DRAG STRIP DATE (eighth installment)

Here is the eighth 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 (eighth installment)

by Jerry Donaldson

Dawn gathered in the east.  The pale disc of the morning sun ventured above the Coastal Mountains to cast long shadows in the quiet, Sunday-morning Victoria streets.  Those shadows grew shorter as the sun, emboldened, rose higher and higher into the sky. A few early risers were up and about, enjoying another beautiful west-coast morning.  On Darla’s street two women walked five dogs silently down the centre of the deserted pavement, on their way to the nearby dog park.

A mile away, on Luke’s street, the only person up and about was his landlord, gray-bearded old Butch, who was poking around in the flower-planted rock garden that abutted the sidewalk.  Butch had been renting rooms to students for thirty years.  He knew the ebb and flow of student life, knew it as well as if he were still in his own student days.  He didn’t expect to see Luke or any of his other students up and moving about for a few hours yet.

And away across town, on Carol’s street in a fairly new subdivision of matching, pastel-toned stucco bungalows, a sleepy hockey dad unloaded his son’s gear from a red minivan and onto the blacktop driveway.  There had been a 3 am practice this morning, and this father’s present plan was to wake up his wife to make breakfast for the boy, and then to take her place in their warm, king-sized bed.  Two doors down, Carol lay asleep in her bed with a crossword book on the floor beside her, where it had dropped from her grip as sleep overcame her a few hours ago.  Her Siamese cat Frankie was curled up on the bed at her feet.

Past the edge of town, out at West Coast Speedway, cleaning staff pushed brooms through the grandstand and filled orange garbage bags with empty drink cups and hotdog wrappers, popcorn boxes and crumpled paper napkins.  On the oval and at the drag-strip, marshals patrolled, cleaning up debris and oil.  In the snack bar, kitchen staff sliced potatoes for french fries and cashiers stocked the racks by the cash register with chips, candy and gum.  There were races to be run that evening, and the speedway needed to be ready.

And in a hotel room downtown,   Conor Larkin, Darla’s ex, stood before the bathroom mirror, absently running a Braun razor over his face and listening to CBC radio.  Conor was deep in thought, and he was not happy with himself.

He shouldn’t have just popped up at Darla’s place last night, and this morning he could see clearly that was a bad move.  His Ontario lawyer had warned him that the restraining order Darla obtained in court years ago was still in effect, here in British Columbia as well as back in Ontario.  So Darla could have called the police last night and he could have wound in jail.  But Conor was sure in his mind of one thing, as sure as he was of anything: Darla wouldn’t do that, she wouldn’t turn him in, or at least not after she’d had a chance to appreciate that he was a changed man.  Oh yes, there had been trouble near the end of their relationship, but that was behind them now.  The old Conor had been a bad boy, a troubled drinker with a bad temper.  But that was then, this was now.  The new Conor was sober and embarking on a new career in a new town.  And the new Conor was convinced that Darla would see the error of her ways and take him back.

But, he could see this morning, when taken by surprise at her front door Darla could easily have jumped to the wrong conclusion: that he was there to do harm.  Sure, he could have phoned or emailed her to let her know he was in town and a changed man, but she might just have avoided answering the phone or replying to his email.  And how then would she see that he was a new man, a good, clean changed man?  How would she see that the two of them belonged together?  And on that thought Conor finished shaving and made his plans for the day.

*

The sun was well up in the sky when Darla woke.  Her bedroom was bright and airy, and Sparks the cat lay purring at her feet.  Life was good.  She lay there, stretching luxuriously, staring at the ceiling and thinking.  She thought about Conor’s surprise visit, but only briefly.  It was a troubling development, but not one that demanded her immediate attention.  Better to concentrate on Luke Bertolucci, her red-hot mason/philosopher.  She thought about seeing Luke with the MacDougalls last night, about how polite and socially adept he was. Bruce and Evelyn obviously placed great stock in Luke, and why not?  He was perfect.  Or perfectly hot, at any rate, with his flat belly and his tight little butt.  With his mischievous smile, blond hair and flashing blue eyes, eyes that crinkled when he laughed and put her over the moon with desire. She thought about the sprint car race last night at the Speedway, about the crash and about Lance.  About the defiant pose he struck after extracting himself from the wreckage of his crashed sprint car lying upside down in the infield, about his arm thrust skyward while the crowd roared. And she thought about Vern and Warren and the others on Lance’s race team. About how dedicated they appeared to be to the sport, and to each other.  Like a family, Darla thought. A crazy, speed-mad family.

And that got her thinking about her own family.  Darla and Carol were close, maybe too close, Darla sometimes considered.  It had seemed a little weird that Carol was prepared to move to Victoria when Dave got a position with the Victoria Symphony Orchestra and left Toronto.  They were divorced, they didn’t have any children, and there didn’t seem to be any reason why she would want to live in the same city as Dave.  But then again, Darla was living here by then, and Lisa too, so why not?  Carol was a successful novelist, so she could live anywhere.  And so, all four of them were living here in Victoria. Darla, Carol, Lisa and Dave, all Toronto ex-pats, all single. And one of us as horny as hell, and wanting Luke Bertolucci like nobody’s business!

Except there were now five, not four.  Conor was here too.

After a few more minutes, Darla swung her legs over the side of the bed and took her Iphone off the charger.  She turned the ringer on and checked for missed calls.  She saw that Carol had called three times, twice shortly after Darla’s second text last night text, and once about ten minutes ago. Darla considered whether to call Carol right way, but decided she needed coffee first.  So she put on a robe and slippers and went into the bathroom to wash up and brush her hair.  Afterwards she went into her tidy little kitchen, put the coffee maker on, and scrolled through the news feed on her phone.  When the coffee was done she poured a cup (strong and black the way she liked it), fed Sparks and then took her coffee mug with her out onto the sun-drenched balcony.  As she did almost every morning, she thanked herself for choosing an upper floor unit on the south side of the building, despite the considerable price premium the desirable condo commanded.  It was money well spent, in her view.

Darla picked up her phone and punched in Carol’s number.  Her sister picked up on the third ring.

“Hi sis,” Carol said.

“Morning, Carol, You called?”

“Yes, your Conor texts last night were a bit worrying.  I hardly slept.  Have you heard anything from him today?”

“Nope, nothing.”  Darla took a sip of coffee. “He was waiting for me at the front door when I got home last night.  We talked.”

“He’s not supposed to do that,” Carol said.  “What about your restraining order? Can you call the police?”

Darla took a long pause before responding.  She had not really thought the matter all the way through, but she was just now realizing that part of her was considering giving Conor a second chance.  Not to be romantically involved, no, that ship had sailed.  But, could they not be friends?  However, it seemed best to Darla that she keep those thoughts to herself for now.

“I suppose I could make a fuss,” Darla said, “but I don’t think Conor will make any trouble.  He said he’s quit drinking.  And he has a job at a bank, or something like that. Or, at least that’s what he told me.”

“Well,” Carol said, “you know best.  Just be careful is all.  Don’t forget how abusive he was.  Just like Father.”

And, there it was, out in the open.  The sisters had never discussed their upbringing, or at least, not the abusive-parent part.  Their mother Sarah never talked about it either; not while it was occurring, not when he died and not since.  She and the oldest sister, Naomi, shared a condo in downtown Toronto.  Naomi had never married, never even had a serious relationship.   The subject was taboo in the Riggs family.

“Yes,” Darla said, “It’s the main reason I’ve been in therapy all these years.  It was awful, and I feel so guilty that the four of us had to go through it.”

“Darla, we were children,” Carol protested. “You don’t think any of it was your fault, do you?’

“My thinking mind knows that, yes, of course,” Darla said. “But some nights the guilt is overwhelming.  But, you’re right, what could we have done? We were children.”

“We do the best we can, Sis,” Carol said. “You know I’m always here for you.”

“Thanks, Carol,” Darla said.  She took another sip of coffee and put her feet up on the chair opposite.  She adjusted her robe to allow the morning sun to warm her legs.  She could see people beginning to move about on the street four stories down.  Across the road one of the neighbours was mowing his lawn with an electric lawnmower.  From up here, Darla could not hear the machine.  “So,” she said to her sister, “what’s on for today?”

“Well,” Carol said, “first I’d better tell you I spoke to Luke on the phone last night, after I couldn’t raise you.”

Darla sighed.  On the one hand, it seemed a bit of an over-step on Carol’s part.  On the other hand, it was going to happen eventually. You gave Carol his number, dum-dum, Darla thought, what did you think she’d do with it? So, Darla was philosophical.

“And what secrets did the two of you exchange?” Darla said.

“Oh nothing,” Carol said.  And then, after a short pause, “Except, I told him about Conor and why I was so worried, and I asked about Dave and we talked about drag racing, and Darla he sounds so nice, and articulate and sexy, so, sorry if I spilled the beans.”

Carol, Darla reflected, was well-intentioned and honest, and Luke would find out about Conor one way or the other.  So, where was the harm?

“It’s okay, Carol, not to worry,” Darla said.

“I knew you’d understand, sorry, I get nervous and then I just blab.  I didn’t share details about Conor, just told him you would explain.”  Then Carol got to the point. “Did you two do it?  Do the dirty?”

“Oh, sure, yeah. We hopped into the back seat of my Honda for five minutes between leaving the speedway and me dropping him off just before I texted you.  Quick and nasty, it was.”

There was silence on Carol’s end for a few seconds. “Really?” she finally said.

Darla let out an exasperated snort. “No, of course not really,” she said.  “I’m pulling your leg.”

“Well, excuuuuuuse me,” Carol said in mock indignation.  “With all this philosophy, stone masonry, hot talk and drag-racing, of all things, who knows what you’re up to these days?”

Darla laughed out loud. “Okay,” she said, “point taken.  No, we necked a bit in the grandstand, watched a sprint car race, met some people after the races and then I dropped him off at his rooming house.  No sex yet.”

“Luke told me you’ve been invited to play the ukulele in an orchestra, something like that?”

“Yes, Evelyn McDougall invited me to her group.  Didn’t I mention that on the phone last night?”

“Nope, just that you were headed to the speedway with Luke, and might be home late.”  Carol said.  “And Dave’s name came up? Luke and I talked about Dave last night.”

“Just that Evelyn works with Dave in the symphony, and he’s also in the ukulele orchestra.  She says he’s funny, and fun to be around.”

Carol paused..  “This is Dave we’re talking about, right?  My Dave?”

“The very one.”

“I wonder, did he change or is just a side of him I didn’t see?”

“Now, I have no idea about that. I don’t know Dave very well,” said Darla. “I never did.  You two were like a small secret club.  You never shared much about your relationship.”

“Really? Oh no Darla, was it that bad?”

Darla back-pedalled furiously.  “No, no.  Carol, what I meant, I guess, is that you two seemed so . . . self-contained.  Like there was no room for anyone else.”

Carol was silent for a bit, then she spoke.  “Well. . ., I think I know what you’re getting at.  We were so alike, Dave and I, and that felt good for a long time, until it didn’t.  Between Dave and my writing, there didn’t seem to me to be a need for anything else.  But after my first book was published I felt I needed a change, I guess.  With Dave, every day seemed the same.  We got up, had coffee, and then he’d go to his rehearsal space out in Langley and I’d go into my office to write.  Then at five p.m. every day he was home.  We’d have dinner, watch television and go to bed.  Toward the end there wasn’t any sex, even. And I don’t remember whether it was me or Dave who stopped mentioning sex.  It just stopped happening.  Every night we just read in bed, then turned out the light and went to sleep.”

Carol’s voice wavered a bit at the end of the sentence, and Darla knew her sister was on the verge of tears.  “Nevermind, Sis,” she said, “what’s done is done.  Everything works out for the best.”

Carol sobbed a big sob, and said “Oh, Darla, maybe Dave was as unhappy as I was I never thought about that.  Was I a cruel, insensitive bitch?”

“No, no, no, don’t think like that.”  And a thought occurred to Darla. “Did you ever share any of what you’ve told me with Dave directly?”

“No . . ., no I never did,” Carol said in a small voice.

“Call him up, see what he’s up to.”  Darla was feeling expansive.

“Well. . . maybe I will.  Yeah, sure, why not?”

“There you go, then!” Darla glanced at the clock on the dining room sideboard.  It was almost 10 am.  She was meeting Lisa at the Y at 11:30 to work out together.  “Say, Carol, Lisa and I are meeting at the Y at 11:30.  You up for a work-out?”

“And then a swim maybe?”

“It’s a deal.  Meet us at the desk”

“See you then,” Carol hung up and Darla sat for a minute with the phone in her hand.

She considered checking in with Luke, then decided against it.  She put the phone down and headed for the bedroom, then turned on her heel, picked up the phone and punched in his number.  After four rings the call went to voice mail, and his recorded voice spoke into her ear: “Luke here, you know what to do”.

“Hi Luke,” she spoke into the phone, “Darla here, had a great time last night, call me later.”  Then she rinsed out her coffee cup, left it in the draining board and went into the bedroom to dress for the gym.

(to be continued)