I only had two on Fridays, but they were two hours each, the last ending at four fifty. Ten minutes later and panting, I unlocked our dorm door.

Georgia stood in front of the mirror we’d hung on the closet door. Her hair added half a foot to her already five foot nine frame. The heels of her boots added another five inches. Fish net hose covered her legs. She wore a chartreuse and black tulle skirt and a shredded t-shirt that read “Bitchin’.”

Her eye shadow was dark and heavy, as was her blush and bright red lipstick. She smirked. “Now that I look totally amazing, it’s your turn, Teen.”

My mouth gaped open, a trait I realized I’d inherited from my father, along with the fear of looking like Georgia did just then. “I can’t pull that look off at all.”

She scoffed. “Honey, you’re going to look
so
much better. Just you wait.” Grabbing my hands, she pulled me into the room and kicked it shut behind her. “Clothes are in the bathroom. Hurry and get dressed so I have time to work my magic on your hair.”

I peeked into the bathroom. No. No, no, no. Dad would kill me. “I can’t wear that.”

“Sure you can!”

“I really can’t.”

“You seriously can. Look, just try it on. If it doesn’t work, we’ll pick something else out. But it’s a concert—your first concert—and you need to look fab.” Her tone said there was no way she was taking me unless I wore what she wanted me to.

The hose were black lace and must have been created by a man. They were total torture devices. I shimmied and tugged until they were as close to my navel as they would go. Next? Tiny jean shorts.

I yelled through the door. “Where did these shorts come from?” They looked familiar.

“Oh! I totally cut off a pair of your jeans!” No wonder they looked familiar.

Great.
I needed those to keep me warm this winter. Now I only had one pair. “The hose are for you, too!” And hose. “Put them on first!”

I tugged and wrestled the hose into place and then pulled on the way-too-short-to-be-worn-in-public shorts, ghosting my fingers over the freshly frayed hem. The only thing left on the sink was an equally tiny camisole.

Pulling it over my head, I swore. “I’ll freeze to death in this,” I muttered.

“No, you won’t. Get out here, Teen.”

I’d told her hundred times. I hated that nickname.

With a roll of my eyes and a twist of the door handle, I stepped into a sticky cloud. Now, I knew what Dad felt like. I batted the air, coughing.

“You are seriously over-dramatic. Come on. Sit down. It’s your turn!” she chirped.

I sat in the wooden chair with too much gusto, the wobbly legs barely holding me upright. Georgia’s arms were outstretched, ready to catch me if I fell. We laughed and she got started.

Spray. Tease.

Spray. Tease.

Repeat.

The smog in this city? Caused one hundred percent by hairspray. Not that I’d seen actual smog. But still.

“Your hair looks sick with bangs. Told you.” She smirked, arms crossed over her chest with the comb sticking out the side.

They did look good. My eyeshadow? It was dark and heavy. But my brown-black eyes smoldered. I loved it.

She turned around and grabbed something out of the closet. “Here—to complete the look.” I caught a bright pink leather jacket against my chest. “That’s on loan,” she pointed out.

I loved it. “Thanks, G.”

“Georgia,” she corrected.

“Georgia.”

L
aying on the creeper
, I pushed with the heel of my boots until I could see the part I needed to... tighten... if I could just reach it. Straining between metal, my free hand covered in grease from fingertip to elbow, I wiped my brow with the inside neck of my t-shirt. Moving to LA? Worst idea in the world. The heat was constant. It was fall here and still in the eighties. In Virginia, there were four distinct seasons, and I enjoyed every one of them.

Todd Armistead heard a rattle this morning on his way to work and Todd refused to drive a less-than-pristine vehicle. He had more money than Michael Jackson. Hell, he was a record exec. He probably signed Jackson.

Todd also loved muscle cars. We shared that passion. His brand-spanking-new Pontiac Firebird was a lovely lady, sleek and sexy with curves in only the right places. Glossy black finish with a golden bird on the hood. She was a beast.

He’d thrown the keys. I’d caught them in the air. “Fix her.” That’s all he said. Guys like him liked power. They liked to order people around. I hated guys like him.

“Might take a few days.”

He’d sighed, looked at the fat, round face of his watch—a watch that probably cost more than I made in a year of honest, hard work. “Fine. I’ll pick her up Monday.”

Todd didn’t ask if I worked weekends, he implied that I would. Period. I’d done business with him on two different cars in the short time I’d lived here. The bird was the third.

Grasping the keys, the metal dug into my palm. “Sure thing, Mr. Armistead.”

He slid his sunglasses on. “I know everything about her. Don’t scratch, dent or drive her. I’ll know.”

“I’ll have to take her around the block to make sure I’ve fixed her.”

He huffed. “You know what I mean. No messing around.”

I was going to tell him that we would never drive a client’s car for recreation, though his would be a pleasure to drive. He’d already walked away, the back of his expensive silk suit flapping in the hot breeze.

At least
it
had the decency to wave goodbye. After hours of sweating under the stubborn girl, I was no closer to determining the problem. I drove her home. If I was working on her this weekend, it would be in my own garage.

“Luke!”

“Under here.” Early this morning, I’d taken the bird for a spin. She still rattled. It was more than something that had come loose. I just had to find the problem and fix it. Before Monday.

No pressure there.

The carburetor was fine. Alternator, too.

I eased the creeper out from beneath the vehicle. “How was class?” I asked with a smile.

Joey was my only brother, only sibling. He was two years younger than me, a freshman at the University of Southern California and the reason we’d moved here. Mom and Dad were comfortable at home in Manassas, Virginia. Small town life suited them, and Dad had just taken his retirement. I’d been born late in their lives. Joey had been a complete accident, or miracle, depending on how you looked at it. And I wanted to be close in case he needed someone. I had nothing tying me down. I could set up shop anywhere.

We packed up at the beginning of summer. Loaded our things into the rusty cab of an old Ford pickup and headed West, taking the scenic route and making three weeks’ worth of memories most brothers didn’t have.

Joey smiled down at me and gave me a hand, pulling me to my feet. “Class was boring. I hate biology.”

“You need it.”

“What makes you think I don’t know everything about biology? I’ve had girlfriends.”

I clapped him on the shoulder. “That would be anatomy, and proof that you need to pay more attention in class, Joe.”

He shrugged. “It’s hard when there are sexy bods everywhere I look. Some of the girls wear leotards to class because they have aerobics afterward. It’s a beautiful thing.” He looked up toward the ceiling, probably imagining spandex on long, slender legs.

I shook my head. “Plans for the weekend?” Joey always had plans now that the semester was in full swing.

“Yeah, about that. Can I borrow the car tonight?”

Cursing, I threw my wrench in the toolbox. “Seriously, dude? We only have one.”

“I know, but there’s this party at the Sig house and I want to pick my date up in style, bro.”

“She doesn’t live on campus?”

Joey grinned. “Nope. She’s an upper classman.” That explained the shit-eating smile and need for my ride.

“Fine. But you take care of her, or I’ll take care of you.”

Joey punched the air in victory. “I will. I promise.”

I sounded like Armistead. Leaning back against the work bench, its scarred wood digging into my palms, I watched Joey walk away, high on the possibilities of the evening. No going out for me tonight. I had a date with a Firebird, and a feeling that we’d be getting to know each other very well.