Friday 10:42 PM
The return trip home and the computer work Joy did had proven successful, so the night would be a little longer than I had hoped. Even after the food, I was exhausted and readily admitted that I was looking forward to persuading her to bed, even if only to hold her body close for a few hours.
I wasn't sure her mind ever shut off. I mean, I had only seen her sleep once in the very short time I had known her, and she was pretty drunk at the time. All the other times we had separated. For all I knew, she was up twenty-four seven three sixty-five. It seemed that way sometimes. She had bouts of downtimes, sure, but sleep? I could not confirm that. The only way to be sure was to hold her close and see. That bit of research I didn't mind at all.
We were on our way speeding down the freeway again toward Atlanta, rather an old northern suburb of the city proper, Peachtree Battle. Atlanta and parts surrounding it are part of the old south. By that, I mean they are pre-civil war. In fact, in the South, the Civil War, or as I refer to it, The Northern War of Aggression, is a definite demarcation of time.
Since Atlanta was primarily burned to ashes during the war's dying days, very few pre-war buildings are left. As the city once again took shape, the monied and elite took up residence in the northern rolling hills away from the hustle and grime of the factories and railroads. The neighborhood and area known as Peachtree Battle was just such an area. The many homes that are left are grand, each one different and lovely in its own way. Old money; it was there first, and there much of it remains.
We were headed to Peachtree Battle proper, as in the road Peachtree Battle, the main drag. The Eddie VanHalen was stationary, and Joy was in a rush to put eyes on it. I had sneaking suspicions she would make an attempt at recovery should we find it. Realizing the area we were about to enter, I was trying my best to put those ideas to rest before she got them out into the open.
She did as I instructed her and got off at Northside Drive. The same exit she had taken coming in the opposite direction only 2 days before this whole mess began. She sped up and down the hills of Northside Drive and finally made the left turn onto Peachtree Battle at my cue. She slowed to a much more reasonable speed, but still, I felt the need to give my two cents.
"Okay, Joy, this is not the place to be fucking around. It's going to be hard to stop without being noticed. When the cops aren't patrolling here, the paid security people are. It may look quiet and stately but let me assure you that the all-seeing eye is on you at all times."
"Would you relax, Max? We're just looking around," she answered while both steering the Jeep and making the screen on her GPS larger so she could pinpoint the location with more accuracy.
She slowed us to a crawl.
"It's close, like yards close, maybe two hundred," she glanced over at me, "and it's on your side."
"Okay, so, orange Lambo Muria?"
"Red."
"Okay red. Check."
She eased up the extremely wide road, topping a hill and leveling off. We could see the decorative landscape lighting on many of the homes, but they, for the most part, were set too far back from the road to make out any detail. We eased on, and then suddenly, she stopped in front of a tiled roof Spanish-styled home. It looked like something out of the Alhambra with just a touch of old Southern decay. It was beautiful even in the darkness; the yellowed stucco walls, some covered with sprawling ivy, towered above the manicured grounds. The straight cobblestone driveway led through an arched gate to the back of the estate and what looked to be a carriage house.
Suddenly Joy reached for the dome light and flung her door open. Before I could say anything, she had dashed across the street and into the driveway ducking to the right and disappearing into the shadows of the large magnolia trees that divided the drive from the neighbor's yard.
"Son of a bitch," I spat to myself and quickly unbuckled and changed seats.
She had a mind of her own, that's for sure, and it was encased in a beautifully disguised granite skull. Not one damn word I said on the way over sunk in. I was surprisingly angry; maybe because I was still frustrated with not being able to stay at her apartment after dinner, perhaps because she didn't seem to care what I had to say, maybe because she already seemed miles away from what happened earlier. I had hoped I made at least a slight impression on her. Suddenly she reappeared and jumped in the passenger's side.
"It's here all right, and I saw the Dr. Dre in the garage back there too!" She whispered rather loudly.
"Drive on and circle back; let me out on that side street over there," she pointed to it as we passed.
"Joy, you can't do this here. You'll get caught and fuck this whole deal up. Didn't you hear what I said earlier?"
And right on cue, an Atlanta patrol car passed on the other side of the road. I was quick to point it out too.
Nick, I was just in their backyard, and no lights came on, no alarms, nothing. There's a bunch of people in there, a small party or something. Nothing's going to happen."
She wasn't smiling, but she was relaxed about it, at least on the outside. I wouldn't look at her. I was steaming. I drove us past the many other old mansion homes almost to the end of the street, where it terminated into Peachtree Street. There I circled back and went slowly in the other direction.
"Look, we know where it is. Shouldn't we just call it a night and make a plan to pick them up tomorrow?"
I tried to press my point again. It had been a long and not altogether unproductive day but still. She had sent shots flying into the front windows of Metro Sounds only hours before. I knew my place, and it sure as hell wasn't in jail should there be any trouble. Finally, we approached the home. I could see the shape of the tile roof shingles in the full moonlight.
"There, turn there on that side street," she demanded.
"Joy, I can't just park on a side street like that. I'm telling you we'll get pinched."
"Turn damnit!" She shouted.
Friday 11:23PM
I whipped the Jeep across the street and pulled to the curb, stopping as awkwardly as I could muster. I was good and frustrated then. She hustled out of the Jeep and retrieved a small black bag, which she slung over her shoulder before disappearing into the darkness again. She didn't even give me the chance to say anything. I pulled away after I lost sight of her. I would just circle the few blocks around the estate until I either saw her or saw the car. Sitting still would draw too much attention. Damn hard-headed girl.
I made precisely one pass through and had come back around onto Peachtree Battle itself when I saw her walking nonchalantly down the road in the direction we came. I slowed, and she darted to the Jeep and jumped in.
"Fucking joke. Key only opened the door, and no chance in hell of jumping it because some asshole did a restoration job on the wiring and used yellow wire for everything. Every single goddamned wire under that dash was yellow," she huffed, crossing her arms after fastening her belt.
"And the damn garage was locked, total bust," she continued.
Still angry, I just shook my head and kept silent for fear of making her mood worse. She continued to fume as we drove home, punctuated moments of silence with sighs, pursed lips, and long stares out her window at the dark freeway. I knew she was thinking, mulling things over in her brain. I had seen it. You could see her lips move slightly as she unconsciously mouthed her thoughts if you watched her closely. There were questions she posed to herself and answers given all in that hopelessly complicated mind. It was actually a little endearing. I glanced over, but she was deep into herself and never noticed.
Then suddenly, we were almost home; I was on the exit ramp, and I felt her warm fingers gripping my arm. She ran her hand up to my shoulder, where she squeezed, then gently continued up to my neck for a moment. I had to be cool and not snap a surprised look, but I couldn't help the smile.
"I thought you dozed off over there," I quipped.
"No, just thinking."
"Well, now we know where they are. That will make six easily by this time tomorrow once we get our plans together."
"Yeah, she agreed. Just need a little more time to think and rest," she added.
She yawned and stretched her arms out. I couldn't help but notice her shapely frame, how her shirt hugged her body tight, her navel ring even peeking out as she writhed out another yawn, barely contained by her seatbelt.
We were back at the warehouse in just a few minutes more. I tried to get out quick enough to get Joy's door open, but she was already out. I had lost all mojo by that point thanks to her escapade at Peachtree Battle but still had not given up all hope of holding her that night. But still, I planned on saying my goodnight.
I stopped by the Jeep as she walked past me to unlock the heavy steel door. I waited for a second, then said, "Goodnight, Joy. I'll see you in the morning."
She pushed the door open and then looked at me, squinting as if trying to comprehend my words. She paused only a second, then walked the two or three steps to me, took my hand, pulled me purposefully behind her through the dark doorway, and held me still while she bolted it back.
"You've got five minutes to get ready for bed. Grab us some water out of the fridge on your way back."
"Will do," I answered.
I hustled to the bathroom and found a new toothbrush still in the package on the sink. It had to be for me. I opened it and used it. Wait? Was she planning this all along? No, well, still, her toothbrush was new, and it was in the medicine cabinet. It had to be for me. I washed my face real quick and felt refreshed.
A soft glow from candlelight filled both the den and her bedroom back in her apartment. I was plucking bottled water from the fridge as she passed. She had lit several and was just coming out in what looked like her short robe in the flickering yellow light.
"My turn; I'll be right back," she said softly, walking hurriedly out.
It was nice and cool in her bedroom. Shadows danced on the high ceiling above as I undressed. I pulled back the sheets and fell into bed, taking the side nearest the heavy curtain. The sheets were soft and cool to the touch. I was tired, and my face and neck were stinging again, probably the effects of the Tylenol wearing off. Too late to do anything about it.
Joy was silent. The candlelight in the kitchen and den vanished as she walked back from the bathroom. She sat momentarily on the bed and felt my forehead, running her fingers across the bandage concealing the butterfly stitches, making sure they were still in place. She did the same for my cheek and neck and then surprisingly pulled a couple of Tylenol from the pocket in her robe and handed them to me. I took them, then took a couple of swallows from the water she held for me.
My eyes were becoming more adjusted to the light by then. I could see much more as she stood up and removed her robe. I could just make out the shape of her breasts as she placed the robe on the end of the bed, sliding under the covers, and immediately climbing on top of me. I ran my hands along her hips, up to her waist, and let my right thumb reach across her stomach, tracing the shape of her navel ring. I used the other to reach around to the small of her back and coax her forward. She paused but then I felt the ringlets of her hair tickling against my cheeks as she kissed me and then placed her hands firmly on my chest. Joy leaned forward again and forced her ankles under my thighs. My hands wandered her body, gently gliding up her ribcage, finding their way to her full, supple breasts. As she rocked gently back and forth on me, I conceded. There would be no more struggle for position that night, maybe never.