Revved: A Singer's Garage Novel

by Helene Laval

  As I pounded the pavement through the neatly treelined streets of Song, realization dawned. Like Jesse, Michael, Jameson and even Rina and the girls, Annie was one of my people. That I didn’t know she lived in the bar disturbed me. Why? Was she in trouble financially? I saw the bar getting busier and busier these past few months, but I never, until now, considered how this may affect her and her life. Hell, I didn’t know anything about her life.

  By mile six, I was starting to come to terms with things and the hundred questions tearing through my head at lightning speed started to slow down. Solutions started to form. I was a fixer. I saw dents and chips and broken things, and I fixed them.

  I went to help her out at the bar last night because seeing her with that gun not only stiffened my dick, but I also had genuine concerns for her safety.

  I circled back to my place, a basement apartment within a lovely Victorian in the middle of town. I decided I wouldn’t mention her sleeping in the bar. I cared about her, and I knew if I brought it up, she’d shut it all down, whatever it was, in five-seconds flat.

  I peeled off my sweatshirt and turned on the shower. I let the water warm as I brushed my teeth and stripped off the remainder of my clothes. Sitting under the hot steam of the shower I thought again of Annie. Of her perfect perky breasts as she held that shotgun, and full bowed lips pursed into a scowl as she eyed the room. I imagined those lips wrapped around my cock and fisted my thick length in my hand. I pulled and stroked firm and fast, my pace increasing thinking of her tongue swirling around my thick head and her taking me fully until I hit the back of her throat. A groan escaped my lips as shots of cum pulsed out of me and washed away down the drain.

  6

  Steve

  Sunday morning sucked. We were closed, but Michael was in to finish up some pending jobs. I was on call for tow duty and got called in to pick up a minivan twenty miles out after it apparently was sideswiped by a hit and run.

  “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! What am I going to do?” said the woman who stuffed herself into the passenger seat with a purse as big as her torso, a forty ounce giant travel mug, and a net bag full of soccer balls. She was entirely too connected to her world of family, children, and friends, and kept muttering to herself as she scrolled through her phone frantically texting every person she knew.

  I tried to be nice and friendly as usual, but the woman barely noticed me. She was on the phone with the school, the soccer coach, her husband. She texted her kids. She texted her kids to tell other kids and all of their moms. I bet there was an announcement on social media, documenting the inconveniences of this woman, her family, children, and teammates. Every single thing she did, every person she called, she announced aloud, as if I could somehow validate all of the steps she was taking. We were driving back, me being quiet and her calling and texting the universe in a ridiculous panic, when my own phone rang. I glanced down at the number and saw it was an unknown number from Texas. I didn’t answer because I was driving, but a few moments later I got another ding indicating a voicemail.

  We made it back to the shop. I unloaded the minivan and its owner and pointed her to the small waiting area where she could finish her calls and wait for her husband to get her. I wandered in the garage just to get away from the woman, and barely made to my area when my phone rang again. The same unknown number, from Texas. Shit. I didn’t even listen to the voicemail yet. I unlocked my phone to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Esteban Vega.” I heard my name repeated back to me. It wasn’t a question. He spoke my real name, my given name that I didn’t offer readily. My hackles rose. “Who is this?”

  “It’s time for you to come home,” the thickly accented voice said.

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it? I’m calling for Hector, and you know why.” His voice was smooth and knowing. For Christ’s sake, this was starting to sound like a Godfather film.

  “Couldn’t Hector call himself?” I tried to interject my cocky, I don’t give a shit attitude into it.

  “You know he wouldn’t bother with that. He wants you to know that Luciana misses you, and says you’ve been gone long enough. He’s losing his patience. If you don’t come back, and soon, he’s going to send me up there to get you.”

  “And you are?”

  “Somebody Hector trusts, unlike you, Esteban,” he scolded.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Now, now. That wasn’t polite. I’m calling you as a courtesy.”

  “Look, I don’t know who you are, but since you seem to be all about delivering messages, deliver this. You can tell Hector that I am not coming back. His daughter and I are over and have been for a long time. He can find some other sucker for her to play with. I’m done, and I’ve been done.”

  “You made a commitment, Esteban.”

  “So did Luciana. She broke it and she signed papers. We’ve been over for almost two years. Leave me the hell alone. It’s over.” And I hung up.

  I wanted to throw my phone against the wall but thought better of it. Why wouldn’t that bitch leave me alone? Why now, after all this time? I was so over this. I was not going back to Texas. That was never going to happen. I just had to figure out a way to get Luciana out of my life for good.

  I was a stupid twenty-one-year-old kid when I saw Luciana for the first time. My friends and I were hanging out at one of the hottest night clubs in El Paso. She was devastating. Petite with long dark hair to her ass, dark skin, and dark eyes. I couldn’t take my gaze off her.

  “Stay away from that one,” my friend Carlos said, noticing my stare.

  “Why?” I asked, never looking away.

  “That right there is the Devil’s daughter.” He shook his head.

  I didn’t listen, and I wish I would’ve. The past few years, not a day went by that I didn’t regret that decision.

  7

  Annie

  I loved and hated Sundays. The bar was closed, and it was my day to run errands and catch up on bookkeeping. It was nice to not have to sling drinks, but it was also a mad rush to get as much of the normal day-to-day stuff done as possible.

  This Sunday morning, I spent some time in my office making payments to vendors and balancing my bank account. I was doing okay. Not spectacular, but better than I was a year ago. I had a few of Dad’s bad loans to take care of, but I was managing. Profits had definitely increased since we opened for lunch, and business had been steadily picking up in the evenings. I placed the liquor and beer order, as well as the food order that Cliff had put together for me.

  I was tired. These last two years of pushing to clear these loans had been difficult, but I was by all accounts keeping the bar afloat, and even turning a profit. I finally had the freedom to make a few choices, and think about getting more help in. I needed another bartender, and perhaps another manager.

  I let these thoughts loose in my head when I headed over to the Cut n’ Curl. I kept my hair short, which meant I needed frequent haircuts. I liked to not have to fuss over long hair, and I had the fine angular features to pull off a pixie cut.

  “The town is in an uproar about you, Annie,” my hairstylist, June, said to me as I sat in the barber chair, nylon bib wrapped around my neck, wet freshly towel dried hair sprung up in a hundred directions. I stared at myself in the mirror. Shit. Did anybody ever look good while getting their hair cut?

  June was a mid-thirties mom of two young boys. She always looked fabulous and put together, and seemingly multi-tasked a thousand things at once. I’m sure if I were to walk into her house right now there wasn’t a thing out of place, there would be a casserole ready to put in the oven, and the house smelled like lavender essential oils. I’d occasionally see her out with her shop neighbors Betsy and Rina at my bar. She was bubbly and talkative, and pretty much knew everything happening around town.

  “It’s not a big town, Junie, of course everybody is talking about the crazy girl that pulled a shotgun on a custo
mer.” I groaned inwardly. It’s not like people liked me much. There were a few decent folks, sure, but most thought I was a born criminal and as rotten as my dad.

  “Of course, I’m the talk of the town. I’m surprised people didn’t flip their store signs to ‘closed’ when I walked by.”

  “When Lou heard about it, he stuck his fingers in his ears. He said that there wasn’t any formal complaint, so he did not want to know.”

  I chuckled. Lou Ortega, June’s husband, was local law enforcement. Even tempered, and not quick to react, as far as cops went, Lou was a good one, despite my father telling me my entire life that all cops were the enemy.

  “Well, you can let him know that I don’t plan to make it a habit,” I told her with a grin.

  “I’m sure you don’t,” June said. “Don’t worry about with others think or say. You’re good people. Never forget it.” She smiled and squeezed my shoulder.

  We engaged in pleasant small talk while June cut and clipped my short punky style and she sent me on my way. I strolled a few doors down to say hello to the other two girl friends in my life. Well, as close as I had to friends. I never had time to simply hang out. Lately I’ve been feeling like I should try to make more of an effort to enter life. My dad had a decade left in prison. Days of motorcycle parties, and constant watchdogging were over. It was time I left my upbringing behind and started living for myself.

  Betsy’s Coffee was run by, well, Betsy, and the attached shop, Eleanor Rose Baked Goods, was Rina’s place. The two shops had their own entrances but shared an internal connecting door which made it convenient for customers and staff alike. It was late afternoon, and both shops were empty, the after-church crowd having already gone. I found the two ladies in question sitting at a small table near the counter sharing an assortment of little cakes.

  “Try this one.” Rina shoved a fork at Betsy.

  “No way! You’re trying to kill me!” Betsy swatted it away. “Too much sugar, I’m gonna die.”

  “No you’re not. I need somebody to test this last one, pleeeeaase,” Rina said, putting the forkful of previously swatted cake into her own mouth. She noticed me walking over and a bright smile lit up her face. “Annie!”

  “Annie!” Betsy echoed. “Thank God you’re here. Please help Rina try out her new pineapple something or other cake. This is the third cake today. I’m going to explode.”

  “Cherry. Pineapple and cherry,” said Rina, pulling out a chair next to her.

  I sat dutifully, grabbed the proffered fork from Rina, and stabbed a piece of cake. It was heaven. I felt a shift underneath the table and Rina’s dog Max poked his nose out in greeting. I bent over and gave the Blue Heeler a scratch on his head, his tail thumping against the floor before he took off to lay in his bed next to Rina’s store counter.

  “Sssss evan.” I moaned around the bite. It was good. ALL of Rina’s desserts were good. I don’t know how she did it. Both bake like she did and keep a figure like that. But baking she did, and the entire town was grateful for her talents.

  “Coffee, hon?” asked Betsy as she got up and around the counter.

  “Sure, just regular plain with a touch of cream for me. Thanks.” I didn’t care much for fancy coffee drinks.

  Where Rina wore no makeup and was cute, sporting a simple ponytail, t-shirt, jeans and cowboy boots, Betsy was a starlet of a different era. I guessed she was a decade or so older than my twenty-five, with jet black hair that gently curled around her shoulders which she liked to tie up with a red ribbon. He complexion was fair, her lips were red, and her eyes black and feline. She reminded me of Snow White, with an affinity for button down blouses and cropped jeans. She was elegant, mature, and warm. I liked her the instant we met.

  Betsy poured from a prepared pot behind the counter and brought a steaming mug over. I gripped the ceramic warming my hands.

  “It’s really cold today. I hate winter,” I said gently blowing into my cup.

  “There is a big storm front supposed to roll through in a couple days,” Betsy said.

  “Is that so? I hate storms. All of the shoveling, it kills me.” I looked out the large storefront windows. The sun was starting to fall low in the sky, and there was a breeze shaking the last of the leaves off the trees lining the street. I shivered just looking at it. In several weeks, we’d be covered in snow for months. It wasn’t even November. I wasn’t looking forward to spending another lonely cold winter in the office. I’d rather have a bed that I didn’t fold up, or a fireplace, or anything at all that would let me enjoy a cozy winter. Right now, nothing in my life was cozy.

  I noticed Rina and Betsy eyeing each other. I knew what was up, and I wasn’t a girl that ignored shit that was in my face, so I just went for it.

  “Ok, spit it out. What do you want to know?”

  “Oh. My. God. Did you really pull a shotgun in the bar?” Betsy couldn’t contain the words rushing out in a single long syllable.

  “Yes,” I said hesitantly.

  “It’s all anybody’s talking about,” Rina said. “Annie Get Your Gun.”

  “What? I’m NOT gonna get my gun.” I was offended they would think that of me.

  “No. The Musical. Annie Get Your Gun. About Annie Oakley. 1950, played by Betty Hutton. You’ve never seen it?” Rina looked so hopeful. I did not share this hope.

  “Nope. Don’t think I wanna.” I really didn’t. Musicals weren’t my thing.

  “I’ve been singing ‘There’s No Business Like Show Business’ for two days! Jesse and I are going to watch it tonight just because of you. Love that film. Forgot how fun it was. Thank you for that!” she rambled.

  Betsy and I looked at each other with raised brows. “Rina and Jesse have this thing for old films. It’s how they got together, you know. Plus there was this incident with a bear, but I’ll tell you about it another time.” Betsy waved a dismissal with her hand.

  “Oh, I know all about the bear. The Singers and crew talked about that for two weeks.” I took another bite of cake. It was truly amazing. I pointed down at what little crumbs remained. “Sell this. This is good. I would buy this.”

  Rina smiled. Betsy smirked.

  “What? I don’t have anything else to share. It was getting dangerous. Some drunk asshole grabbed me by the neck. Steve jumped in to help. He took a hit to the jaw, and I had to stop it.”

  “There it is,” Betsy said.

  “Yup,” Rina replied in agreement.

  “There what is?” I asked looking back and forth between them.

  “Steve. You said Steve got hit, and you pulled out a shotgun,” Rina said.

  “It wasn’t about Steve.” I leaned back in my chair crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Sure it wasn’t, honey. Sure it wasn’t,” said Betsy shaking her head grinning.

  “Look, I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Rina started. I piped in to protest and was quickly interrupted. “Scratch that. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  Betsy picked up my empty cake plate and placed it on the pile with the others.

  “You have not!” I said.

  They both just smiled at me and nodded.

  I said nothing for a moment, then blurted, “It can’t happen. It can never happen. He is exactly what I do not want.” I looked down at my coffee mug like it was the most interesting artifact on this earth.

  “Sexy, hot as sin, and nice?” Betsy asked.

  “No! He’s all those things, but he’s … He’s just not the right guy.”

  “He can be,” Rina said, picking at a few crumbs on the tabletop between us. “You just have to try it.”

  “Alright, let’s move on to another subject, please,” I said.

  My cheeks were suddenly warm. I came in here for a reason, and this wasn’t it. Maybe I need to rethink this wanting to have friends thing. I didn’t like people knowing my personal business.

  Speaking of business, mine needed some help, and I had an idea. “What do
you two ladies think about helping me decorate and modernize the bar? I have almost no budget, maybe just for paint. But I love these two shops. They fit right into the small town atmosphere, and now that we have more tourists coming through, I want O’Dell’s to lose the biker bar roadhouse. I need ideas.”

  Both were very excited about my idea and chatted away about themes, colors and something called branding that I didn’t quite understand. We decided on an evening during the week when the bar was slow. It felt good to have some friends on my side.

  With those details in place, I set off to go home. I had a phone call I couldn’t miss.

  8

  Annie

  I had gotten my hair cut and a plan to modernize the bar. Some of the weight I’d been carrying seemed to lighten. Maybe it was due to crossing items off my list, maybe it was the socialization. Most of the conversations I’ve had over the past year had been as somebody’s boss or serving customers. While I enjoy my customers, it was draining to meet others needs all the time.

  As I walked down the sidewalk to my car, the wind picked up and I shivered. It was late October and felt too early to be this cold. The leaves hadn’t even fallen off all the trees yet. But the weather had been awful in the Northeast these past few years, and I wasn’t looking forward to another winter in a deep freeze. Betsy and Rina said a storm was on its way. I didn’t watch the news much, but maybe I should.

  I ducked into my beat up old red Ford Ranger and turned over the engine. It took a few tries, but eventually it started, and I made it back home. If my battery was sluggish now colder weather would be worse. I made a mental note to replace it soon.