We were barely back out on the highway when Sharon fell asleep in the cramped back of Mona’s Camaro. Since I was in the shotgun seat I claimed the right to control the radio and 8-track player. Mona pointed out that it was her car and her music and I’d only be allowed to be in charge of the music if I also talked to her as we roared along the road. Fair enough.
I punched around the dial as stations came and went catching “The Cisco Kid”, “Reelin’ In The Years”, “China Grove” and the like—sometimes in their entirety, sometimes just the last minute or so. I also kept up my end of the conversation with the owner/ operator of the Camaro. Mona was quite an interrogator. But I never felt uncomfortable. I was pretty good at dodging the questions if they got too close. Not that she didn't know I was dodging-- she'd laugh and keep probing around about school, old girlfriends and all that stuff. Besides, she was giving up a few details about Sharon just to keep stringing me along. The miles and hours flew by as “Let It Ride” and “Higher Ground” and more came through the speakers. Every now and then all I could tune in was something like, say, a Carpenters' song and I’d turn it down or look through the 8-track case. There wasn’t much in the tape collection that agreed with me but she did have ZZ’s Rio Grande Mud so I shoved it in. Mona didn’t comment about the choice.
“Is this OK, driver?” I asked.
“Yeah. That belonged to my ex. I’m more into Top 40 stuff, but it’s OK. Just leave it,” Mona said.
“Cool. I like ZZ Top.”
We continued the conversation and I attempted to shift it to finding out more about sleeping beauty in the backseat as the Texas power trio played on. Suddenly Mona said, “Turn that up!”
I cranked it up and she smiled. “God Wil, this song is soooo great to fuck to. It lasts forever with that nice slow beat.”
I was dumbstruck.
“What?” Mona said, looking at me for almost too long before looking back at the road.
“I can’t believe you used that word around me,” I said.
She laughed so loud she snorted and got embarrassed by it.
Sharon’s head popped up between the bucket seats. “What’s going on with you two?”
“Your virgin boyfriend was horrified because I told him this song was great for fucking,” Mona told her.
“So I go to sleep and you two talk about sex?” Sharon said in mock horror.
“I didn’t say a fucking thing,” I protested.
Miles and a fast food stop later we made it to Louisville. It was about 10PM when we got to the apartment complex. I met Sharon’s older sister (Mona’s best friend) and her boyfriend. For the first fifteen or twenty minutes it was just him and me sitting out in the living room of the apartment talking about football while the three girls shrieked, giggled, yelped, and generally got caught up with everything-- at least everything they could talk about with us in the next room. I found out that the boyfriend was a recent addition to the scene, barely longer than I’d been dating Sharon, a time measured in days and weeks better than months and years. He was stunned to see Mona. He’d heard a lot about her from Sharon's sister but apparently the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous had never come up.
It turned out that he had an apartment in the same complex. For all I knew I was supposed to go stay at his apartment. But around 1 AM he and Sharon’s sister went over to his place, Sharon and I went off to her sister’s bedroom, and Mona went to the second bedroom—the roommate was out of town for the weekend.
After a full day at work followed by a ride down with the grand inquisitor, Mona, I was exhausted. Sharon, on the other hand, slept a good bit of the drive. She was wide awake. I was going to have to summon up all of my reserves to deal with my little blond fuck fiend this night.