She thought about all the botoxed broads with big-candy expense accounts she serviced daily, at the upscale nail salon, and how they didn’t have shit on her, just the right man. Toni and Jacob treated her to the high life in many respects, but it held no security.
She showered and prepared for work, but as she poured a cup of coffee and let her long blond locks dry, she picked up the phone and called Jacob’s cell.
“Jacob, Remax real estate,” Jacob said in his professional tone.
“Hey, Jay,” Shirley said.
“Hey baby,” Jacob cut in. “What a night! Are you going to be ready for the Pre-Love Ride Party at the Cantina tonight?”
“I don’t think so,” Shirley said. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“Sure,” Jacob said. “Toni mentioned something, said she was concerned about you.”
“I’ve got to cut this off, Jay,” Shirley started. “I’m about to turn 38. I need something in life more than what you guys give me. It’s great sex, and I love you both, but I need something.”
“I understand,” Jacob said. “Listen. Just come to this party. There will be a lot of eligible bachelors. I could introduce you around. I wish, but you know Toni…I’ve got to jump off the phone and take care of something.”
Shirley was relieved as she hung up the phone and sipped her coffee. At least she broke the ice.
Jacob was just pulling his lowered Chevy pickup into the driveway at his ex’s place on Doheny Blvd. He met Jeremiah and his Toyota pickup set to pull his trailer to freedom.
Jacob was a tad on edge as he located all the trailer accessories behind an upscale home that he once owned, and helped with the hook-up to Jeremiah’s pickup. If his ex showed up, or Toni called, it could mean tumultuous bullshit. He didn’t need it. Toni was a kick, but she was beginning to wear on him, with her constant jealous demands, and drug abuse. He sipped a Starbucks café latte and tapped his custom leather cowboy boot against the concrete and slate driveway.
Jeremiah talked incessantly as he moved around his truck. He chatted about bikes, cops, his ex’s, and construction projects. It was all good information delivered in a machine gun format. Too fast, even for a Jewish real estate agent.
As the polished white construction pickup pulled out of the long manicured driveway, Jacob was relieved to have some closure with this joint and with his ex wife. That was the last remnant of his personal possessions on this property. His ex was as mercurial as ever. One day, she called bitching; the next, she’s all lovey-dovey and wants a favor. He needed to severe any lingering ties.
Then Jacob pondered the brief conversation with Shirley. That was a tough one, and he was smack in the middle. He knew the sexual nirvana wouldn’t last forever, and that Toni would ultimately drive one of them away. He sorta wished she’d drive him away. Shirley was warm, beautiful, hardworking, considerate, and a blast in bed. Just once, he had Shirley alone, and he sensed a chemistry that would melt a six-speed overdrive transmission. She was at least as tall as Jacob, statuesque, gracious, and well-spoken, compared to the Italian time-bomb, fireplug girlfriend.
What the fuck could he do? He thought about kicking back and letting the chips fall when Shirley broke the news. That might be the best tack. Then again, maybe he needed to break it to Toni before the party and try to ward off a touchy collision. He sipped at his coffee and scratched the top of his thick curly-haired scalp, fired up his truck and slithered safely out of the ex’s driveway.
***
Marko was like a drill sergeant barking orders in preparation for Bandit’s Cantina Pre-Love Ride Party on Friday night. Riders and industry folks from all over the country rolled into Los Angeles every November for the Love Ride. For years, there were four major events annually: Sturgis, Daytona, Laconia, and the Love Ride. Then Laughlin, Biketoberfest, Las Vegas, and Myrtle Beach entered the fray. The list kept growing until the economy crumbled. The Love Ride was always an intimate, Glendale Harley-Davidson charity, a one-day affair with Jay Leno hosting the final activities.
At one time, Bandit hosted a Pre-Love Ride party for Easyriders magazine, when he worked as the editor. But he decided to bring the notion back to the Cantina. And all the girls were on duty and looking spry and sizzling hot. They knew the Love Ride represented hotshot builders and industry guys who loved chrome, sleek frames, and even sleeker broads.
Frankie cleaned the parking lot like a man on a mission, and the Chinaman came up with sizzling new menu items. Before rush hour traffic jammed the maze of LA freeways, brothers started rolling into the Cantina on sleek choppers, lowered dressers, badass bobbers, and turbo-mounted late model Dyna Glides. Before the sun dipped into the Pacific, the parking lot was packed to the brim with scooters and folks wandering the parking lot carrying frosty Cadillac Margaritas. The party was on.
Compelled to nip Toni’s emotional upheaval gauge in the bud, Jacob broke the news to her as they dressed in his Hollywood sheik condo.
“I don’t get it,” Toni said. “Isn’t she happy?”
“She needs to find someone,” Jacob said. “We’ll always remain friends. Are you ready?”
Jacob was already feeling the lost love twinge, but he couldn’t show any remorse around Toni.
“I told her this would be a good party to meet someone.”
Toni tossed a glass make-up container in the bathroom and it shattered against the gloss-black tiled floor.
“She doesn’t need anyone. She has us,” she snapped.
“That affords her zero security,” Jacob said. “Get dressed, it’s time to go.”
They finally crawled aboard his freshly detailed two-toned, performance-modified, 100-inch FLH and peeled into the notorious Los Angeles traffic scramble. It was like a maze of congestion from bound-together stoplight-to-stoplight intersections. Jacob was a slick looking lightweight sorta Jewish accountant type, but once his polished designer cowboy boots hit those footboards, he was on a mission to traverse the city without his leather soles ever touching grimey asphalt again.
He whipped his chrome handlebars from side to side, darting the 750-pound motorcycle in and outta traffic, around snarls, over sidewalks, splitting lanes and riding over lawns and through gas stations to avoid stoplights. All the while, Toni, completely oblivious to his harried rumbling, traffic deviations, wrapped her slender arms around his lithe frame and he hardly noticed her less than 100 pounds. Ah, but those massive bolt-ons pressed against his back made her constant squawking in his ear bearable.
She couldn’t give up on the Shirley issue, and Jacob was focused, like a concert piano player on every note of his concerto. He passed several stopped vehicles on the arched on-ramp to the freeway, popped into the car pool entrance lane, and peeled passed the timed stop light. He weaved his way across four lanes into the car pool lane and still split traffic between the carpool and the fast lane. He could finally kick his Baker-modified six-speed overdrive transmission into fourth and snap the wick in Santa Monica, heading south along the coast toward the Port of Los Angeles.
The party was in full swing, packed with local riders, club guys, and industry guests from as far away as Minnesota and Florida. Half the crowd mingled in the parking lot, gawking at the bikes and talking tech tips, modifications, motorcycle laws, and terrific rides. Since some of the guests escaped serious winter confinement to enjoy the warm, sunlight Socal coast, the discussion of weather permeated several conversations.
Shirley parked her car in the Cantina parking lot away from the bikes and close to Harbor Boulevard out of respect for the bikes. She knew the code. She peeled her self out of her compact BMW after one final make-up and lipstick check in the mirror. She looked damned good in skin-tight demims, topped with a cashmere sweater that held her tits like expensive wine in golden goblets. Her magnificent mane of hair had just the right Marilyn Monroe wave and was as soft as a silk scarf. She could stop a freight train escaping a war zone.
At 5’6″ with 4-inch heels, she fit the exact definition of statuesque, and she moved with the confident air of a rattlesnake unleashed in a field mouse cage. She slithered between cars and bikes until she came face-to-face with Marko, who was still orchestrating the staff and pointing directions to the Hispanic busboy and his miniature family of assistants who followed him around dutifully.
Marko sized up Shirley, and recognized her from the previous week.
“Can I get you anything?” Marko asked.
“How about a glass of your house Merlot,” Shirley said, checking the big man out.
Marko looked across the dining room to where Nyla bustled up and down behind the bar, mixing drinks like a mad woman possessed, but somehow, she picked up Marko’s vibe, turned and recognized his body language. In less than 30 seconds, Mandy delivered a tall shapely glass of wine to Marko, who lifted it from the tray and handed it to Shirley.
“It’s on me,” Marko said. “Have a terrific night. And just blink if you need anything.”
Marko disappeared into the galley to check on the hors de vours being carefully prepared by the Chinaman and his hardworking staff.
Shirley took a sip of her wine and enjoyed the rich flavor. As her gaze lifted beyond the glass, she made eye contact with Nyla, who was visually inhaling every blonde curve. Shirley was slightly embarrassed by the overt sexual gaze and her cheeks reddened slightly, but she, too, was sexually aroused by the bouncy, bubbly, outspoken, voluptuous brunette behind the counter. For a split second, the bar was empty, except for the two dazed, bisexual broads enjoying their long-distance visual romance.
Nyla winked her delight, a smirk crossed Shirley’s lips, and a chemistry was about to form a sensual cloud around the two hungry females. The sex-powered energy was split by the noise of more hot rod Harleys sliding into the parking lot, the mariachis playing steel guitars and the banter of screeching women and deep male voices.
Shirley recognized some of the couples from Jacob’s community of riders, but none would approach her. She was the hot third wheel in a well-known ménage a trios, and men didn’t dare greet her, while jealous wives sneered. Shirley looked down at the rich amber liquid and took another sip. Just then, Mandy approached with a tray full of luscious miniature crab cake appetizers. Sheila followed her, and they both eyed Shirley from the tips of her pointed rhinestone boots to her diamond earrings and every curve in between.
“That’s a helluva belt buckle,” Mandy said. “Would you like an appetizer?”
“Thanks,” Shirley said and reached for a crab cake.
“If you need help with that buckle, anytime,” Sheila drooled.
“We both will …”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Toni snapped from behind, and yanked Shirley in an abrupt circle by the shoulder of her sweater, throwing her off balance. Her glass of wine splashed patrons surrounding her, and Mandy’s tray of crab cakes exploded.
Toni stood a foot shorter than Shirley, but she was an atom bomb next to a gold embossed hand grenade.
“You can’t leave us,” Toni said, grabbing both soft sweater shoulder straps and shaking Shirley violently, pulling the sweater free and exposing her massive boobs, held in place by a black lace bra. The light, virgin-white, shear cashmere sweater fell to the deck in shreds.
Jacob approached as quickly as possible and the break-up announcement permeated the crowd like an air raid warning of million dollar checks being dropped from the sky. Suddenly every couple in the dining room was either facing tentative destructive straights, or new sexual escapades. In one Italian outburst, Toni accomplished the exact opposite of what she intended.
Tony tossed the clutched sweater fragments at the floor and lunged at Shirley screaming, but Jacob stepped between the two bombshells and separated them, just as a world class cat fight was about to ensue. He recognized the heart-breaking look in Toni’s eyes. He suspected his own emotional upheaval at the loss of Shirley, and he knew he’d have to conceal his disappointment from Toni, but he never suspected this. A whole new twist was unveiling itself and suddenly, he recognized that he might just lose them both.
Marko coordinated the dining room clean-up and Frankie and the Hispanic family quickly cleared the deck. Meanwhile, Mandy rapidly returned to the kitchen for another tray of appetizers.
Talk about an atmospheric shift. Suddenly, every guy in the bar reached out to assist Shirley, get her a fresh drink, or buy her a new jewel-encrusted belt buckle. Shirley didn’t know what to make of all the attention. She wished she could disappear, although there was a twinge of success in the air.
Marko moved quietly from his overlook scanning corner and took Shirley gently by the elbow and guided her to the stairs of Bandit’s apartment upstairs.
“You can freshen up and relax,” he said. “Just tap on the door.”
Every eye in the dining room watched as the tall, beautiful blonde ascended the stairs and tapped on the heavy oak door with the brass porthole at eye level. The door swung open Bandit let her in.
“Follow me,” Bandit said.
The spacious penthouse suite, the antique motorcycles, and artwork dazzled her. He led her to a large changing room with a Jacuzzi tub, lit candles, and a freshly opened bottle of Merlot.
“Check the closet,” Bandit said. “I’m sure you’ll find something to wear. Take your time.” He turned, bowed slightly and stepped out of his apartment. “It’s time I said hello to my guests.”
