Batwing Buick (Blogophilia 14.15)

The phone chirped. Daddy was drunk. Could she crash at his place? It had happened before. He replied without thinking. 

A modern version of Belinda Carlisle, she was pleasingly thick, bleach blonde hair restrained with a butterfly barrette. The nose ring was an afterthought of rebellion. A monstrosity of a purse was slung over her shoulder. It could pack enough stuff to keep her for days. Tonight was going to be different. It would be a vacation of a different sort and he’d hang for it. The remark came out almost involuntarily.

All his life, he had gone by the mantra "I can't fix that".It allowed him to miss more than one female trainwreck. He could never figure out why she was different. The bio-units were not deserving of the title parents. On the surface, it looked like a typical upper middle class family, nice house in a pretentious subdivision, nice cars in the garage. Dad, when he was around, was drunk or high. Mom lived in her own little world, denying her precious husband could be so cruel. Most of his time in the last month had been stepping over their drama. It was a losing proposition. But something kept him around, the mutual comfort for stability in the game of life.

A  hole opened up in the right lane and he exited toward the park. The bat winged Buick Convertible  It had been his dream to own one since he saw the Go Go’s video. The only difference was his was white rather than red. It was the ultimate midlife crisis car. And he certainly was in one.

He wondered what she would think of it.

The sky was a deep purple with yellow streaks, humidity was high. A pale dog limned the edge of the rising moon. A blink on the horizon, thunder a long way off. A lineman was working on a cellphone "pine tree" across the parking lot. The neighbors demanded the disguise of the gray monstrosity. Planting dead trees for the living.That’s cute. Would they plant a living one when they were dead? She waved from the sidewalk. The door rattled a little as it shut. she leaned in close enough to smell the perfume off her neck. 

Pulling into his driveway, lightning flashed over the house.They got inside just as the rain began to fall. The coat landed on the couch as she slithered around the room. He made Sunrises and handed her one. She was a bird at tea, chittering away about her Dad being on a business trip and mom being delusional about finding her a boyfriend. 

“The story about Daddy wasn’t true, was it?”

“No.” She said with a smile.“I was lonely and just wanted a touch of gray.”

“Lying to me to get your way, huh.”

“I WAS trying to be sincere.”

“Sure, you were.” He snorted. 

The liquor did its job. They kissed cruelly, intently. She tugged the shirt over his head. A squeeze of wings freed her hair. Playfully, he clipped the barrette on the string at her neck and pulled. The cloth fluttered silently to the floor. There was nothing underneath. 

She took his hands and began to dance. She turned and his hands went around the pale body from the back just above her waist. The skin was smooth and sweet.

When it was over, a  warm  washcloth blotted away the evidence. But the warmth wasn’t as good as hers.

An Uber was at the curb.

Three brush strokes and a flick put the hair back under the butterfly. The girly gear went back into the big bag. He always wondered why she took so much stuff. As she picked up the bag, she blew him a kiss.

“Don’t lose your sparkle, Baby.”

And she was gone.