The Last JoyRide

Part 40

"This is where you come in, old pal of mine. You have her car, we know it, she knows it. So what gives?"

He and I had rehearsed what we would say, how I would give him an intro to take the floor, explain everything, and pour his heart out if he wanted. Did he remember any of that? No, not a chance. Of course, copious amounts of alcohol were consumed during that time, so it's entirely possible that I dreamed it all.

"You know what gives," he shot back to me with a frustrated glare.

I rolled my eyes at his lack of ability to take a clear cue, then just flatly stared at him.

"Yes, well, we all might need to hear it again," I said, slightly nodding in Sasha's direction.

"I don't want your car," he quickly said, turning to Sasha.

"I just wanted to see you, and I wanted to talk to you. And I took it, you know, to make sure you would talk to me."

Sasha smiled ever so slightly, closed her eyes, and held her hands out to him. And then it was like Joy, and I didn't exist in the room. Wolf-man turned to Sasha and gave her his best effort. He was eloquent, honest, and even humble, and I never thought it possible for him. He took one hand gently and led Sasha away a few steps.

For her part, Sasha did not recoil from his touch. She, in fact, seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say. They made a hell of a crazy-looking couple. For starters, she was at least a head and a half taller than he was. Some guys swing for the fence on every pitch. Wolf-man was one of those guys. Joy stared at the scene before her, dumbfounded. I moved just a little closer to her, hot and uncomfortable as hell in my dinner jacket, and stood with arms crossed.

Wolf-man had a low gravel-sounding tenor with just a hint of Chicano-ghetto. We couldn't hear exactly what he was saying. Still, thanks to Sasha's apparent inability to whisper, we could put it together. Wolf-man's hands danced rhythmically slow around one another as he tried his best to get his points across to Sasha. At times Sasha held his hands still as she spoke. I have to admit it was strange. It was like watching a high-school couple trying to hash out a difficult break-up.

"Have you seen any sign of the Peart?" Joy asked softly.

"Nope, we came here together, remember?" I shook my head.

"I doubt it's here. Where the hell would it be if it weren't in here?"

She shrugged and began to walk to the back of the garage to the built-in workbench, giving the sparring couple a little more space. I followed. When Joy reached the wooden workbench, she hopped up and sat, dangling her legs and swinging them like a nervous child and considering her dress not the most ladylike of poses.

I was feeling froggy. I put my hand on Joy's knee and looked into her eyes. It struck me then that I was just a simple fool groping around, strictly in the Biblical sense. They all knew each other, had pasts, laughs, fights, dealings, and knew more about each other than I would ever know about them. I didn't know where any of this was leading me. Joy was one of the most complicated people I had ever met. She was frustrating, even infuriating at times, and still, I couldn't seem to get enough of her. I wanted to love and protect her, and she seemed most times to want nothing of the sort; at other times, she craved whatever I had to offer.

My thoughts forced a smile; Joy noticed and focused on me, perplexed. I turned my back to her and began watching the couple on the other side of the garage. I felt a tinge of pity for Wolf-man. Baring your soul to a woman who can lift you up or crush you? Bards have written in sweet lament of that very situation for ages. It's a tense place to be. Yes, I felt for him.

I felt Joy's hands slip around my chest, then her legs gripped my waist as she slid herself forward and rested her chin on my right shoulder.

"What do you think they're talking about?" She whispered.