The Last JoyRide

Part 43

Tuesday 3:44 AM

Joy pulled over on the first side street we came to once we had driven comfortably away from the scene. She switched off the ignition and stared out the windshield for a second.

"You with me?" I asked.

She paused a moment longer, then smiled.

"Damn, Nick, yes, just letting it sink in a second. It feels stranger than I thought it would. I don't know. I feel, well, free?"

Joy leaned over and held my head close as she spoke softly.

"Switch places; you're driving."

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Where are we going? Don't we need to get this thing back to the shop? Sleep a little before tomorrow?"

Joy cocked her head to one side.

"No, Nick, we can sleep anytime. Relax a second, would you? We're going back to the shop. Now go!" She demanded.

I did what she asked. I had no idea what she had up her sleeve, but I wasn't going to miss out on driving a DB5, not one owned by Neil Peart.

We both got out simultaneously and high-fived as we passed in front of the still shining headlights. I paused only a moment to pull some of the Hydrangea debris from the radiator scoop, then slid into the right side of the car. The door closed with a remarkably solid thump. The keys Joy left dangled in the ignition to the left of the steering wheel. The steering wheel was a beautifully aged wood, a triple-spoked wheel that sat handsomely between myself and the over-gauged dash. The leather was cool and slick. I adjusted the rearview just as Joy closed her door with a heavy thump, leaned over, and kissed me again. I felt I could certainly get used to that. I took the wheel in one hand, feeling the cool steel rivets binding the wood rings, and started it up. The inline-six rumbled to life again, letting us know it was ready for anything without sounding overanxious and ungentlemanly. I put it into gear with my left hand, and off we went.

"I'll bet you do feel free," I said.

"You put a hell of a lot of work into all this, and I can say it now, I was worried. I've never done anything remotely close to this. It just seemed like a fantasy."

"Nope," she grinned, "definitely not fantasy. Too much damn work for that," she said, pushing aside her seatbelt, leaning hard into me, distractingly so.

I could smell her sweet perfume, still barely lingering from the night. I glanced quickly at her; she was close, our eyes met, and I missed third gear and had to double clutch. The Peart forgave thankfully, but Joy knew and smiled and kissed my neck softly, then my ear. It tickled but in the best way.

"Look, you've got to stop that," I groaned.

"I'm nervous enough as it is, and you and all your," I glanced over again, "self. You're just very distracting." I snickered.

Joy slinked back into her seat and slipped her seatbelt back over her shoulder. She tilted the visor down to see the mirror and tussled her hair a second, then pulled her lipstick from her tiny purse and carefully put it on. And damnit, that was just as distracting. I focused on the sparse traffic ahead of us. Changing lanes at my pleasure and speeding a little faster than I needed to.

"Hang a left on West Paces Ferry," she said softly and took my arm.

It was a miracle; I made the green light at Peachtree and West Paces Ferry and gave the Peart the gas. All three SU carburetors opened in perfect unison and gave me the punch I needed to take the corner, accelerating and coming out with a quick shift to fourth. James Bond could have done no better himself. We jostled over one of the ubiquitous potholes on the Atlanta surface streets. We were cruising on our way back towards the freeway.