Page 11 of Misadventures And Ms. Demeanor
Oh crap. When Goldie said there was a little problem, it meant the sky was falling.
"Someone posted on Facebook that Silky Tangles was at the store last night and handed out autographs. It even went out on Twitter."
"It's a small town. No one reads that stuff," I countered.
Goldie just gave me a look that screamedSeriously?"I'll have you know I have over twelve thousand followers on Twitter and have my own hashtag. When I searched last, my hashtag and Silky's hashtag were both going viral."
I had no idea Goldie knew what viral meant other than getting sick; it was important never to underestimate her.
"Since it's a small town, people are going to be hounding you," she added.
I wasn't so sure about that, but I kept it to myself. I was not popular, in no way had triple Ds and definitely was not that limber. I wasnotSilky Tangles in any way.
"We'll split up the tasks for the trip," Goldie continued. "I'll get the food, because you know I'll get the good junk food, unlike Velma."
True, Aunt Velma would get some kind of twigs and berries and health crap and call it a snack. Besides diet soda, she was a health food freak. Aunt Velma lifted her chin and sniffed. "In the spirit of friendship and a lengthy road trip, I will agree to that."
Goldie just shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Velma's going to get packed and coordinate with Esther Millhouse. You"—Goldie pointed to me—"need to take the camper to get gas and while you're at the convenience store, pick up a couple bags of ice."
I climbed out my sleeping bag and nudged the ladies aside so I could get out of the bedroom. "Coffee," I said, tucking my hairbehind my ear. "Then I'll go and fill the RV for you, but I'm not committing to anything until I've had caffeine." I grabbed my keys and left the ladies sitting there.
An hour later,I stood at a pump at the convenience store on East Main filling the old RV with gas. I'd been able to head home to get my coffee, brush my teeth and take a shower. I'd thrown on an old t-shirt, shorts and flip flops and put my wet hair up into a sloppy bun. No way was I going with the ladies on this trip. It was one of those kamikaze missions where you knew going in you wouldn't come out alive. But if I helped them gas up the old RV and got the ice they needed, the faster they'd be off and out of my hair. Then I could be back in my old bedroom once again, without the sex noises coming through the walls.
The auto shut off clicked after about four million gallons and I put the gas nozzle back on the pump. I climbed into the pickle, cranked the engine and put it in gear. Of course, a big SUV with out-of-state tags pulled up and parked, blocking me. A woman hopped out and grabbed a little girl from the back and made a mad dash into the building. Ah, emergency pee break. Unfortunately, the RV was too big to wedge between the pumps and the back of the SUV. I looked in the side view mirrors. It was all clear, so I could just back up far enough past the pumps to turn out. Putting the RV in Reverse, I slowly backed up.
No big deal. I could drive the space pickle. It wasn't hard. Sure, it didn't have a rearview mirror, but it had great side ones. It was taller than a car and definitely longer, but I was a great driver, even going ninety. I just had to be sure to make wide turns. Piece of?—
Crunch.
The RV shook and a horrible metal on metal sound had me slamming on the brakes, even though I was only going less than five miles an hour. Somehow the back-left corner seemed to be higher than before. I yanked the gear shift up into Park and hopped out, working my way around to the back to see what I'd hit.
Oh shit. A beautiful motorcycle was on its side, the front wheel caught beneath the back tire of the RV. The bike was all gleaming chrome pipes and wide handlebars with a black leather seat. A shiny turquoise gas tank sparkled and shimmered like a bowling ball. This wasn't a dirt bike and this definitely wasn't a moped. This screamed testosterone-laden, red-blooded, all-American male. I ducked down, making sure I hadn't crushed the red-blooded male like the Wicked Witch of the East. Fortunately, no dead body, no testosterone dripping all over the ground. My stomach dropped out of my throat, but my adrenaline still hummed through my veins.
"Hey!" a guy shouted, running toward me, holding a black helmet in one hand. "What the fuck?"
I looked up from my crouch and, low and behold, there was Officer McHottie. I stood and his anger morphed into surprise.
"You! Are you kidding me? Jesus, you ran over my bike!" He ran his hand over his hair, his jaw clenched tight. "Pull forward and get that...that space ship off the front tire."
His words snapped me out of my trance. I was freaked out that I might have killed someone, then relieved that I hadn't, then wished that I had all within about thirty seconds. Since I had no idea what to say and I was completely in the wrong, I hopped in the RV and slowly eased it forward until I felt the back end even out.
Returning to the rear, we were able to see the damage. McHottie knelt down in front of the motorcycle acting like I'd run over his dog. He looked sad, dejected and royally pissed.We'd drawn a crowd. All of the men were practically crying at the damage I'd caused. I didn't know much about motorcycles—I knew nothing about them actually—but I could tell by the way people were reacting that I might have run over the two-wheeled version of a Rolls Royce.
"Hey, you're Silky Tangles," a middle-aged guy said, pointing at me.
The woman standing next to him frowned. "Who's Silky Tangles?"
"She's...oh shit," he muttered, clearly caught knowing who a porn star was.
"Yeah, it is her. I'd recognize that body anywhere." This came from a kid in his early twenties. He was smiling at me in a way a lounge lizard scoped out women at a singles bar.
McHottie gave me the look that screamedSee?
I ignored the porn-loving men and knelt down across from McHottie, the bike between us. Even with the strong gas fumes, I could pick up his clean, spicy scent. I bit my lip, afraid to ask. "Will...will it still ride?" I asked cautiously.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched tight. It probably wasn't the right thing to say. He pointed to the front wheel, which was all mangled and bent. "The tire's popped, the rim's dented and the fork's bent."
Yeah, it wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I felt like crap. If someone hit the Rabbit, I'd be pretty mad, too. And my Rabbit was nowhere near as nice as this motorcycle. "I'm sorry. Really, I didn't see it there."