Saturday, August 05, 2006

Not Exactly A Redhead F.F.F. #47

She was born in 1969 and some could say that she led a sheltered life. Thirty-four years later with everyone in her family past their prime, she was still the same head turner as the day I first saw her. She was a dirty flirt, she was loyal to no one, too damn fast, she was all wrong for me, and that’s why I was in love. As long as I can remember, I would see her hanging out in my neighbor’s garage where he spent all his time, devoted to her. She never reciprocated his fidelity and when you looked like that, why would you?

I’d never get next to anything like that, so I resigned my love to be forever unrequited. Then one day as I trudging home from my barely better than minimum wage job, I noticed that my neighbor’s garage door was closed. The next day, the same. Five days later, I noticed that the garage door was still closed, but there was a wreath with a black band across it. I felt a sadness overwhelming, but I couldn’t figure out just why.

The next day, there was knock on my door. I opened it and grim-faced women stood before me with her arms folded. She wore a black suit that looked about two sizes too small and I wondered if that contributed to the look on her face.

“Yeah, you’re the one.”

“I am? Hi, I’m Tony.

Her face softened, then she smiled…if you could call it a smile. It was more like a sneer mixed with a scowl.

“I’m a Toni, too. With an ‘i.’ I’m your neighbor, I live five doors down.”

“Oh. Oh…someone has passed on at your place, right?”

“My husband, yes. That’s kind of why I’m here. Do you have any money?”

I thought this was kind of odd, going door-to-door for donations, but I checked my wallet and then, showed it to her.

“Just five dollars. I’m sorry, things are kind of tight. I wouldn’t even have a roof over my except my cousin rents this house to me for next nothing.”

“I tell you what kid, give the five to me.”

I was going to say something rude, but held back because she had lost someone who may or may not have been close to her. I shrugged and handed her the money.

“Thank you. Now come with me.”

“...I have something I have to get back to, inside.”

“Trust me, kid.”

I reluctantly followed her, she seemed to be in a hurry…well, not exactly. After a few seconds, I realized that was how she walked and man, could she walk. If I could’ve bottled that walk, I would’ve been a millionaire. She looked back at me and her eyes seemed different. They were beautiful and they had a sparkle in them that wasn’t there, just a few minutes before.

We went to her house and I realized that she lived on the other side of the street with that all too familiar garage. The no longer stern-faced Toni opened the garage door, her sneer was now a fully-realized, bright and intense smile.

She handed a pair of keys to me and a slip of paper.

“What’s this?” I asked, but I already knew.

“She’s all yours.”

She wasn’t quite the redhead that Enzo envisioned…more like orange. Four-hundred and twenty-seven cubic inches of erotic bliss. “Monaco Orange” to be exact. A 1969 Corvette with 427 V-8 engine…pristine, not prissy. As raw as a modern Porsche or Ferrari is sophisticated. Pure muscle, no refinement.

“She belonged to my husband Curt, as you know. I saw you walking by everyday, admiring her. What a marriage, Curt was more in love with her than me. I know that you too, seemed quite smitten with her, so...”

All I could do was mumble “thanks.”

“She's yours. All I ask is just don’t drive her in front of my house. It’s like having to look at the other woman for the rest of your life.”

So I did as Toni asked and I never drove the ‘vette in front of her house, or out around town if I could help it. The next week, Toni needed help taking Curt’s things to Goodwill, so I pitched in. We went out to lunch afterward and from that gleam in her eye, a spark ignited something between us.

I’d drop by her house and she’d drop by mine, but we never moved into together…the car, you know. It was quite a fling, until I got a real job and had to move away. I learned a lot from Toni, mostly that Curt was an idiot. Because a good car is only worth half of a better woman, and you can always get another car.



This is why JJ pushes the limits of Flash Fiction. Every Friday, he changes up the requirements. This week we had to incorporate the words: Dirt. Hurt. Curt. Flirt. And an orange.
http://purgatorian.blogspot.com/2006/08/flash-fiction-friday-47.html

4 Comments:

Blogger angel said...

VERY cool! LOVE the car!

Mon Aug 07, 12:19:00 PM PDT  
Blogger Writeprocrastinator said...

Thanks. Here it is in "Riverside Gold."

http://usedcorvettesforsale.com/1969.shtml

Mon Aug 07, 08:07:00 PM PDT  
Blogger sweet trini said...

this was charming.
walk good.

Mon Aug 07, 09:36:00 PM PDT  
Blogger Writeprocrastinator said...

Thank you, Trini.

Tue Aug 08, 03:49:00 PM PDT  

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