I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the taillights following us. Long neon shadows.
I was speeding, but hell, Lucy and I had a party to go to and we needed another drink before the hangovers kicked in. Mine was already starting in the back of my throat, a weird place for a hangover to set in, I admit, but that’s what a mix of white wine, too many cigarettes and a few chocolate space cakes can do to you on a hot summer’s day.
We didn’t have much cash for food. A usual, Lucy didn’t bring any, and I was waiting for my dead husband’s will to come through. Consequently, I paid for the Thai stick, baking ingredients, the smokes and the wine. A box of Drostdy-Hof doesn’t come cheap these days.
We decided not to get fish and chips at Fish-Oh!-Rama because it was way too salty, even when you asked for no salt. And the oil tasted old. The burgers at Louis’ Café were all right, I guess, except that the patties were the size of five cent coins flattened on railway tracks. And they gave you the shits.
Most importantly (and bless Lucy for pointing this out), the chocolate space cakes don’t give you as serious a case of ‘ze munch’, as she calls it.
At least Lucy contributed two Ritalin which went down well with the white wine while we baked the cakes.
So, the taillights. Neon shadow vampire dragon tails by now. I took my foot off the accelerator. They were still in the rear-view, stronger and brighter than ever. “Flaming, man, fucking flaming,” I said and reached for a cigarette. I floored it and Lucy’s head bounced off the headrest.
“Jesuuuuuuus, D! Don’t you think you’re going a little fast?”
“No. They’re tailing us. Gotta shake ‘em off.”
“Oh, here we go. I told you not to buy Thai stick. You always see shit.”
“Ronnie didn’t have Swazi.” I was gonna say what exactly the fuck did you bring to the party today, Lucy, and then I remembered the Ritalin. It does that to you, Ritalin: clarity of mind.
Lucy put her hand down the front of her t-shirt and adjusted her bikini top. At first I thought it was her way of trying to keep her mind off things, me getting up into the one-twenties in a forty k’s per hour zone, but I caught her frown when she grimaced and sucked through her teeth. We’d been drinking in the sun all day, sharing a Spiderman towel I nicked from a group of teenage boys who were playing beach cricket. We totally forgot about the fucking sunblock.
“My tits are killing me, D. Where’s the cream?”
“In my bag.” I was concentrating hard. Eyes on the road for a second, and then wide and terrified in the rearview mirror. They were gaining ground.
“Where’s your bag?”
“Not now, Lucy.”
Lucy climbed over the passenger seat, arse over head, and then arse against the side of my face. I jerked the steering wheel and clipped the SPECIALS OF THE DAY blackboard on the pavement in front of Louis’ Café.
“Hey! I’m driving!” I was upset, but my tone was all wrong. A dirty smile had crept over my lips, and I sounded more excited than angry.
“I can’t get up, D. Stop the car.”
I could smell her. Sweet, Sweet, Lucy.
“No way, sister.”
The vampire dragons had vanished. All I could see in the rear-view was the Spiderman towel creeping up and over her bikini bottoms. They were sticking out like the pink and ripe tropical flowers that decorated them.
I slowed down.
“Well, thank fuck, Mario Andretti,” she said.
I imagined her like that, on all fours on my kitchen counter, Lucy, wearing only an apron; Lucy, with her horse mane black hair down, looking back at me through her legs, lips slightly parted, groaning. Me, wearing nothing but a Spiderman mask and clutching a spatula that’s never seen old oil.
We never made it to the party, Lucy and I.
Picture by stormxxx on Deviantart