Hurdy Gurdy Man
I dont answer her the first time, because I assume that she talking to someone else. I've just closed the glass door to the cooler and as I turned towards the front of the mini-mart I almost knock her over.
She's good-looking, scantly clad and hopefully not talking to me. Hot girls always make me nervous.
"Are you headed North?" she says again. My body freezes taught and I lean back away from her. She's moved right up against me. I still have dried mud on my legs and I'm pretty sure my breath smells like beer. It's about 11 am and I havent slept in over 24 hours. I'm somewhere in North Carolina.
"I saw your Jersey Plates, I need a ride, can you give me a ride North?"
My arms are held out in a T like I'm about to be frisked by her. In one hand I have a cold 2-Liter of Pepsi, (Scott wont drink Coke) and in the other I have Fritos, The large bag. I crane my head looking for Scott, He's getting some Slim Jim's. I continue to stand frozen like a scarecrow.
"Please"
I'm trying not to look in her eyes, because then I have to acknowledge that I have a complete stranger hanging on me in the middle of a convenience store.
Dont look at her eyes, Dont look at her eyes, Dont look at her eyes and she'll go away. Her body is up against me and I'm looking in her eyes.
"Please...." she pleads. "I really need help"
Now there are two things I am hardwired to respond to. The first is "Do you want a beer?". The second is "I need help". So I steady my exhausted nerves and speak the words any Maiden longs to hear...
"uhhhh...."
We're in my Corrolla heading towards I-95, it's hot and the windows are open because the AC doesnt work right. There's an ackward silence as I drive. I catch Scotts eyes in the rearview mirror, he's smirking by himself in the backseat, he knows I'm uncomforatble and is willing to watch the show. Thanks Scott....
"I'm Candy" she says..."I really dont know how to thank you, she says with a smile." I look over to give her a smile (and peak at her short skirt) and I notice that she's got day old scrapes down both forearms and on her knees. Bad Ones. Any 8 year old boy would identify it as 'Road Rash', the particular way you look from skidding on asphalt. Her eyes are heavily make-uped and alittle red like she's been up all night too.
"Are you in trouble or something?"
Candy turns her arms so I cant see the cuts
"No.." she lies
"Why did you say you needed help then?"
"My grandmother died. I have to get back to Vermont for the funeral. I work in Florida"
"We're not going to Vermont"
"I know I just need a ride to the first truck-stop on I-95, I can hook up with a trucker there. My last ride left me here."
"Is that safe?"
"I know how to pick 'em"
Candy's fiddling with her backpack and I look back to see Scott smirking again.
"I need to find a way to make some money along the way..." she says letting her voice trail off, and I realize she's staring at the $60 we have in the ashtray. She catches me looking at her and holds the gaze.
I really dont know how to respond to that, and the optimist in me tells me that this poor girl is in trouble and didnt mean it THAT way. She's probably only a few years older than me, early twenties or so...Prostitution happens between skanky old men and fat drug addicts in stockings, not college boys and scuffed up hot chicks...and certainly not in little red Corrollas speeding up I-95.
"Well, what do you do?" I say my voice near cracking.
Without looking, I can feel Scott's smirk turn into a shit-eating grin.
"I'm an exotic dancer" she says and gives me a knowing look.
"Thats nice", I say and regret immediately. I'm blushing.
Scott is now laughing outloud in the back. She assumes he's laughing at her but he's laughing at me. Candy gives him a dirty look. He's a worldly guy and understands how things actually work. I know this and right now I hate him. Six hours ago, I talked a pack of Southern teenage boys out of kicking his Yankee ass. You'd think he'd be grateful enough to say something here. Still it's kind of funny, and I'm delerious enough to almost start laughing too.
We pass the 'Rest Stop-1 Mile, Trucks Welcome' sign, and she tells me again that she needs to 'make some money' Scott starts to laugh again and I turn on the tape player as my response to her.
What comes out of the speakers is "Hurdy Gurdy Man" by the Butthole Surfers. I think it was originally a Donovan song in the Sixties, but they redid it and the lead singer taps his throat while singing. It's the most bizzarre song, and I completely loose it.
Candy hops out of the car pissed off as soon as we park and we're holwing as we watch her hop into the first big-rig she propositions.
"She never said thankyou" Scott says on the verge of hyperventilating. We fall out of the car when the song ends and I spend the next twenty minutes sitting on the curb with tears streaming down my face with laughter. My tires flat and it's the goddamn funniest thing I've ever seen...
She's good-looking, scantly clad and hopefully not talking to me. Hot girls always make me nervous.
"Are you headed North?" she says again. My body freezes taught and I lean back away from her. She's moved right up against me. I still have dried mud on my legs and I'm pretty sure my breath smells like beer. It's about 11 am and I havent slept in over 24 hours. I'm somewhere in North Carolina.
"I saw your Jersey Plates, I need a ride, can you give me a ride North?"
My arms are held out in a T like I'm about to be frisked by her. In one hand I have a cold 2-Liter of Pepsi, (Scott wont drink Coke) and in the other I have Fritos, The large bag. I crane my head looking for Scott, He's getting some Slim Jim's. I continue to stand frozen like a scarecrow.
"Please"
I'm trying not to look in her eyes, because then I have to acknowledge that I have a complete stranger hanging on me in the middle of a convenience store.
Dont look at her eyes, Dont look at her eyes, Dont look at her eyes and she'll go away. Her body is up against me and I'm looking in her eyes.
"Please...." she pleads. "I really need help"
Now there are two things I am hardwired to respond to. The first is "Do you want a beer?". The second is "I need help". So I steady my exhausted nerves and speak the words any Maiden longs to hear...
"uhhhh...."
We're in my Corrolla heading towards I-95, it's hot and the windows are open because the AC doesnt work right. There's an ackward silence as I drive. I catch Scotts eyes in the rearview mirror, he's smirking by himself in the backseat, he knows I'm uncomforatble and is willing to watch the show. Thanks Scott....
"I'm Candy" she says..."I really dont know how to thank you, she says with a smile." I look over to give her a smile (and peak at her short skirt) and I notice that she's got day old scrapes down both forearms and on her knees. Bad Ones. Any 8 year old boy would identify it as 'Road Rash', the particular way you look from skidding on asphalt. Her eyes are heavily make-uped and alittle red like she's been up all night too.
"Are you in trouble or something?"
Candy turns her arms so I cant see the cuts
"No.." she lies
"Why did you say you needed help then?"
"My grandmother died. I have to get back to Vermont for the funeral. I work in Florida"
"We're not going to Vermont"
"I know I just need a ride to the first truck-stop on I-95, I can hook up with a trucker there. My last ride left me here."
"Is that safe?"
"I know how to pick 'em"
Candy's fiddling with her backpack and I look back to see Scott smirking again.
"I need to find a way to make some money along the way..." she says letting her voice trail off, and I realize she's staring at the $60 we have in the ashtray. She catches me looking at her and holds the gaze.
I really dont know how to respond to that, and the optimist in me tells me that this poor girl is in trouble and didnt mean it THAT way. She's probably only a few years older than me, early twenties or so...Prostitution happens between skanky old men and fat drug addicts in stockings, not college boys and scuffed up hot chicks...and certainly not in little red Corrollas speeding up I-95.
"Well, what do you do?" I say my voice near cracking.
Without looking, I can feel Scott's smirk turn into a shit-eating grin.
"I'm an exotic dancer" she says and gives me a knowing look.
"Thats nice", I say and regret immediately. I'm blushing.
Scott is now laughing outloud in the back. She assumes he's laughing at her but he's laughing at me. Candy gives him a dirty look. He's a worldly guy and understands how things actually work. I know this and right now I hate him. Six hours ago, I talked a pack of Southern teenage boys out of kicking his Yankee ass. You'd think he'd be grateful enough to say something here. Still it's kind of funny, and I'm delerious enough to almost start laughing too.
We pass the 'Rest Stop-1 Mile, Trucks Welcome' sign, and she tells me again that she needs to 'make some money' Scott starts to laugh again and I turn on the tape player as my response to her.
What comes out of the speakers is "Hurdy Gurdy Man" by the Butthole Surfers. I think it was originally a Donovan song in the Sixties, but they redid it and the lead singer taps his throat while singing. It's the most bizzarre song, and I completely loose it.
Candy hops out of the car pissed off as soon as we park and we're holwing as we watch her hop into the first big-rig she propositions.
"She never said thankyou" Scott says on the verge of hyperventilating. We fall out of the car when the song ends and I spend the next twenty minutes sitting on the curb with tears streaming down my face with laughter. My tires flat and it's the goddamn funniest thing I've ever seen...
3 comments:
I banged her for $50.
sF
I'm sure I could have gotten it for $40 if I wasnt scared out of my mind!
I didn't know Brittney Spears was from Florida. Great story.
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