The night before he left for Daytona, Rock hung around the shop and helped Kelly close. He helped her take inventory of hair colors. He put the nail polish back in the caddie; he disinfected the pedicure basin. He ordered pizza and a sub for Kelly, himself, and her daughter. He followed her upstairs to her apartment. She set a table with paper plates and napkins. She lit some candles. He paid the delivery boy and even gave him a tip.
"Where's Melissa?" Rock asked.
Kelly picked up the baby and put her into the high chair. She shrugged and opened a jar of baby bananas.
Rock watched Kelly feed her. "How's Melissa doing in college?"
Kelly threw him a glance.
Rock took a piece of pizza out of the box. "Want some?" He began to feed her. He rubbed her neck, he massaged her back, he nibbled her ear, she swatted him away and whispered as if the baby could understand, "Rock, not here."
"The baby doesn't get it. Feed her, and let's go fool around, give me a fuck, a last fuck, one I won't forget, one for your mercenary solider before I go away and fight the long hard battle of the road, the bugs, the wind, the sun, the cold."
"You're so ridiculous, I don't know why I'm so in love with you."
"Are you?"
"Yeah. But you don't have to say it back. You don't have to do anything about it. It's all right." Kelly stood up, rinsed off the spoon, wet a rag, wiped the baby's face and hands, picked up the baby. Rock followed her to the back.
"Where in the hell is that daughter of yours? Isn't this her baby?"
Kelly shot him a glance.
Rock threw up his hands. "Okay. None of my fucking business. I get it. This is where it begins to get sticky."
As Kelly gave the baby a bath and changed her diaper, they were silent. Kelly put the baby in her crib. She turned on the musical mobile.
Kelly and Rock curled up on the couch, "I think you should be the one going to college. It's your money. You're the one working that sweet tail of yours doing hair, mixing chemicals all day, listening to those old biddies nag, nag, nag about how they don't look twenty no more. I don't know why you spoil that child of yours."
Kelly looked down at the couch and tugged at a stray piece of fabric. "I can't now. Melissa needs to go. It's the only way she can secure a future for herself and her daughter."
"I think you're done doing your job."
"When you have kids, your job is never done."
"Okay. You got me there. What do I know. I've never had any kids."
"Nope. You never did. You can just get up and roam. You can get on your bike any time you like and ride with the wind, a real cowboy, a real maverick. Ever think I might be jealous?"
Rock stroked his beard. "Listen, Missy, I offered to take you along. We don't have to pitch a tent. We don't have to eat raw winnies and drink Shasta. We can stay in a hotel, although to be honest, this late in the game, it'll be next to impossible to get a room. I make money now. We can stay in a four star hotel with turn down service and a mini bar, it's against my principals, but sometimes a man's got to do what a man's got to do. Anything you want, Baby. Don't you understand, I want you there. Can't you close shop? Can't Susan or Sally or whatever her name is run this place for a week or two? I'm sure the ladies in town will survive if they don't get their do fixed or permed or teased. Hell, half of them look like medusas no matter what they do to their hair -- coming in or out of your place -- no disrespect intended there to your magnificent talents. Honey, you've earned your freedom. I spent five years in the pen, and they let me off for good behavior. When do you get your release?"
Kelly stood up and lit a cigarette. "It's different, Rock. I wish I could make you understand." She bent over him and stroked his chest. She kissed his forehead. "You know, I do declare," she said with an exaggerated Southern accent, "I think you are the best lover this side of Texas. What do you say, do you want to go to bed?"
Normally a sexy woman leaning over him, cigarette in hand, showing cleavage, leaning close with tight jeans, and he would have bolted to the bedroom, but he was totally limp. He kissed her forehead, picked up his hat. "I'll call. I'll call every night. This trip won't be the same without you."
Rock sat on his bike staring at Kelly's apartment for nearly an hour. He watched the lights flick off and on. He wondered what she was doing, going into the bathroom, running bath water, slipping off her robe, curling on the couch, watching some old movie on that classic movie station, maybe bawling her eyes out, maybe laughing and giggling so much that beer was shooting out her nose only he wasn't there to see it. Hell, he thought, she's probably just reading.
He hadn't meant to run into Melissa, but whoever does in that situation? He had stumbled into that bar to visit, just to reminisce with the boys about the good old days. But who was he kidding? He reached into his leather jacket and shook out a cigarette. He had wanted to do a line or two. He looked up at Kelly's apartment. Completely dark. Still no sign of Melissa. He studied the empty road, the street lights, the black stillness.
He had swaggered out of that bar sober, he had kicked open the door into the sunlight. A real cowboy, he swigged his beer on the front sidewalk, proud as shit, not that he had beat it. He knew he hadn't. But he had found the strength to face the devil, even if Melissa's face came with it. He rubbed his beard and shivered. He checked his cell phone. Wild had left four messages, the unrequited lover. He slammed the phone shut.
He suspected Kelly knew enough and that was the real reason why she tip-toed over the baby as she carried a bowl of color solution or bent over some fat lady's bunions. He thought about his cabin in the woods; he glanced up at the apartment. Dark. He tried to imagine a swing set and sandbox in the backyard. Fuck, he whispered under his breath and pitched his cigarette. Kel probably had snuggled into bed, the covers wrapped around her. She probably had wrapped leftover pizza in Saran-wrap and thrown out the trash.
And let's get one thing straight, he said to himself, none of this fucking grandpap stuff, it's Uncle Rock. I've got to draw the goddamn lines somewhere, he mumbled the words out loud. He looked into his side mirrors, removed his hat, and slicked down his eyebrows. For an occasion like this, he thought, a man should have flowers. But it was February, not even a fucking dandelion. All he had were the damn bike keys. He straightened his jacket. He looked at the dark windows. He'd tell Kel it was goddamn cold outside and he needed to piss. The fucking keys. He'd fold them into Kelly's palm.
Mounting the stairs up to Kel's apartment, Rock couldn't hear a thing, not a sound, not even when his bike hit the ground.
Laurie Mazzaferro is taking her mid-life crisis early.