Motorhead

by Kate Gilead

  “Mark? What do you think? Do you want to quote the work on my Lamborghinis?”

  “Definitely!” Mark says. “ And, I know someone who might like to buy those Grimmettis, too.”

  “Fantastic! Selling those would probably pay off this building,” DeSouza says, laughing.

  “Damn straight,” Mark agrees. “Wow! This is all…amazing. A bit overwhelming, but…amazing. I had no idea!”

  “Harry sure knows how to keep a secret,” Dad says admiringly.

  “Apparently, he’s not the only one,” I say, giving my father a contrite look.

  Dad reaches across the table and pats my hand. “Now, I need to know about you and your sister, Thomas,” Dad says. “I’m sorry to put you on the spot, but I’m tired of worrying about it. I want to know before I leave this place. So I’m asking you two: Do you want me to keep the custom repair unit open? Do you want to keep working for Sinclair’s? Your brothers don’t care, they have their work cut out as it is. So there’s no right or wrong answer here. I’m okay with it, either way.”

  Glancing at Tommy, I take a deep breath. “Then, it’s a ‘no’ from me, Dad. I plan to finish school and work with Mark to run Mollenkamp Motors. Help him build that business, just like Mom helped you.”

  “Fair enough,” Dad says, so quickly that I wonder if he knew it all along.

  “Thomas? You still want to work for your old man?”

  Tommy’s staring at our dad like a deer in the headlights. The rest of us are staring at poor Thomas.

  An uncomfortable second or two ticks by.

  “I…no. No. I don’t, Dad! I want to move on, too. I’m sorry!”

  Dad’s silent for a heartbeat, then he smiles.

  “Sorry? You’ve nothing to be sorry for, lad,” he says. “We’ll all probably be the happier for it.”

  I let out my breath, hardly aware that I’d been holding it.

  Dad’s not mad.

  He’s not angry, he’s not pressuring us. He’s actually relieved to be giving up part of Sinclair’s long-established business.

  And in fact, as we wrap up with Mr. DeSouza, Dad already seems happier; more light-hearted.

  Even, kind of, I dunno…boyish?

  Definitely less dour. A burden is lifted and it shows.

  He leads Mark and DeSouza excitedly through the rows of cars, talking animatedly while Mark takes his own photographs of the Lamborghinis that he’ll soon be working on. DeSouza amiably moseys along behind them, chatting. Then, the three of them go into the back area to examine and exclaim over the parts inventory that the old gentleman has carefully accrued over the years.

  Boys and their toys.

  Tommy and I hang back in the main warehouse, goggling at all the old cars while the men’s muffled voices and the odd burst of laughter drifts out from the back storage area.

  “So, brother mine,” I say, linking my arm through his. “Tell me the truth. Did you know anything about this?”

  “Nope. This whole thing was news to me. You?”

  “Not a thing. It’s good to find out what the hell Dad was on about that night, though. I’m just glad it turned out to be something real and not just, y’know, paranoia.”

  “Well, yeah. But he feels bad about that, so, let’s don’t rub it in, okay? And don’t hold anything he said about Mark against him, either! They’ve made friends now, don’t fuck it up!”

  “Hell, naw! Me? My lips are sealed. Enough bad juju, it’s time for some peace in the family again.”

  “That’s all I ever wanted.”

  “I know. So, what’ve you got up your sleeve? You plan to come work with Mark and me?”

  “Hell, naw!” He echoes, looking down at me fondly. “I just finished saying I want peace, why would I want to work with you again?”

  “Hey, I’m not so bad,” I say, mock-offended. “You could do a lot worse, yanno.”

  “What? Dude, nothing could be worse than working with you. Between your grumpy attitude, your body odor and your bad breath…”

  “Hey!” I give him a shove, laughing.

  “I’m sorry to say it but we all noticed your, um, wind problem, too.”

  “Oh, my wind problem? I have a wind problem now?”

  “Sis, fact is, you could gag a maggot with those farts. Talk about eye-watering! I mean, they were always bad but lately…what happened? Did something crawl up there and die?”

  “Oh my God, you’re so full of it!” Snorting, I aim a punch at his arm, which, as usual, he dodges easily.

  “No, no, don’t thank me,” he laughs, “but, we even considered staging a fart intervention.” He waves a hand under his nose. “But then you moved in with Mark, so it’s his problem now. Poor bastard!”

  I make a rude noise at him with my tongue.

  “That’s exactly what you sound like, Stinky,” he says.

  Dad, Mark and Mr. DeSouza come through the back doorway, smiling and talking. Dad’s eyes light up when he sees Tommy and me laughing together.

  “Hey guys,” he says, his smile widening as he walks up to us. “You know what we haven’t done yet?”

  “What, Dad?” Tommy and I say it in unison, sounding like the eager little kids we once were.

  Stepping between us and putting his arms around both our shoulders, our father says, “We haven’t planned anything for your birthday celebration! Hey, Harry, we’re taking my twins out for a big birthday dinner and you’re invited! We’ll go where ever they want to go…my treat, of course!”

  “Oh, well…I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Mr. DeSouza says, a little nonplussed.

  “Never think it! You’re more than welcome!” Together, with Dad still walking between my brother and me, we all head out to the parking lot.

  “It’s your choice of venue, guys,” Dad continues, “totally up to you! Don’t let me influence your decision. But…I could sure go for a nice, juicy steak! And there’s that new steakhouse downtown called The Keg. I heard great things about it! I’ll make reservations, just let me know what night!”

  “Okay, Dad,” we say it in unison again, making everyone chuckle.

  Well, Dad’s still Dad.

  Some things never change, but that’s okay. Maybe that’s the way it should be.

  As we all say our goodbyes in the parking lot, Tommy catches my eye and smiles.

  As usual, I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  Everything’s gonna work out fine.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Marie

  Christmas

  It’s a small house. An older house. Two bedrooms, one bathroom; a big, cobwebby attic with naked roof joists; a single-car garage and an unfinished basement.

  But the kitchen is spacious and modern, recently renovated, with room for a big family table. The back yard is big, too, the property set on an acre just outside of town.

  We got lucky and found this place in record time. The agent told us about it before it was listed, and we snapped it up for a good price.

  Closing on the deal just after Thanksgiving, the vendors were eager to finish everything and move out of the country before Christmas.

  We got the keys on the fifteenth of December and here we are now.

  Christmas Eve.

  It’s a perfect starter home, purchased with a down from Mark’s race winnings. His regular repair business was already picking up anyway, and we could easily qualify for a mortgage just based on that. But now, with Mr. DeSouza’s custom work beginning, the financial burden of home ownership will be a lot easier to carry.

  We can even afford to put an addition on to the house, if we want. Maybe even this summer!

  I can’t wait to have a vegetable garden. And flowers. And shrubs. And a pool.

  And a dog! I can’t wait to have a dog! When I told Mark how much I’m looking forward to having a dog, he promised we would start looking at breeders this summer. I can’t wait.

  I love Princess Poopypants, b
ut I hope we get a bigger breed. A nice, big dog, that I can get down on the floor and wrestle with. And that we can bring to the shop with us! That’d be so cool.

  Wandering into the kitchen to check on dinner, I’m full of contentment and warmth. Everything about this house feels good to me. The solid brick walls; the layout; the old oak floors; the old fashioned front door, and even the way the window over the kitchen sink looks out over the back yard.

  I love how a roaring fire in the big old fireplace warms up the whole main floor.

  Yeah. It’s a small house, but it has its advantages.

  We really like the lot, and the location is perfect. Just a short drive from town, but still rural enough that it’s quiet and private.

  We can grow into this house. With an addition of a couple more bedrooms on the main floor, another bathroom, a finished basement, and maybe, a big master suite in the attic…yeah. I can see us raising a family here.

  I’m just finishing up wrapping the last of the gifts. I take them downstairs and put them under the Christmas tree, the first of what I hope will be many in this house.

  Then I arrange our stockings, fussing with them, hanging them on the mantle, then switching their positions before switching them right back.

  Twinkling lights sit atop green boughs and fake snow along the mantle, and lights adorn the windows, the stairway balustrade and a few of my potted plants, as well.

  Santas and elves and garlands and faux snow and a Nativity scene completes my festive decor this year.

  It’s been so much fun decorating our first new home for our first Christmas in it.

  But, where’s Mark? I’ve got a nice fire going, dinner’s almost ready and he said he’d be home by seven.

  It’s quarter past now. I hope he’s not doing any last-minute shopping. Geez! Easton Mall will be packed right now, he’ll never get out alive! We ordered most of our gifts online, but he did say there was one thing he had to pick up for me.

  There! Headlights splash their glow across the front window and Mark’s truck pulls down the long country driveway.

  Standing at the window, I watch as he climbs out of the truck. He’s looking kind of odd… hunched over, like his stomach hurts or something. He hurries to the front door, which I fling open from the inside.

  “Hey baby,” he says, holding his coat closed and leaning down for a kiss.

  “Are you okay?” I ask. “You’re walking funny.”

  “I know!” he yells, triumphantly, before opening his coat to show me a brindle Mastiff puppy tucked into the bib of his overalls. “Ta da! Merry Christmas, baby!”

  The puppy blinks at me sleepily, and then its ears go back and its body begins squirming with delight.

  “Ahhh! You didn’t! You got a dog!”

  “I did too! This is one of Gilda’s pups! Things’ve been so crazy, I didn’t even know she whelped until last week! All of the pups were spoken for except this guy.”

  “Ohh, my God! I can’t believe this! Thank you! Thank you…he’s so beautiful!” I take the warm puppy from Mark and cuddle him close. “Oof, he’s heavy! He’s a boy?”

  “Yes. Freddy said he was the last one left. He’s gonna email the dog’s papers. With his pedigree, I was lucky to get him.”

  “My God, he’s huge! Look at his paws! And his ears!” I adjust the squirming puppy in my arms as he lashes my face with excited kisses.

  “Freddy thinks this pup is going to go one-eighty, maybe two hundred-pounds. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

  “What? Shit! What’ll we feed him?”

  “I dunno, small neighborhood children?” We both laugh giddily, making the dog wiggle even more excitedly. The dogs looks from me to Mark and back again, his ears lifting and laying flat, his eyebrows quirking and his pink tongue lolling as he chuffs puppyish laughter with us.

  “How old is he?” I nuzzle his warm, soft head with my nose. Oh, heavenly puppy smell!

  “He’s nine weeks old. Just weaned. I’m sorry I’m late, but I get a bunch of stuff for him before I picked him up. His bowls, a bed, some toys, a leash and all that…lemme grab it from the truck and we’ll get him all set up.”

  After dinner, which we spend watching the dog as much as eating, we relax in the living room in front of the fire, playing with the pup on the floor.

  Christmas carols playing softly, we lay back on a big fleece blanket, propped up on oversized pillows and drinking some spiced wine.

  Mark holds his glass up. “Here’s to our first Christmas at home together, with the first member of our new family.”

  “Mmm! Cheers,” I say, clinking his glass. “Now, we just have to give him a name.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Mark says. “I noticed something about how he walks…look! Check it out…see?”

  As the pup walks away from us, nose low to the ground and sniffing, I do notice it…his low, rolling gait, the unhurried way his hips rise and fall…there’s something very graceful about it.

  Feline, almost.

  “He…he’s so big, he kind of walks like a cat, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes! That’s what I thought, too. A big cat! With those paws, the way they lift and fall, very graceful, especially for such a gangly young dog.”

  We watch the pup silently now, sipping our wine, as he wanders to and fro, that sinuous roll to his gait reminding me more and more of a big cat. “Yes, he does kind of resemble a big cat,” I observe. “A lion, or a jaguar.”

  “Or a tiger.”

  “Yes! A tiger. With those brindle stripes, and the way his eyes are shaped, too…a little slanted, you see that? This feller really does kind of look like a tiger.”

  “Raj,” Mark says. The dog stops and turns to look at him.

  “Raj? Like, from the Jungle Book?”

  Ears perked, the dog looks at me now, and then gambols towards me, ears back and tongue lolling.

  Mark and I look at each other in amazement.

  “Raj?” Mark says, and the dog instantly changes directions and climbs into Mark’s lap. “Well, damn. Would you look at that? I think he likes his name!”

  “Raj it is, then,” I say, and we clink our glasses to that.

  An hour or so later.

  The fire is burning low and warm, the lights are dim. We’ve each opened a present and are now wearing them.

  Mark’s in his new Christmas bathrobe, naked underneath, and I’m in a soft, red, low-cut frilly nightie, decorated with candy canes.

  Also naked underneath.

  We’re back on the fleece blanket, curled up together among the pillows and very, very relaxed.

  Raj is sprawled in his brand-new bed, all four enormous paws hanging out of it.

  “He’s too big for that bed already,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Mark says. “I think I’m just gonna buy him an adult-sized dog bed and be done with it. He’ll grow into it by next month, by the looks of things.”

  “Or just buy him a king-sized mattress, like ours.”

  “Shit. Might as well give him his own room, too. He’ll need it!”

  A snore drifts from the sleeping pup in our direction. Then, another, and another.

  I giggle, turning to look at Mark.

  Looking down at me, he smiles, then with one meaty arm, he pulls me close to him.

  “C’mere, you sweet, sweet thang,” he croons, “get in the fort with me.” Planting a loud, wet smooch on me, he pushes me onto my back, opens his bathrobe and wraps it around us both.

  Laying naked on top of me to pin me down, he grins, chuckling evilly.

  I wrap my legs around his hips, flesh against flesh, and fold my arms around his head. Then I kiss his whole face. He holds still and lets me rub my face against his like a cat as he closes his eyes, taking it in.

  His palms flatten themselves on my rib cage and follow my curves to my hips, where they lift the hem of my nightie, slip under my ass and knead my flesh restlessly.
/>   Zero-ing in on his mouth, I kiss him until my pussy throbs against his belly, wet and warm.

  His hardness grows against me, pressing me intimately. He tips his hips, rubbing me with it in all the right places.

  I look up into his eyes. His gaze is intent, his eyes like dark pools in the low light. They crinkle a tiny bit at the corners before becoming serious again.

  “Why don’t you sit back on your heels, Markus,” I whisper.

  “Mmmm, yes ma’am,” he says, and does so, letting his robe fall open on either side of him.

  Kneeling before him, I smile as his erection waves at me.

  Taking it in my fist, I squeeze it and feel it pulse in response. He lets out a small moan.

  Squeezing it tightly, then stroking it with a looser grip, I tease him until he groans and a pearl of moisture appears at the tip.

  Bending forward, I kiss the tip and lick up the drop, getting my tongue a little way into the opening.

  I gesture him to lay down, then I take my place between his legs and look up at him.

  Laying back on a pillow, he props his arms behind his head so he can see me.

  In the flickering firelight, he looks like a God.

  Gripping his dick firmly, I flatten my tongue and use it to stroke the underside of his glans. He moans, his eyes closing in ecstasy.

  I keep at it until he’s writhing, thighs rippling and toes flexing.

  He puts his hands on either side of my head, lightly guiding my head and stroking my hair.

  Light strokes on that sensitive underside, flicking and licking, slowly then quickly, teasing and backing off until his breath comes faster and faster.

  Taking my time, I open my mouth and ssslurp his wide, rosy pink head into my mouth, first gently, so gently…teasing and flicking his urethral opening with the tip of my tongue.

  He groans, his hands tightening on either side of my head, and pushes his hips forward.

  “Ohhh, yeah…” he whispers, rocking his hips back and then thrusting gently forward again. “Mmmm…”

  His moans, his strong but gentle hands on my head; the way his cock hardens and pulses in my mouth; all this brings an answering throb from my pussy. It clenches and throbs as I lick and nibble Mark’s sensitive tip, eliciting whispered encouragement and moans.