"How long is it gonna take?"
"I dunno. Could be an hour," said the mechanic. Then, as a burp of an afterthought: "Ma'am."
Marie tossed up her hands and stalked to the pay phone. Twelve miles down the road, her sweet-natured client with the big green eyes was waiting, all saddled up with no one to ride him. And she had to be trapped with this, this DUDE, this slopey bohunk so knee-deep in nowhere that her cell phone didn't work.
Bohunk's nametag said "Joe," and Marie already hated the way Joe loped around the garage, like he had nothing but time at one in the morning. Maybe he had a silky farmgirl simmering away somewhere like a pot of okra, getting more tender and slippery every moment he was away. He had that look, that oily fuck-you-blind look, with sideburns and a dangling rockabilly spit curl, round chin and sensuous lips like Elvis Presley reimagined as Greek.
Marie came back from the phone (Green Eyes liked the abusive call, and an hour wait would teach him discipline, yes) to find Joe poised over the engine of her Camaro like a tabby dabbling in a fish tank.
He didn't even look up when she returned. "Nice car you got. Ma'am."
Goddamn right it's a nice fucking car. "Thanks," she said. *I'm the hottest piece in here*, she thought. *Maybe I look like ninety pounds of gristle to you right now, but under this coat I've got a body that would make you die stupid and smiling.*
She circled around to get a look at what he was doing, if he was even doing anything. Oil light goes on and suddenly a backwoods greaser wants to pray over it for a week.
*Huh. Nice hands.* Joe also had a waist nipped in like a Gibson girl. Marie had the urge to put one black boot on the back of his neck and give that waist a good bite from behind.
Joe wasn't even paying attention. Marie crowded him to watch him work -- let her long brown braid dust his forearm, even flashed him a flattering look from her black baby seal eyes. No dice.
"Aw, shit, caught my wrist," he said suddenly. Marie peered down the shaft of his arm -- sure enough, his gold ID bracelet was stuck on a spark plug. "Could you pass me a rag?" he askef.
She looked at him -- one arm stuck, the other reaching for her. Tapered waist, sculpted Art Deco mouth, black dangle of hair. He had baby seal eyes of his own.
Before she even knew what she had chosen, she had snatched a bungee cord from the wall and looped it around his free wrist. She was quick as a spark -- had to be in this business -- and had him tethered to the wiper blade in an instant.
He looked at her, unafraid -- maybe a little irritated. "That's real funny, ma'am..."
"SILENCE," Marie shouted, in her deepest, most piss-inducing voice. Green Eyes loved this voice -- it really gave him the shakes. Joe just looked sorta confused, like she'd offered him a bagel. "I will teach you DISCIPLINE."
He didn't know what to say next. Good.
She opened her coat and let it drop to the floor. She was in Green Eyes' favorite $125-additional costume -- white knee-high boots, black rubber garters, and a black and red corset tied so tightly that her body made an impressive X in the middle.
Four years of progressive work to get a waist like that, and Joe had one on nothing but Pabst and Camaros. He would be punished for that.
It was the corset that seemed to impress him. His eyes landed on that black and red X and he got the first shimmy in his knees -- not a big one, but enough to notice. He strained half-heartedly at the bungee cord.
Marie approached him and landed a pointed white toe on one of his feet. He winced.
"What is your name?" she asked.
"Joe?" he said.
She lunged forward and felt the bones of his foot grind against each other. To his credit, he didn't make a sound.
"Your name is MY BITCH!" she shouted, right in his ear. She pressed against him, her small, soft breasts warm on his shoulder. He smelled good.
"What is your name?" she asked again.
"Your bitch," he said, a little shaky. Good.
"LOUDER!"
"YOUR BITCH!"
"And what is my name?" she asked.
