Rocked Up

“This is our taxi. Hop in.”

I take the first step and climb in the driver’s side. There are two seatbelts and I quickly figure out how to strap myself into this death machine. Lael is close beside me trying to figure out her own. Obviously she hasn’t had much luck with them lately.

It’s not obvious how to start the engine, so I fumble for a while, but with some effort I’m able to wake the monster. It’s far louder than our loudest concert. When I give it gas I can feel it rumble in my chest. I’m actually concerned it might shake the old barn to the ground.

I look at Lael, who’s wearing some goggles that she found hanging in front of her. She appears like she’s having second thoughts. Fuck that, we’re doing this. I put it in gear and we tear out of the garage and down the driveway.

Roar yells at the top of his lungs in Norwegian, waving his arms and running behind us. I just smile and wave, pretending not to notice he doesn’t want me to ride off with his toy.

Growing up in the city, I missed out of this sort of thing, so as I tear down the desert road, I regress deep into an adolescent dream and spin the tires around every corner. I turn to Lael, expecting her to tell me to tone it down but she is fumbling with the stereo. This demon machine has more horsepower than any God-fearing man should ever want or need, and the wattage of the stereo system matches the arrogance of the engine. I’m not sure how Lael manages but the new Metallica album is blaring (does Roar have it in every vehicle he owns?), shaking the metal frame around us.

With the engine screaming, the music blaring, and Lael shouting for joy, this is damn near perfect. I can’t see her eyes because her goggles have a layer of dust on them, but the full moon lights her smile, a smile that makes me feel light and time stand still.

“Are we going to take this thing into town?” Lael shouts over the sound of the engine and music as the lights of the city approach.

I only answer with a devilish smile as I pull off the highway toward downtown Santa Fe. The new Metallica album is a long one and is still going strong as we roll into the center of town. We are getting honked at, yelled at, and maybe even laughed at. I know the moment we run into the police this will not end well.

I don’t take my time. When traffic comes to a crawl, I feel like a sitting duck so I drive over medians and sidewalks. Lael holds on to the metal frame as we bounce over the obstacles. I sense this machine is capable of much more abuse.

I see a place that looks like a bar. I don’t think there will be a ton of options and I know my luck will run out soon if I keep tearing around the city center on this insane-looking dune buggy, so I pull over and park, killing the motor and unbuckling my seatbelt.

“This place looks good,” I say. Actually, the place looks too classy for us, but here we are. We climb out of our stolen machine and walk onto the patio of the white table-clothed restaurant.

“Welcome. Would you like to dine inside or outside?” the kind-looking waiter asks, seeming to not notice that we’re covered in dust and Lael has goggles pushed back on her head, while our vehicle parked only meters away is totally illegal.

“Outside, please,” I answer, playing it cool while the buzz of the journey hums through my veins.

We sit on the patio facing the street. Our stolen vehicle is parked crooked and looks painfully out of place in contrast to the nice surroundings.

We order a bottle of champagne and two steaks. We get lucky with the restaurant because everything is perfect.

Lael is perfect. She’s become the focus of my attention since she picked me up from the airport all those weeks ago. I’m beginning to question why I’m so restrained with her, almost gentlemanly. That said, it’s been an unusual day and I’m emotionally drained, my defenses are down, and I’m vulnerable. While Lael is watching some people gathering around the dune buggy, I’m watching Lael.

Why am I fighting this? Is it her father? Certainly, if I had an open relationship with Ronald Ramsey’s daughter there would be consequences. I’m not sure it would be the complete end of my career, but Ronald would make good on his threat and try his best to ruin me. Even though I’m his cash cow, he would drop me if he thought I was trying to woo his daughter, the very person I’m supposed to protect.

Yet I’m not sure it’s Ronald who’s stopping me.

Lael is young. At first she seemed considerably younger because I could still see the kid I once knew, but since we’ve been spending time together I can’t say I see that kid anymore. I see an attractive young woman instead. She is, in fact, so beautiful and sweet that I’m concerned I’m the wrong guy for her. She’s a beautiful lake and I’m a barrel of oil floating around, harmless until opened. It’s not Ronald, it’s not that she’s considerably younger…it’s me.

There haven’t been that many women in my life, but they all have something in common. My mother gave me away, Miss Sugar practically sold me to Ronald, and then there’s Lindsay, who only wants to see me when I have a song in the top 40. It leaves me wondering, could it be me? Strip away my celebrity and fame—am I just a lost motherless loser with an oversized yellow t-shirt and shoes that are too big?

I drink the last of the champagne in my glass and feel myself going to a dark place.

“What’s on your mind?” Lael asks.

“You.”

“Good thoughts, I hope.”

The waiter comes with our late dinner and puts it on the table, breaking our conversation before it can get too deep. Lael raises her fork and I instinctively hit it with mine.

“Let’s eat,” I tell her.

“Damn, this is good stuff,” she says, savoring each bite with her eyes closed. Then, when she opens them, her attention goes to something over my shoulder.

“Umm, Brad,” she says warily.

“What?” I start to turn around to see where she’s looking.

“No!” she whispers harshly, leaning in. “Don’t look now, it’s the police, and they seem interested in our dune buggy.”

I fight the urge to look and try and hide the smile on my face. I do my best to enjoy my steak while noticing our legs are touching under the table. Lael, meanwhile, looks like someone who’s desperately trying to conceal their guilt. Shifting, twitching, and looking in every direction except where the police are apparently checking out our ride.

“Relax, it will be fine,” I assure her.

Then, one of the police officers focuses his attention on us, stepping close to the patio fence. He clears his throat. “Did you folks happen to see who parked this vehicle here?”

I’m about to say no, but Lael pipes up before I can say anything. Lael, in a horribly fake and untraceable accent says, “Do you mean that silly one there? I didn’t even notice it until now.”

Silence hangs in the air as both the cop and I turn our heads toward the wild looking dune buggy that has the attention of everyone within a hundred feet.