WILD RIDE

WILD RIDE

by Juliette Jones

Copyright © 2014 Juliette
Jones

All rights
reserved.  No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed or scanned in
any electronic or printed form without permission.  Thank you for respecting
the hard work of this author.

WILD RIDE
is a work of fiction.  The characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictitious.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales are entirely coincidental.

Cover art
photo used under license from Shutterstock.com

First
Edition: February 2014

Chapter
One

I
awoke feeling happy, God knows why.  I’d had little sleep, the day was already
hot as sin, and I had another long shift ahead of me at a job that I hated with
every fiber of my being.  I’d had waitressing jobs before that I’d half-enjoyed,
but The Rusty Nail was hardly a choice establishment.  The clientele were a
seedy, drunken, desperate bunch who never tired of groping and grabbing as
their beer-on-tap was liberally, endlessly served.  By me.  A dead-end bar on a
dead-end street in a dead-end town, that’s what it was.  The tips were good
enough, though, so I’d stuck with it for eight and a half months so far, saving
every penny I could get away with, stashing my wadded bundles of cash in an
empty peanut butter jar I hid at the back of the kitchen cupboard where I kept
the herbal teas, the organic rice, the walnuts, when I could afford them: it was
a cupboard Cal avoided.

I’d
thought of quitting my job more than once, God knew that.  Every day, in fact. 
But it helped that I could walk the mile and half from the house we were
renting – a glorified shack with one bedroom and the smallest kitchen I’d ever
seen.  My car was a rust heap that ran, but barely.  It needed some stuff done
to it that Cal had promised he would take care of, especially after the
mechanic said the repairs would cost more than the car was worth.  Cal
was
a mechanic, so I’d thought he might make it a priority.  Take it to work with
him, or something.  Fix it when he had a spare hour or two.

That
hadn’t happened.  His motorcycles needed fixing.  There was always a part that
had to be replaced or a spark plug to tune, or whatever.

Cal’s
promises had never been something I could reliably hinge my hopes on.  Even in
the beginning.  Now, after almost two years of living together, our
relationship had taken on all the glitter and glamor of the dingy windows the
sun was feebly trying to shine through.  And it wasn’t having much luck. 
Looking around the stuffy, messy bedroom, I couldn’t quite place the reason
behind my unwarranted spark of optimism.  Beyond the dirty panes of glass, the
sky gleamed a bright, incandescent blue.  Outside this house, it was a
masterpiece of a day and one that I wanted to make the most of.

And
I remembered: today was my birthday.  My twenty-first.

I’d
already planned to stop in at a swanky shop I passed on my way to work, to
treat myself.  There was a handbag I’d had my eye on for a whole month.  It was
red and orange, made of leather.  Expensive.  Just last week, it had been put
on sale.  Thirty percent off.  And if a girl couldn’t buy herself a present on
her twenty-first birthday, then what was the point?  I worked hard and I
figured I deserved it.  God knew Cal wouldn’t buy it for me.  I’d be lucky if
he even remembered it
was
my birthday.

Before
I could rise from the bed, Cal’s burly arm wrapped around me.  I could smell
the sweat and grease of yesterday’s workday.  He hadn’t even bothered to shower
before coming to bed.  Nice.  He pulled me closer, and started kissing my neck,
but I struggled, pulling away from his grasp.  “Let me go,” I said.  “I’m
getting up.”

His
grip on my arm tightened.  “Let’s have some fun,” he murmured.

It
was the last thing in the world I felt like doing.  Fun with Cal, I realized at
that moment, wasn’t fun anymore.  It had been, once.  A long time ago.

I
wriggled free of him and heard him swear.  “What the fuck’s up with you,
Lacey?  Are you screwing around on me or something?”

“No,”
I said, instantly relieved to be out of his reach.  “I just have to get into
work early today.  There’s a new girl starting and I have to train her.”

“Why
do you have to work so much?  You should spend more time here.  With me.”

I
didn’t bother telling him that I was specifically avoiding doing exactly that,
or that I had some other stuff I wanted to do before work.  If he knew how much
money I planned on spending on the bag, he’d go apeshit, plus he’d wonder how I
made enough to buy it.  At first I’d felt a little guilty about skimming off of
our shared income.  Hiding it away for myself.  I’d been saving since I got the
job at The Rusty Nail.  I must have known I wouldn’t be here forever.  Even
then, without even realizing it, I’d been hatching an escape plan.

I
took a quick shower and put on a pair of white cotton panties, a white sundress
and my favorite sandals.  Drying my long, wavy, white-blond hair until it was
smooth, the way Cal preferred it – out of habit more than any inclination to
please him, I left it loose.  I guessed it was already ninety degrees outside and
it wasn’t even ten o’clock.  Checking to make sure Cal wasn’t up yet, I went to
the kitchen and put the kettle on, to muffle the noise I was about to make. 
Reaching to the back of my cupboard, I pulled out the jar.  But when I pulled
it out, it felt light.  Opening it, I could see that it wasn’t stuffed full
with the $2,314.00 I’d saved.  There was only a small roll of wadded-up tens
and twenties.  My stomach did a weird little flip and I reached back into the
cupboard, searching.  Maybe it had tipped over, and spilled.  But no.  It was
tightly sealed, well-disguised.  Aside from a few forgotten tea bags and some
rice grains, the back of the cupboard was bare.  I counted the money.  A
hundred and fifty-eight dollars.  My fist balled around the crumpled bills.  Anger
bristled in me, and a sadness that felt more like grief.  Tears pricked at the
back of my eyes.

I
stormed into the bedroom.  Cal was awake, lying on his back with one arm slung
behind his head.  His other hand was gripping his erection, rubbing it.  “Come
here for a minute, baby.  Come and give me a little love.”

“Where’s
my money?” I accused, having no intention of doing any such thing.

“I
needed it to pay the rent,” he said, increasing his pace.

“I
already gave you my half.  Last week.  Besides, the rent’s only seven hundred. 
Where’s the rest?”

“My
Harley’s havin’ a few issues, honey, you know that.  I just needed a new
exhaust pipe.  And the clutch was rusted.”

I
couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  “You used
my
money to fix your
Harley?”

“Yeah. 
I figured you wouldn’t mind.  You got plenty there.”

“What
about my
car
?”

“I’ll
do that next.  Oh,
fuck
,” he gasped, using both hands.  “Come on, Lace. 
Come sit on me.”

“
Fuck
off
,” I said, shocking even myself.  I never swore.  I always thought it
sounded crass.  Trashy.  Never mind that I
was
trash, I mused,
surprising myself again with the errant realization.  I’d never thought of
myself that way before this minute, not even once.  But now that my money was
gone I was back to square one.  Back to The Rusty Nail and the endless,
bottomless pit that was my life.  Why had I ever even bothered to scrimp and
save and dream?  Maybe this
was
all I was destined for.  Maybe
he
was my destiny.  As I considered this possibility, my spirit kicked up
defiantly.  No way.  No
fucking
way.  “I want my money back.”

Cal
jumped up and strode over to me, grabbing me.  He pushed me against the wall,
pinning me with the heavy weight of his body.  “
What the fuck did you just say
to me?
”

I’d
never been afraid of Cal before that moment.  Irritated, disappointed, mildly
repulsed, yes.  But never afraid.  The rage in his eyes terrified me.  Even so,
I refused to cower from him.  I was done with him, I knew it right then and
there.  All I wanted to do was get away from him.  Desperately.  And I wasn’t
thinking straight.  “I said give me my money, you useless, low-life loser. 
Give it to me!”

It
was then that Cal slapped me, right across the side of the face.  Hard.  So
hard that I fell, bumping my head against the wall.  And in that split-second
of white, star-flicked brutality, I took my chance.  I crawled through the open
bedroom door before he could react, and I rose to my feet, running to the front
door.  He ran after me but I was quicker.  I pulled the door open and ran
across the unkempt lawn to the driveway, where my old car was parked.  The keys
were in it.  It wasn’t a car that someone would want to steal.  He was
searching for his jeans, or something to put on, in the messy bedroom.  I had seconds,
and I prayed with every ounce of religious tendency I possessed, which – until
then – wasn’t all that much.  I prayed as though my life depended on it, and
maybe it did.

I
pumped the gas and turned the key.  The car spluttered but didn’t fire.  I did
it again.  And again.  On my fourth try, the engine roared to life.  I gunned
it once more, then jammed it into reverse.  I backed right out onto the road,
not even looking or caring.  I think I would rather have died a sudden, violent
death than have stayed in that house even one second longer.

A
car swerved and honked but I barely even noticed it.  He was coming.

Slamming
the car into drive, I floored the accelerator and lurched out into the path of
oncoming traffic.  I didn’t care if I hit him or if someone else hit me.  I
gunned that piece-of-crap-turned-beautiful-chariot to speed, manoeuvering my
way between a few cars, whose drivers were waving their fists and yelling.  I
barely noticed.

Glancing
in the rear-view mirror, I could see him.  Standing there in the middle of the
road, shirtless and barefoot.  Getting smaller in the glorious distance.

I
was twenty-one years old and had a hundred and fifty-eight dollars to my name.

And
I was free.

Chapter
Two

I never even considered going in to work.  The
torrential relief that I would never again step foot inside The Rusty Nail was
cathartic, in a way.  I was better than all that, or at least I’d always
believed it.  Better than those groping hands and those lewd comments, as
though I was an ornament or a piece of meat on display, for their amusement. 
It was demeaning but I tried to rise above it.  Some days the resilience was
more difficult to summon than others, but it hardly mattered now.  I praised
whatever invisible force was responsible for my escape.  My freedom.  And all my
new, glimmering uncertainties.

There were a couple of things I wouldn’t have minded
bringing with me.  A few old photographs.  A couple of my favorite books.  My
mother’s gold bangle, which wasn’t worth much but was one of the few
possessions I valued.  Cal would probably try to pawn it for spark plugs or
motor oil.  In my mind, I let it go.  I could do without possessions and there
was no way in hell I was going back for them.

The world looked wide open.  Clean, somehow.  Light,
and more beautiful than I could ever remember it looking.

I checked the fuel gauge and thought about where I was
going.  I was heading north and my gas tank was almost empty: two details I
needed to remedy immediately.  The plan came to me so quickly and so easily
that I couldn’t help smiling.  As I did, I spied my favorite pair of
sunglasses, sitting right there on the passenger seat.  The ones I thought I’d
lost a couple weeks ago.  It seemed like an omen of sorts, finding those
glasses.  The ones that made me feel glamorous, somehow.  Like Jackie O or some
rich European.  Not that I’d met many of those.  Anyway, it felt auspicious. 
Like a clue or a promise.  Like everything was going to be all right.

My subconscious mind must’ve been gearing up for this
moment for some time because I knew exactly where I was going.  Austin.  An old
friend of mine from high school was at school in Austin.  Her name was Sara. 
We’d been close.  She’d even encouraged me to apply to college at UT with her,
which I’d started to do.  My grades had been good enough, just.  It was the
money that held me back.  I could take out a loan, but it would be huge.  More
money than I’d ever seen in my lifetime.  It’s what people have to do to get
ahead, I was told by guidance counselors and well-off friends.  The financial
aid forms were long, and complicated.  I’d filled them out, but on the day I’d
been ready to mail everything off, I’d met Cal.  That very day.  He’d charmed
me at the time with his muscles and his motorcycles.  His devout, charmed
affection.  His job and his life experience and his promises.

Stay in Tulsa with me.  Move in with me.  I’ll take
real good care of you.

I’d stayed.

Tulsa was where I belonged, he’d convinced me of that. 
I’d never been further than Oklahoma City.  The only time I’d ever been out of
the state of Oklahoma was to go to a party with some high school friends once in
Fayetteville, Arkansas.  No one in my family had ever been to college.  Not my
father, who’d skipped town on a Tuesday in April when I was twelve.  Not my
mother, who’d worked as a secretary for an insurance company in Jenks for
twenty-six years until she died in a car accident on the way home from work three
months before I graduated from high school.

I always thought it sounded so exotic:
college
. 
University.  Yes, I’m filling out my college applications, thanks for asking.
 
So lofty and out-of-reach.  But when my friends started to apply, I’d
considered it.  I’d always been a good student, mainly because I’d been
addicted to reading from a young age.  I’d picked up a vocabulary that didn’t
really fit in at the gas station or down at The Rusty Nail.  People teased me
about it and Cal occasionally got downright irritated. 
Quit usin’ those big
words,
he would say
.  Who you tryin’ to impress around here anyway?

Sure, I’d found the whole idea of college intimidating. 
What would Austin be like?  It seemed so far away, like another world
altogether.  A big one, with too many unknowns to count.

Cal and his friends had come to the diner I worked at,
after school.  They’d ordered coffee and apple pie.  He’d come again.  And
again.  Every day.  He’d offered to take me for a ride on his motorcycle.  At
first I’d refused.  I had other plans, after all, that didn’t include local
men.  But after a while, after I’d had a panic attack about the forms and the
loans and the empty smiles of the recruiters, I’d relented.  I could stay with
him, he’d said.  His job prospects were good, and his boss might promote him.  He’d
drive me to work.  Anywhere I wanted to go.  It had seemed so much
easier
,
to stay, to be taken care of at a time in my life that had been overwhelming,
and sad.  My mother’s grave was still freshly dug.  The big decisions and the
wider world had been more than my grief-addled, small-town mind had been fully
able to contend with.

I no longer wanted easy.

Pulling into a gas station, I filled up the tank and
bought a map, a bottle of water, a bottle of whiskey and three chocolate bars. 
Happy Birthday to me.  By the time I’d paid for everything, I had exactly one
hundred and twelve dollars and sixty-two cents.

I’d look for a job in Austin.  I’d look for my friend
and a place to live.  I’d take a few college classes.  And I’d pull myself out
of the pit I’d been wallowing in for far too long.  Since day one, in fact.

Until then, I just wanted to feel the breeze in my hair
and the sun on my skin.  I wanted to count the miles and watch the distance
accumulate.

I wanted to live, laugh and have an adventure like
nothing I’d never known.  
Hell, yeah
: I was young, free and ready for
anything.  No more ties or weights.  Just open road and possibilities.

I slipped on my sunglasses and put on my old straw
cowgirl hat that had been lying on the backseat.  Taking a big swig of the
whiskey, I pulled back out onto the road, heading southeast.  I turned the
radio up.

***

I decided to take an indirect route.

After all, he might follow me, now that his Harley was
all fixed up.  To tell the truth, I wasn’t all that worried about it.  Cal
wasn’t clever enough to find me.  He wasn’t driven enough to commit himself to a
journey like that.  He’d get distracted by his goddamn spark plugs or some such
before the idea would take hold.  Tulsa was his stomping grounds and he had no
desire to spread his wings.  Plus, even Cal would’ve figured out by now that
whatever relationship we might have had in the past had well and truly
sputtered out.  We hadn’t been intimate in a while, if ‘being intimate’ was
even an accurate description of what we did.  Cal was my first lover – my
only
lover – and I didn’t know a lot beyond the experience of being with him.  But
I’d read books.  I’d heard people talk about ‘foreplay’ and ‘multiple orgasms’
and all that fanciful-sounding stuff.  And it didn’t require a college degree
to figure out that I might have been missing out on a few things.  Maybe our
chemistry wasn’t right.  Maybe our ‘pheromones’ – whatever
those
were –
weren’t quite compatible.  Maybe we’d both be better off trying our luck
elsewhere.

The thought gave me a little rush of excitement.  Maybe
those Texas guys had something better to offer me.  I was curious.

Taking another swig of whiskey, I turned south onto
Route 69, smiling again as I read the road sign.  Another intriguing thought. 
Cal hadn’t been all that interested in stuff that didn’t involve his own quick
and immediate gratification. 
69
.  It wasn’t something we’d ever tried. 
There were a whole lot of things, come to think of it, that we’d never tried. 
The thought of a skilled, sun-tanned rebound Texan entertained me as I drove
along.  I let my daydreams wander into risqué directions.  How would that work,
exactly?  What would that be
like
?  What would it
feel
like?

I was brought back to an abrupt reality when my car’s
engine made a loud knocking sound.

Oh, hell.

But it seemed to recover.  A few smaller knocks faded
to the once-again steady hum of the motor.

Please just get me to Austin. 
Another
shot of whiskey calmed me as the hot air blew in through the open windows,
rippling through my long hair.  I wiped the sweat from my forehead with a
bandana.  My air conditioner hadn’t even worked when I’d bought this hunk of
junk so I didn’t even bother.  And the motor was making more noises.  A burning
smell was hard to ignore.  I was going to get to Austin come hell or high water,
one way or the other, car or no car.  There was simply no way I was turning
around and going back.  Even if I had to walk to Texas.

And luck was on my side, at least for now.  The car had
issues, that was obvious enough, but at least it was still propelling me in a
forward direction.  Which it continued to do for another fifty or so miles.

But then it happened.  Just, in fact, as I was rolling
across the Texas border. 
Welcome to Texas!
rolled past at a sickeningly
diminishing speed.

I had no choice but to pull over on to the dusty
shoulder of the highway as my car came to a smoking and very final stop.