DRAG STRIP DATE (seventh installment)

Here is the seventh installment of Drag Strip Date.

Synopsis:

Darla Rigs is a freshly minted medical doctor with a bright future.  She’s escaped a bad relationship and moved to Victoria, British Columbia.  But now she’s met Luke Bertolucci, a philosopher/stone mason.  Darla likes Luke a lot, but will she be able to put the past behind her and start fresh?

DRAG STRIP DATE (seventh installment)

by Jerry Donaldson

Darla saw him standing in the pool of light at the front door of her building as she drove by.  Conor was smoking a cigarette and staring into the road.  She pulled her Honda to the curb a hundred feet past her building, because didn’t want to be trapped in the parking garage.  Remember what Mr. MacDonald said, she thought, stay with groups of people.  But it was late, and there were no people around.  She sat there behind the wheel for several minutes, while memories of Conor’s abuse rolled through her head.  Tears rose to her eyes, and she felt close to panic, until the Inner Voice spoke up.

“He’s just a guy you knew once,” the Inner Voice told her.  “You’re not the woman you were then, and you are probably going to have to confront him sooner or later.  You can do this.”

Darla considered calling the police, but decided against it.  He’s not going to attack me right there at the front door, she thought, and maybe he’s changed, gotten sober, something like that. It’s been years.  So she texted Carol: “Conor’s car out front, going in, text you after.” She knew Carol was probably in bed with the phone off, but at least there’d be a record, she reasoned.  Then she gathered up all her courage, got out of the car, locked up and walked the hundred feet back to her front door.  The sidewalk was well-lighted, thank goodness for that.

“What do you want, Conor?” she said. He was wearing a gray suit, which surprised her.  She’d never seen him in anything but blue jeans. “Do I have to call the police?”

“Hey, Darla,” he said, “I’m not here to cause trouble, just to say ‘hi’, let you know I’m in town in case we run into each other.  I don’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s too late for that,” she said.  “Why were you hanging around my work today?”

He looked genuinely puzzled.  And not just that, Darla noticed, he seemed, well, different. He appeared to have lost a few pounds, for one thing. Also, his hair was neatly trimmed, and a lot shorter than she remembered.

“Sorry, Darla, don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You weren’t parked on Howe today, in front of the Seymour Clinic?”

“I was on Howe today, yes, but I had business down there.  I’m starting work at an investment firm,” he said.  “Listen Darla, I’m just letting you know I live in Victoria now, it’s a small place, and we’re going to run into each other now and then.  And, after we split I had a chance to think about things.  I quit drinking eighteen months ago, went back to school and finished my business degree.  I’m going to be an investment adviser.”

And, just like that, Darla felt the old tug. So many times during their relationship she had thought, maybe it’s just the drinking; maybe he could be a good partner if he just settled down a bit; maybe it’s just been tough times at work. But then the Inner Voice spoke up, loudly.

“Forget it, Darla,” the Inner Voice said.  “You’ve  been there, done that. Walk away.”

Good advice.  “Okay, Conor,” she said, “I’m happy you’re making some positive changes, and I wish you well, but I don’t want to see you regularly.  I want to live separate lives.”

She was surprised by his response.  “Yes, Darla, I agree,” he said.  “We’ll leave the past in the past.”  He looked at his watch, and then he said, “It’s late, and I’d better get going.  Nice to see you again.” With that, he walked away, down to the sidewalk and his parked BMW.  He started up the car and drove way into the night.  Well, Darla thought , wonders never cease.  She used her key to open the front door and went inside.  She decided to use the elevator tonight, and she rode up to the fourth floor.  She opened the door to her apartment, went inside and left her keys on the hook by the front door.  She was exhausted.

Ten minutes later she was standing at the bathroom sink brushing her teeth, half asleep and on auto-pilot.  She splashed her face and got into pyjamas. She remembered to text Carol: “all good, no worries, TTYT,” and then she turned off both ring and vibrate on her IPhone.

She got into bed and turned off the light, and then she had a thought:  How did Conor find out where she lived? On a different night such a thought might have cause her to ruminate for hours, tossing and turning and worrying.  Not tonight, though.  She closed her eyes and the last thing she remembered was Lance, standing in the infield at West Coast Speedway with his helmet thrust skyward, while the crowd cheered and cheered.

Over at his little studio apartment, Luke was sitting at his computer, editing his doctoral dissertation in a desultory manner.  He wasn’t feeling as if he could sleep anytime soon, so he reckoned to get a little work done.  His upstairs neighbours were having a party, judging by the sounds coming through the ceiling.  But it was all good, they were nice people and it was, after all, Saturday night.  Luke was not going to let anything bring him down, push him off the cloud upon which he floated.

The end of Luke’s marriage had left him feeling empty, worthless and depressed.  There were elements of his relationship with Rita that caused him shame and embarrassment, beyond the fact that they were first cousins.  Rita had a red-hot temper, and she had been emotionally and, occasionally, physically violent toward him.  But that was something he never talked about.  Accusing Rita of abuse would have caused a terrible rift in his family.  And, he had to acknowledge, it was also not what an Italian male admitted to.  It wasn’t macho.  And then there was the sex.  As he had admitted to Darla (yesterday, a week ago; he couldn’t remember), in a fit of candor that terrified him at the time but appeared not to have fazed her at all, sex with Rita was mind-blowing.  Especially the make-up sex.  It almost made the fighting and abuse worthwhile.  But not completely.  Luke and Rita’s marriage was doomed.  Luke knew he would never bring a child unto such an unhealthy relationship, and so it was just a matter of time.  One night, in the midst of a particularly nasty fight she’d thrown a pan of hot grease at him and given him a third degree burn on his chest. He still had the scar, It was pure luck that the grease hadn’t landed in his face. Today he couldn’t even remember what the fight was about.  He just drew a blank; there were so many fights.  He never knew what would set her off.

The night of the last fight he had walked out the door and never looked back.  Rita called and called, and offered tearful apologies, but he knew it would all happen again if he relented and returned to their home.  Then she started in on his parents, and they pestered and pestered, until he finally pulled up stakes and moved to Victoria, right across the country.

In the immediate aftermath of his marriage and final separation, Luke had not believed would ever manage to find the optimism and trust required to commit to another person, even at the most basic level.  Luke had some long-time friends, but they mostly lived back in Toronto.  He had found it tough to connect with people in Victoria, especially since he did not drink and found socializing in the evening to be more of a strain than a diversion.  And he was busy with school and his job.  And that was one reason meeting Darla was such a miracle.

He was smitten from the very first day they met in the Stalk’s parking lot, gathering up her groceries.  Part of his present dilemma was, how to discuss with her the truth about his marriage to Rita. It was all so embarrassing and shameful, and he didn’t see how she would ever understand.  Deeper than that, however, were the psychic scars with which he had been left.  Would he be ever be able to trust another woman?  What if it all happened again?  The truth was, his knowledge of the other sex was somewhat limited.  He’d been a virgin when he met Rita, and for better or worse, everything he knew about sex she’d taught him.  And sex with Rita, when it was good, was spectacular.  A red-hot, mind-blowing experience that invariable left him feeling satisfied, exhausted and, well, manly.  And the feeling was mutual.  Rita came to orgasm quickly and hard, and she was quite vocal in the throes of passion.  She was satisfied, he was satisfied, everyone was a winner.  In bed, anyway.

His phone vibrated, and he looked at the screen.  The number was not one he recognized, but he picked up anyway.  He glanced at his computer screen and noted the time: 1:45 am.

“Hello, Luke Bertolucci here,” he said into the phone.

“Hello,” a female voice said, “I hope I have the right number and I’m terribly sorry to bother you.  This is Carol Riggs, Darla’s sister.

“Hello, Carol.  What’s up?”

“I know we haven’t met or anything, but Darla has told me all about you, and I know you and she were going on a date tonight, and I can’t get a hold of her and I’m a bit worried,” said Carol in a rush, all the words jammed together. “Have you heard from her?”

“Just a sec,” Luke said.  He examined the call history on his phone.  No call or text from Darla was there.  “Nope,” he said to Carol, “nothing.  What happened exactly?”  Luke was not the type given to panic, or jumping to conclusions.

“Well, she texted me after midnight to let me know her ex’s car was in front of her condo building.  They have some bad history, and even though I got a second text 20 minutes later saying everything was fine, I still thought I should check with you.”

Luke thought about that. “Well, Carol,” he said, “I don’t know either you or Darla very well, so I don’t know what to say. But if she texted you that she was okay, then maybe we should take her at her word.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line, and then Carol said, “Yes, yes, of course you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just being silly and I shouldn’t be bothering you this late, I just worry about Darla so much.”

“Not at all, Carol,” Luke said, “I was up working anyway.  And, I guess it’s appropriate that we meet, even if it’s under these unusual circumstances.  She talks about you a lot.”  Luke thought for a moment, and then he said, “Say, Carol, how did you get my number?”

“I made Darla give it to me, sorry,” Carol said.  “I just wanted to be able to contact her while she was with you, she talks about you a lot too, and I just worry.  It’s because she had such bad luck with her last guy, Conor, and oh, now I’ve said too much about that.  I’m such a ninny.”

“Don’t worry Carol,” Luke said, although now *he* was getting a little worried. “This is the same Conor she texted you about tonight?”

“The same,” Carol said, “he was nasty to her and she moved here from Montreal partly to get away from him.  She was probably a little freaked when his car showed up in front of her house.”

“Nasty, like, abusive?”

“Yes, but please don’t tell her I said anything, although I’ll tell her all about this call when I do talk with her, we don’t have any secrets,” Carol said.

Poor Carol sounded so upset, Luke decided to take a chance and be very direct. “Carol,” he said, “calm down.  Take a breath.  I’m sure everything is fine, Darla is a smart woman, and if there was trouble she’d have found a way to contact you.  Is anyone there with you?”

“No, I’m alone here,” she said.  “And you are being so patient with me, I just. . .just.” With that Carol broke down sobbing.

He let her go on for a while before speaking. “Oh, Carol, I’m so sorry you’re upset,” he said.  “Are you okay on your own?   Is someone there with you?”

Luke waited patiently while Carol snuffled, blew her nose and composed herself.  “No, I’m here alone,” she said. “You’re so very kind, but I’ll be fine.”  There was another pause and then Carol continued. “I was a bit triggered when I found out from Darla that my ex-husband Dave works with, correct me if I don’t have this right, the wife of your doctoral advisor?  That they both play in the symphony”

“Yes,” said Luke, “that’s right.  Evelyn MacDougall is her name, she’s Bruce MacDougall’s wife.  She plays first violin.”

“That’s right, yes, that’s what Darla told me,” Carol said.  Her voice brightened a bit.  “Darla said they are very nice people.  She phoned me earlier this evening to tell me she was going with you to the races after the Faculty Club.”

Must have been while Darla was in the ladies room at the Student Union Building, Luke thought.  “Darla tells me you and she are very close,” he said.

Carol chuckled, and Luke was relieved that she seemed to be back on track.  “Yes, we are,” she said. “Probably three calls a day.  I hope you don’t think all we talk about is you, but I guess we do talk about you because it’s just so great that Darla is happy, and you’re happy, and oh there I go again.  I’m sorry, Luke, I do get lonely and I have doubts about the decisions I’ve made, and I don’t know why I’m boring you with all this, except that you seem like a nice person.”  Carol’s voice broke and she sounded once again on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay, Carol, I’m listening.”

There was yet another pause, and then Carol continued.  “My marriage to Dave failed, but not for the same reasons Darla left Conor, and I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, but I sometimes wonder if I made a mistake. Dave and I got together when I was fifteen, the year before my father died.  We were so young, and then, well, it’s just that things between Dave and me had gotten so, I don’t know, boring and dull, I guess.  Or maybe just boring and dull compared to what I was used to, with the shouting that went on in my house growing up.”

“Shouting?” Luke asked.

“Oh, there I go again,” Carol said.  “Minimizing, that’s what my counselor calls it.  Much more than shouting.  My father was an abuser, he beat my mother, our mother, and none of us were sad when he died at work.  That sounds horrible, but there it is.”

“Darla hasn’t said much about her home life growing up,” Luke said.

“You know, Luke, Darla and I don’t talk about our home life as kids either.  There were four of us, all girls.  Darla is the youngest, then me, then Rebecca and Naomi.  Naomi sort of took over as mother to the other three of us when things got bad at home, when our father was on the warpath,” Carol said. “And then Darla went on to marry someone just our father, and I picked the exact opposite.  And neither one of us was successful.”

“So, this Conor, Darla’s ex, was abusive?”  Luke found himself saying.  He reflected that this was an awfully frank conversation to be having over the phone with someone he had not yet met in person, about someone he had only know for a little over a week.  But, it’s all okay, he thought, I know it.  It’s good and right, and Darla will forgive me. Because it was now apparent that the two of them had a lot more in common than he’d thought: they had each suffered abuse in an intimate relationship.  But, he thought, there was no abuse in my family growing up, so why did I end up with Rita?  Are we really that influenced by our upbringings when we select a mate?

“Yes,” Carol said, “I’ll let Darla tell you the details, if that what she’s of a mind to do.  Again, I hope you don’t think less of me or think I’m speaking out of turn.”

“No, it’s okay,” Luke said. “I think everything is going to be fine.”

Carol laughed at that remark, a short, musical burst.  “You are an optimist,” she said.  “Just like Darla said.  She really likes that about you. But I guess she likes a lot about you.”

“I try to be positive,” Luke said.  “It’s too easy to sink into all the bad stuff that goes on.  I like to believe that everything works out for the best.”

“I agree,” said Carol, “I have to watch out not to get too involved in the news these days.  So much of it is bad.  Sandy, my counselor, tells me to be careful about that.”

“Same here,” said Luke, “Although between work and school, I don’t have a lot of free time to watch television these days.”

“But you do enjoy the race track, Darla tells me.  Have you always liked car racing?”

That, Luke thought, is an interesting question. Prior to moving to Victoria, Luke had had no interest in car racing at all.  An acquaintance had first taken Luke out to watch drag racing at Westcoast Speedway shortly after he entered the doctoral program at the University of Victoria.  Luke had been hooked from the first outing.  He loved the noise and the smoke and the incredible rush of power as the cars leapt off the line and blasted down the track.  He loved being with the crowd, loved the feeling that they were all in it together, shouting and cheering, eating hot dogs, drinking beer and escaping day-to-day reality.  A night at the track left him feeling easy, relaxed, at peace.  All very foreign to a quiet, stone-mason/philosopher.

And, he was realizing, it made him horny.  There, he’d said it to himself, admitted it at last.  The rush of speed and power revved up his libido.  The way erotic movies, oysters or candle-light dinners did it for other folks.  And, he thought, it seems to have the same effect on Darla. I wonder what Darla is like in bed, he thought, and I wonder what is stopping me from getting on with the next stage of this relationship? It was easy to blame it on Rita, to imagine his poor psyche had taken a mortal hit, to say to himself he was being cautious, trying to avoid the problems and hurts that occasioned even a healthy relationship.  Am I going to wait too long? he thought. Let Darla get away because I’m a chicken?

“Uh, Luke?” Carol said, “You still there?”

Luke shook off his reverie. “Yes, yes, I’m here.  Sorry, I was thinking about the question.”

“I wasn’t expecting a detailed analysis,” Carol teased. “But, you are a philosopher, so it’s expected I guess.”  Carol had a sense of humor, apparently.  And Luke was glad he was able to help her have a laugh, even at his expense.  So they shared a chuckle.

“It’s funny,” he said, “I’ve never been into cars, or sports either for that matter.  I don’t even have a driver’s licence.”

“Really?”

“It’s very relaxing, a wonderful diversion,” he said, warming to the subject. “It induces a sort of meditative state, like yoga.”

“Okay,” Carol said, “Now you’re pulling my leg.”

“Guilty,” he said.  “But, even so, it’s not too far off the truth.  The noise and the . . . I don’t know . . . the *immediacy* of car racing, especially drag-racing, just sort of crowds out everything else, all my troubles and concerns.  Does it better than anything else for me.  But, even as I’m saying this I’m not really catching the essence of it.  I feel like I’m over-thinking it.”

“It’s a good explanation,” Carol said.  “Dave and I like music, all sorts, so that’s mainly what we did.  Recitals, opera, the symphony of course, all that sort of thing.  But we also did rock festivals, went camping sometimes for three-day events.  It was fun, I guess.  It seems I’ve sort of stopped doing the musical events since Dave and I separated.”

“Do you miss it?” Luke said.

“I think I do.  Maybe I just don’t have anyone to go with anymore,” Carol said.  “Darla is very musical, but she doesn’t do concerts, really.  I think she still feels a little sad she didn’t make it professionally as a classical guitarist.”

“Yes, she did mention that to me,” Luke said, “T’was not to be, unfortunately.”

“No, t’wasn’t”

“Tonight Evelyn invited Darla to join a ukulele group.”

“Ha!” said Carol.  “She’d enjoy that.  You should encourage her.”

A pause in the conversation followed, during which Luke realized he was getting quite sleepy.  “Carol,” he said, “I’m done-in.  I’ve really enjoyed our conversation, but can we pick it up later.  Maybe in person some time?”

“That would be fine,” she responded.  “You’ve been so kind and helpful, and I feel like we’ve known each other forever.  I can see why Darla likes you.”

“Good night, Carol.”

“Nitey-night.”

Luke muted the ringer on his phone and placed it on the kitchen counter.  He, briefly thought about calling Darla, but decided against it.  He stripped down to boxers, which was how he slept, then he went into the loo and brushed his teeth.  He returned to the living area, folded out the lumpy sofa-bed that he slept on and got into it.  As he did every night, he renewed his resolution that the day he finished his doctorate and got a job his first purchase would be a real bed.  And he’d rent a full-size apartment, or maybe buy a condo and begin living like a real person instead of a starving student. He fell asleep minutes later, thinking about Darla.  Beautiful, amazing Darla.

Across town, Carol sat at her kitchen table in a ratty pink robe, doing a crossword puzzle.  She was a troubled sleeper at the best of times, and she did not expect to log much sack time tonight.  Did I sleep better with Dave beside me? she wondered.  She couldn’t remember; her marriage to Dave seemed like a dream, now.  She paused to stare at the wall and chew on her pencil.  I can’t remember.  What exactly was it about Dave that I thought I couldn’t live with?  There was no ready answer to that question, so she sighed and returned to the crossword.

(to be continued)