John Locke - Box

How did you get to be so jaded?

“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.

Nothing bad happens at the junk yard. In fact, something great happens.

Zander’s standing there, waiting for me!

Looking…amazing!

Not in Trudy’s league, mind you, but damn cute.

Nice, tight body, decent face, great hair.

She climbs in the front seat.

“Nice watch,” she says.

“Thanks. It’s a Piaget Altiplano.”

“And it cost more than my house, didn’t it!”

She’s carrying an enormous handbag that appears to be filled with clothes.

“Are we spending the night somewhere?” I ask.

“You never know!” she says, giving me a wink. Then says, “Can I kiss you real quick?”

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“Because I want to!”

“Seriously? That’s great! I just meant, what made you ask that?”

“You know how first dates are. As a guy, you probably spend half the time wondering, ‘Should I kiss her? If so, when? After a couple drinks? After dinner? At the end of the date? In the car? At her doorstep?’ It’s a pain. You might not even get around to kissing me at all because you’re not sure if the moment or the mood’s right.”

She’s right. I never know when to try to kiss someone on the first date. From the slaps alone it’s obvious I guess incorrectly most of the time.

Zander says, “I want to get that part over with, so we can concentrate on the fun.”

“Works for me,” I say.

We kiss right there on the gravel entrance to the local junk yard.

It’s an okay kiss. The kind I ’m used to.

The fake kind.

Again, Zander’s not in Trudy’s league. But how many women are?

And how much can I really expect from a first kiss before the first date?

I’m quite pleased to be kissed at all at this point, and the fact she wanted to start in with a kiss gives me high hopes for the date.

“Where’s your car?” I say, looking around.

“I caught a ride,” she says.

“Why?”

She looks down.

Says nothing.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m embarrassed.”

“Why?”

“You’re a rich doctor from New York City. You live in a penthouse. You have a doorman!”

“So?”

“There aren’t any penthouses in Paducah.”

“Of course not.”

“No doormen.”

“So?”

“The truth is, I was ashamed to let you see where I live.”

“Don’t be silly!”

“I’m sorry, Gideon. I just didn’t want you to judge me based on that.”

“I would never do that.”

“Well, maybe later, then.”

“I look forward to it.”

She removes two jugs of wine from her handbag.

“This isn’t what you’re used to, but it’ll loosen me up.”

“Sounds perfect!”

She says, “You’re probably wondering why I covered the wine with clothes.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, actually. But since you brought it up, tell me.”

“McCracken County’s dry.”

“What’s that mean?”

“No alcohol. Paducah’s a wet city in a dry county.”

“So alcohol is allowed?”

“In the city. But if we venture past the city limits we’ll need to keep it hid.”

“That’s crazy.”

“That’s Kentucky,” she says. “New York’s different, I bet.”

“Very. In lots of ways. But there’s something charming about being in small town Kentucky.”

“You are so full of shit!” she says, laughing.

I smile.

She says, “So, you still want to go to the riverbank, get to know each other better?”

“I’d love to.”

“Me too. Can we make a quick stop along the way?”

“Of course.”

I know what you’re thinking.

Something bad’s going to happen when we stop. That is what you’re thinking, right?

“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.

I’m in the car by myself.

Nothing bad has happened.

Zander has a girlfriend named Chris who works at the local bowling alley. She wanted to swing by, visit with Chris a minute.

“Chris’s husband died recently,” she told me on the way here. “I’m going to invite her to come with us, if that’s okay with you.”

She saw the look on my face and laughed.

“Look at you,” she said. “I was kidding!”

“You were kidding?”

She laughed some more. “Of course! You think I’d drag you all the way here and bring a grieving widow with us to a make-out party?”

“I hope not!”

“It’s too bad you feel that way, because Chris has a huge crush on me and asked if we could have a threesome at her place later tonight.”

“Seriously?”

“Again, I’m kidding. Only this time you didn’t seem as upset. You think I’d share you with another woman? Are you crazy?”

“At this point, I’m not sure what to think.”

“Good. That means I’ve got you right where I want you.”

“Where’s that?”

“Confused.”

“I’m definitely confused,” I say. “So, are we going to the bowling alley or not?”

“We are. At least, I am. I do need to visit Chris. But just for two minutes. And no, she’s not coming with us!”

Zander directed me to the bowling alley, had me pull around to the back of the building, park by the employee parking sign. She got out, knocked on the door, and a young lady opened it, waved at me, then let her in. I remained in the car as directed, and have been here about five minutes.

There are no cars out front, so either it’s a dying business, or they’re not open yet. Chris must have inherited a Ford 150 from her husband’s estate, because that’s the only other car here.

Another five minutes pass quietly, then Zander comes out and climbs in the car.

“Everything okay?” I say.

“Peachy.”

“Good. How do I get to the make-out spot?”

She laughs. “You mean the riverbank?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep going straight till I tell you to turn.”

I follow her directions.

Ten minutes later, we’re one of a dozen cars on the side of the levy, angled nose-down, toward the river.

“We’re not alone,” I say.

“In two hours there’ll be thirty cars and trucks here. People come from miles around.”

“To drink?” I say.

“Drink and fuck,” she says.

“I like it.”

She opens a jug of wine, tilts it to her mouth, swallows three times, then hands it to me and smiles.

“Now you drink some, so we’ll taste the same.”

I take three sips.

It’s rancid. Like someone started with a bad jug of wine and pissed in it to improve the flavor. But I’m careful not to wince. I don’t want to offend this young, good-looking girl while parked in a sacred place where people come from miles around to drink and fuck.

She takes another chug, then leans over, kisses me, and says, “How far does this seat recline?”

“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.

It’s a rental car, so I have no idea how far the driver’s seat reclines. Nor do I know which button makes it happen. So I start pressing buttons like crazy till I find the right one. When I do, I hold it down till the seat stops moving. By then it’s touching the back seat.

“Lie back and close your eyes,” she says.

“What are you planning?” I ask.

“You’ll see, soon enough.”

I know what you’re thinking.

But who cares? Just let it happen, okay?

“I’m not cleanin’ this mess up by myself,” she says.

Zander unbuckles my belt, pulls my pants down to my ankles.

“There goes your first line of defense,” she says. “Now all that’s between your body and my mouth is your underwear.”