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twenty-three f

Motor Mike

T he clock in my Mustang read 5:00 a.m. Would Jack realize I hadn’t come home? Yesterday I would have worried about what he thought. Not today.

The thirty-minute ride home gave me time to think about the men in my life. Tom was a hard worker but also a hard drinker. He made my life miserable and was doing his best to destroy my relationship with Tommy and Lee. Jack was the sweetest guy I’d ever met. I could nag him for the rest of the century and he’d still be a lazy, pot-smoking nature boy.

Mike was ambitious, handsome, smart, and funny. I felt an explosive chemistry between us—something I’d never felt with Tom or Jack. Could Mike be my white knight—the man who would rescue me? Or would he be my black knight? I sensed he was a bad boy, maybe the baddest boy I’d ever met.

I was determined to find out exactly who Mike Ambrose was and how he would fit into my life.

Jack and three of his cronies lay passed out on the living room floor. I left them surrounded by their debris and made my way upstairs and into bed.

The next morning, I found Jack’s note on the kitchen table: Left early to fish. Probably spend the night at Stevie’s pad. Didn’t want to disturb you. Love, Jack.

Other than four bodies, nothing had been removed from the disaster formerly known as our living room.

“Screw you, Jackson P. Novak!” I screamed to the empty room. I spent my morning vacuuming, wiping spills, and picking up trash. Sometime after one o’clock, the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“So you did give me your real number, Miss Pillow Talk!”

“Mike?”

“In the flesh. Whatcha doin’?”

“Cleaning—the story of my life.”

“Want some company?”

I needed to think fast. I’d only met Mike the night before, and I knew what a visit meant. Jack had been taking me for granted for months and wouldn’t be home until Sunday. I stared at the bags of garbage by the back door, a symbol of what my life had become.

“I’d love some company,” I replied, then gave him my address.

“Be there in an hour.”

An hour gave me enough time to get me and the house in order.

Fifty-nine minutes later, Mike knocked on our ancient oak door.

The summer sun shone at a perfect angle, highlighting the platinum streaks in my dark-blond hair.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Mike said, sweeping me into his embrace. His kiss promised much, much more.

The Delaware River was our only witness. To be safe, I led him into the living room.

“You live here ? Not what I expected,” Mike said.

For the first time in months, I surveyed my home. I didn’t like what I saw.

“It’s a long story. How much time have you got?”

“All afternoon.”

I invited Mike to sit next to me on the sofa. Not for the first time, I felt the springs poke the back of my thighs.

“He-e-y, what’s this?” Mike pulled a plastic bag of pot from between the cushions.

“My husband’s stash.”

Mike lifted his cushion to find a dozen similar baggies. “I take it somebody’s in business.”

“Jack does some deals. Small-time stuff.”

“Where’s he now—at work?” Mike asked.

“Fishing. Jack’s allergic to work.” I couldn’t believe I put my husband down in front of this stranger.

Mike took another look around. “Guess that’s why you live like this.”

The frustration that had been building for a year broke through. I wanted to cry or break something.

“It’s home for now,” I said.

Mike shrugged and pulled an Altoids tin from his jeans pocket. Inside was more cocaine than I’d ever seen in one place.

“Got a mirror?”

“Upstairs.” I felt his eyes follow me as I climbed the stairs.

Would he follow me? Did I want him to?

Hundred-dollar bills were rare in 1975, so I was surprised when I saw Mike had rolled one for each of us. He poured a pile of white powder onto the mirror and cut it into four wide lines.

“For you, my queen.”

Mike was laying on the charm as thick as the lines on the mirror, and I was falling for it.

We sank into the cushions, and I told him the condensed version of my life story. I left out my mother, Tom’s abuse, and the tragedy surrounding my kids.

“What d’you want outta life?” he asked.

I want my children. I want a kind, hard-working guy to take care of me. I want to erase the last twelve years. I want a normal life.

Instead, I said, “What does anybody want? Love, sunshine, happiness.”

“Let’s start with love. Take me upstairs.”

I commanded my guilt to stay downstairs, but each creak of the stairs reminded me I was about to cheat on Jack.

“At least we’ll hear your husband comin’ up the stairs.” Mike laughed.

Once Mike kissed me, I forgot all about Jack. I forgot it was our home, our bed, our sheets. We lay wrapped in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours.

I wished the afternoon could go on forever, but I needed to get ready for work.

“Don’t go,” Mike begged. “I got a whole lot more lovin’ to give you.”

“Well, maybe a little while longer—”

Mike and I attempted to shower together but the lack of water pressure made it impossible.

He never took his eyes off me as I dried my hair and applied my makeup.

“You deserve a whole lot better,” he said.

I laughed off his comment. I’d been beaten down my entire life. The concept of deserving didn’t exist for me.

“Stick with me, doll. I’m goin’ places,” Mike promised.

“And where might that be?”

“I got my sights set on Florida. Lotsa boats, lotsa motors. They don’t call me Motor Mike for nothin’.”

“Come on, Motor Mike. Miss Pillow Talk can’t be late.”