The Convertible Hot Wheels

AUTHOR'S NOTES

: This is the ninth Convertible story. The first two are directly in serial, but subsequent Convertible stories are standalones, the charmed 1955 TR2 being the primary thread tying them together.

Thanks as always to my Muse RiverMaya for her sage plot advice. AzureAsh had my back on the editing duties. Any errors are mine alone. All sexual activity in this story is between people 18 years+.

The underlying message to this tale is that disabled people are not invisible, asexual, or sterile. The characters of Julia and Octavia Morgan in this story were inspired by the stunning disabled UK fashion model Georgina Wasdall, (myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome aka ME/CFS) and her able-bodied fashion model sister Annabel.

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This wheel's on fire, rolling down the road

Best notify my next of kin, this wheel shall EXPLODE...

-

Bob Dylan

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Chapter 1 -- You May Ask Yourself, "Well, How Did I Get Here?"

Hey, have a seat. Want a beer? I'm having one. If not, do me a favor: put a dollar in the jukebox and punch D-23. I'm in a mood to hear some Bob Dylan, thanks.

This might sound strange to you. No, scratch that, it's beyond strange and into the realm of weird as fuck, and you're going to get that look on your face like 'whaaaaat?', but it's true, so help me. My former fiancée's mother gave me a 1955 Triumph TR2 sports car, but I don't want to talk about it.

Well, OK, maybe just a little. Here goes, but if I start crying just please just let me finish my beer, then call me a cab and send me home.

My name is Landon Garrett. I'm 29, 6' tall, 207 pounds. I'm just a regular guy, brown hair, brown eyes, not overweight but not a hardbody either. I met Bella McLean at work; she and I were both employed as project managers at a software company in Oklahoma City. We were the same age at the time, 27. At 5' 9" in bare feet, she was tall, 140 pounds, long dark brown hair and hazel-green eyes, and a really pretty face. Breathtaking when I met her, although at this point, she's not taking my breath anymore.

After working on the same project management team for 5 months I began to find myself distracted in our weekly team meetings. I surreptitiously kept looking at her, beguiled at how she seemed so perfect. Laughable, in retrospect, but early love comes with a set of blinders.

Things followed their natural course and I finally got up the courage to ask her out, long story short we fell in love (or so I thought), then dated for about a year before I asked her to marry me and unfortunately for me, she accepted.

When I met her parents Bill and Rose, I saw where Bella got her looks. Her Mom was gorgeous, an older version of Bella by 22 years, except with shorter all-white hair instead of long and dark brown. If this were what I had to look forward to as we grew old together, I'd hit the jackpot! Damn, I couldn't wait to get married!

In retrospect, it would have been better if I'd fallen in love with Rose instead of her daughter, but it wasn't until after we'd gotten engaged that I found out Bella's parents were divorcing. Then, by the time Bella's cheating was revealed and I'd broken it off, Rose had gotten engaged to Russ. Just my luck, of course. Bad timing's been my curse.

Now here's the sick twist: what blew things up between us was Bella trying to cheat on me with her Mom's post-divorce boyfriend, Russ Evans. Take notes, it gets complicated here. It turns out that Bella had some kind of weird Elektra fixation with her father, Bill, and was trying to break up her Mom's relationship with Russ; Bella scheming with her father to get Rose back together with him after he'd been dumped by his young affair partner.

Fortunately, Russ was crazy in love with Rose so Bella throwing herself at him was a wasted effort. The dude's heart was non-stick coated for Rose, so my slutty fiancée's seduction attempt bounced right off of him. (Full disclosure: I heard from my coworkers after the fact that she'd cheated on me a bunch of times that I didn't know about, but it was her efforts going after Russ which came to light that ended it between us.)

Since Rose caught Bella in the act, it made for some serious changes in their family dynamics. Rose disowned Bella, then texted me about what had happened. As if it didn't hurt enough, the fact Bella had snuck away and done this during the two of us spending a romantic weekend together really rubbed salt in the wound. Very ouch.

Did I shed a few tears when I found out that my perfect fiancée was a perfect scheming bitch? Yeah boy, my tears could have watered an Oklahoma oat field.

All this gave me an intense hatred of cheaters, male and female. I'll never cheat, and if any woman cheats on me again, it's not going to end well. If she wants to ask for forgiveness and reconcile, sorry, not happening. That's the attitude Rose took with her cheating ex Bill and she ended up happy; far be it from me to argue with success.

It was a few weeks after the breakup that I got an invitation from Rose to come out to her uncle's ranch for lunch. Her new husband Russ was a great guy, her Uncle Norman a crusty old rancher and hysterically unfiltered, and it was a nice time. As we finished up, Rose apologized to me for what her daughter had done. On the way out the door she gave me a big hug and handed me the keys and title to her Triumph TR2 and said, "I can't fix what Bella did, but maybe this will bring you some joy."

And that's the strange story of how my gorgeous ex-future-mother-in-law (if that makes sense) gave me the most fun car I ever owned. As if that wasn't strange enough, my life took an interesting twist a few months later. But before I tell you that story, I'll need another beer...

Chapter 2 - When I'm Drivin' Free, The World's My Home...When I'm Mobile

Since I had no woman in my life and a good supply of disposable income, I did what any reasonable man would do -- I spent money on my kick-ass car.

I started by swapping out the stock TR2 cylinder head for a cylinder head from a 100-hp TR3, then had the stock carburetors removed and replaced with a set of high-performance Weber carbs. The car always had a cool rumble to it when I fired it up; now, instead of a rumble, it gave out a real soul-stirring, deep panther growl. I had a roll cage installed, and 8" rally lights added onto the front bumper, and the brakes upgraded. I liked to think the TR2's original designer Sir John Black would have approved!

While this was going on, I'd also joined a local Triumph sports car club, The Oklahoma City T-Rollers, and started participating in their monthly events. There were car shows, swap meets, rallies and races held at different courses around Oklahoma City. My favorite was called the Chickenshit Run, which began at the State Capitol building in Oklahoma City and ended at an old one-lane bridge a few miles out in the country.

The race started in the city (observing legal speed limits, of course -- club rules!) on Lincoln Boulevard, going south until you turned left onto East Reno Avenue. Once it passed through the suburbs, Reno Avenue changed names, becoming Belmont Road, a 2-lane rural county road. That's where we were able to really open it up and haul ass!

Belmont Road wasn't a straight shot. It'd been designed around farmers' fields; in several places there were turns that ranged from 35 to 90 degrees to accommodate the layout of the fields. If you were in a small, fast car and knew your racing line you could downshift and take them pretty fast. Try that with a larger car, you'd be pulling oats out of your grill for weeks - not to mention paying reparations to the farmers for crop damage.

The official name for the bridge that served as the finish line was the Charles N. Haskell Bridge, built in 1916 and named after the first governor of Oklahoma. It was a narrow concrete bridge, built before most cars could go faster than 25mph. It was just wide enough to accommodate a tractor-pulled farm wagon, with a foot or so to spare on either side.

Hardly anybody used the bridge, except local farmers and idiots in sports cars. If two drivers were racing side by side and were coming up fast on the bridge, that's when you found out who was chickenshit, hence the rally's name.

The last quarter mile before the bridge you could pretty much figure out if you were going to come in first, or back off and come in second. If you were too stupid/stubborn to back off, you might have to veer off at the last second and end up with your car nose-down in Battle Flag Creek, subjecting yourself to laughter and ridicule from the other club members. As it happens, I'd backed off and ended up coming in second a couple of times; no way would I put my TR2 in the creek!

Rose Evans was right. Focusing on the TR2 purged my mind of whatever residual feelings for Bella might have remained; I was in love with my car.

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Chapter 3 -- You've Been...Thunderstruck

It was late on a Saturday afternoon, and I was coming back from a monthly Triumph Club car meet. On the way home, I stopped at the Alameda Market over in Norman, Oklahoma to pick up some chips, salsa, and beer. I'd parked in a space to the right of a van sitting in the handicapped parking spot.

Some douchebag cowboy with a Dodge Ram dually pickup truck had parked on the line to the right of my parking space, forcing me to park a few inches into the access aisle of the handicapped space. I didn't think it would be a big deal. Boy, was I wrong.

When I brought my purchases back to the car, there was a woman in an electric wheelchair sitting next to the driver's door of the TR2, blocking my way. Man, oh man, did she let me know I'd screwed up! She wasted no time tearing into me.

"Dude! It clearly states on the side of my van, '

Please allow 8' ramp clearance

', yet here you are. Does this look like 8 feet to you, you selfish dickweed? How do you expect me to get home? Cinderella's self-driving pumpkin is booked, and Aladdin's flying carpet doesn't have hand controls."

I made a weak effort to defend myself, "Well, er, I was only gone for a few minutes..."

That cut no ice with her, "Oh, so my time is less valuable than yours? What's your deal? Are you an asshole ableist piece of shit who thinks disabled people are less important? Because if you are, fuck you! I ought to run my chair against your fancy car and scratch the living shit out of it, or better yet just drop my van's ramp on it!"

I realized arguing with her was a useless endeavor and put my hands out in front of me in surrender. "All right, stop," I said, "I apologize for parking like an asshole, and I'm pleading guilty and begging for mercy." Remembering my lessons from the nuns at parochial school, I threw in a little Latin, gently striking my chest with my fist and chanting, "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!"

She'd obviously expected an argument instead of capitulation, so she stopped, placated for the moment, as if unsure of what to do next. I took the opportunity to get a good look at her. She had pale skin and a freckled angular face and was quite an eyeful with her blue eyes and light brown hair done up in a loose bun.

She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt with the arms cut off but from where I was standing, she seemed to have breasts somewhere in the C range. Her biceps and forearms were well-developed, while her long legs wrapped in yoga pants looked thin and underdeveloped. I assumed the biceps were somehow related to her wheelchair. I also noticed a tattoo on her left bicep, a ram's head surrounded by roses. This woman was attractively unlike anyone I'd ever met, and I decided to take my shot.

I held out my right hand. "While you're deciding if I'm forgiven or not, let me introduce myself. I'm Landon. Landon Garrett. And you are?"

She took my hand, a shocked look still on her face. "I'm Julia Morgan."

I smiled and replied, "I am genuinely pleased to meet you, Julia Morgan. There's an old Greek saying that the gods will forgive much to a truly penitent heart. As I am genuinely sorry, will you forgive me and let me take you out for a meal? It can be lunch or dinner, whatever will fit into your schedule, it's my treat and your choice." Bombs away. She'd either agree or tell me to fuck the hell off.

Her reaction was priceless; a shocked look crossed her face. "Dude, are you seriously asking me out?" Ah! I had a nibble! Maybe I did have a chance to get her on the hook.

"Surely sounds like it," I teased, adding, "as I'm truly penitent, I don't see you as having much choice actually."

I was expecting that would seal the deal, but not this woman, no sir. She fired back, "You specifically said 'the gods may forgive much', so what does that make me exactly?" I was attracted to women who were both strong and smart -- Bella certainly had been both of those -- and Julia was definitely meeting those criteria, delightfully challenging me with my own words. It was now my turn to level up.

I thought for a second, then answered, "Why a goddess, of course, I just haven't determined which one specifically. You might be Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, or Elpis, the goddess of hope. If you decide not to forgive me and turn my offer down, then I'll know you're actually Melpomene, the goddess of Tragedy." Pleased with my answer, I thanked heaven that I'd paid attention during that Greek mythology course in college.

She considered my volley of words, then returned it. "OK, Landon Garrett, I accept your apology as well as your offer. We'll have dinner tomorrow night. Now here's my challenge: You choose the restaurant, and make sure they can accommodate someone in a wheelchair. As an able-bodied person you may not be aware, but not every restaurant complies with the Americans With Disabilities Act of 1990, so you need to check."

"Shouldn't be a problem," I said. (Little did I know how naïve I was.)

"Wait, there's more. I like your car, so you'll be driving. You'll need to figure out how to carry a wheelchair in it, and also how to help me in and out of it." Wow, this was going to be a challenge for sure, but after a long dry post-Bella spell, why the hell not?

"Challenge accepted, Julia! I'll pick you up tomorrow at 6!" She gave me her cell number and address, then rolled her electric wheelchair out of my way so I could get in the Triumph and move it out of her way. I watched as the side door opened and the ramp lowered, allowing her to get back in her van. We both waved goodbye, and I thought about her pretty face all the way home.

I wanted to impress Julia, so I made a list of four fancy places I could possibly take her and called to see if they were wheelchair accessible.

The first was a fancy French haute cuisine place, La Petite Moufette. When I called, they said their ramp was going to be installed in a few months, they only had stairs leading up to the entrance. No good.

Then next was a trendy Spanish Tapas place, Famoso's. They had underground parking with an elevator for wheelchairs, but it was currently out of service and awaiting repair parts. Damn!

Next, I tried a small place that served hearty Western-style steaks, The Rattler Steakhouse -- they had no ramp because they were able to get an ADA waiver - installing a ramp would create financial hardship. It was stairs or nothing, sorry, cowboy.

I finally hit paydirt when I called the fourth place, an Italian joint, Benvenuto Amico. They informed me that yes, it was easy access; their ramp was installed couple of months ago. I made the reservation for 7:00pm. I figured they were good, since Rose and Russ had raved about them. (They used to go to another Italian place, Gusto's, but Russ told me privately that they switched after something unpleasant had happened there. He also told me I should never mention the place to Rose. Like, ever.)

Being a retired sales manager, my dad had always taught me that if you're not early, you're actually late. True to his spirit, I showed up at the address Julia had given me on Friday at 5:45pm. It was a small single-story ranch house with a carport. Her van was parked under the carport and there was a ramp leading up to the front door. I walked up and rang the bell.

Chapter 4 - I Can Feel It Coming In The Air Tonight

The door swung inwards, powered by an electric mechanism, and I walked in. I heard Julia's voice say, "Hello, Landon," and walked in to see an absolute vision of beauty. Julia was wearing a long bright red bare-shouldered dress that ended at her ankles, with her shimmering light brown hair hanging down to her shoulders.

She wore a simple gold necklace with a circular pendant that hung over the red fabric covering her bustline. Unlike when I met her in the parking lot, tonight she was also wearing make-up, including red lipstick that screamed, 'Kiss me!'. She looked so great, I suddenly felt about as attractive as a warthog; this woman was clearly out of my league.

My throat was suddenly dry, but I managed to gasp, "Whoa, Julia, you look fantastic!"

"That's the reaction I was hoping for," she said, smiling. Julia was seated in a wheelchair smaller and lighter than the big electric one she was in when we met. "I'm bringing my folding lightweight chair tonight," she said, "it's got a carbon fiber frame, weighs about twelve pounds. You should be able to tie it down on your car's rear luggage rack. My powered chair weighs about 200 pounds which is not a big deal for my van, but I didn't think it would work too well in your sports car."

"That's a relief," I joked, "otherwise I'd have to use a tow rope." I moved around behind her.

"What are you doing?" she asked tersely.

"I was going to push you out to the car, it seemed the polite thing to do."

"Did I ask you to?"

"Well, no."

"I know you meant well, but lesson number one is always asking a disabled person before trying to help. They might not need it. Just assuming they need help is condescending ableist bullshit."

"OK, let me try again. Julia, can I push you to the car?"

"Why yes, Landon, that would be nice, thank you." OK. Lesson learned. After moving her wheelchair out the front door, I pulled it closed, making sure the automatic lock latched, then pushed her down the ramp to the Triumph.

"OK, the next lesson is the proper way to do a lateral transfer. Follow my instructions, OK?"

"Sure."

"First, open the car door, then position my wheelchair behind the door opening. Make sure the chair's wheel locks are engaged." I did so.

"Next, remove my feet from the footrests and fold them up." Footrests up. OK, so far, so good.

"Now here's where it gets tricky. You need to plant your feet slightly apart, then position my feet between them so my legs will be between yours when you pull me up." Thus far, this was easier than I expected.

"Now, this is going to involve some physical contact. I need you to reach under my armpits, with your hands flat against my back." I did as she instructed. This close up, I couldn't help noticing how good she smelled.

"The next step has three parts: lift, pivot, and lower. No need to rush, and don't be in a hurry. I don't want to fall."

I repeated back, "Take it easy, no falling, got it."

"With your knees bent, keep your back straight and lift. Use your legs, otherwise you'll hurt your back." I lifted and was now holding her close. Damn right I wasn't in a hurry, she not only smelled good, but she also felt good in my arms.

"OK now pivot me so my back is towards the seat." I turned her, shuffling my feet slightly to keep them as the pivot point, so her legs and feet stayed in proper position.