The Long Drive


The fog was coming in.  I wasn’t particularly fond of fog, especially when I was driving in it.  But, I promised I’d get her home.  I glanced over to the passenger’s seat.  She was out cold.  The streetlights from the highway slid across her face and blonde hair making her skin look like glowing marble.   The car was filled with the scent of her perfume, something I couldn’t place.  It didn’t smell like any cheap drugstore brand.  She wouldn’t wear any of that.  This dame was all class.  Everything about her spelled money.

That left me out.  She was way out of my league.   I was flat broke.

Her house was right on the beach just past the Ventura County line.  She was awake by the time we passed Malibu.    She was instantly alert.  I liked that in a woman.

“Pull in here,” she whispered, pointing to a dirt driveway.  I did.  The house was way out at the end of a small cliff overlooking the beach.  It was a nice piece of real estate.

“I haven’t been here in months,” she said.  “So, you’ll have to forgive the way it looks.”

I nodded and like a man sleep-walking followed her inside.    It was dark and musty.  I could have cared less.  My eyes followed her hungrily as she crossed the room to a set of balcony doors, pulling sheets off furniture as she went.    She flung the double doors wide and breathed in the ocean air.  Her hair danced in the evening breeze.   She smiled at me and tilted her head.   I suddenly felt like I had all the dough in the world.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked.  I would.  I nodded and watched as she went to a small cabinet, her dress floating around her long legs as she moved.

“Whiskey if you have it,” I told her.   She nodded.  “It’ll have to be neat.  There isn’t any ice.”

“That’s fine.” I told her.    She smiled at me.  I smiled back and then I remembered.   I had met her before.  The fog begin to lift.

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