The trees were tangle-trunked weeping gums, all bent and twisted, stunted and knotted, with creaking branches and clattering dusty leaves. Bark came off in long loose strips and hung, rattling, in the breeze. Between the trees there was grass and dust and stony little gullies. In a dry summer like this, the sun baked everything, grass and dirt and empty dams, to a dusty pale gold.
Bec drove too fast, feeling the pickup truck's tires slip now and then, bashing through potholes. She knew the road, had been driving along it since she was ten. Down past the last of the trees, halfway along the long straight stretch before the valley climbed and narrowed again towards the farm, Bec saw a car stopped on the side of the road.
The bonnet was up, and a man she didn't know was standing in front of it. He was holding something in one hand, glaring at it, looking irritated. Bec assumed a phone. There was no cell signal along this part of the road.
She slowed down, stopped beside him, opened the passenger-side window and called, "Is everything okay?"
"The car stopped."
"What's wrong with it?"
"I don't know."
He looked over at her, and noticed what she was wearing. It was eleven in the morning and she was in a party dress. She'd been out all night, had stayed with a friend in town so she could drink and not have to drive back afterwards. But there was no way for him to know that. He just saw the dress and the dusty pickup and didn't seem to know what to make of her.
"Phone doesn't work?" Bec said.
"Ah," he said, still looking at her clothes. "No."
"There's no signal until you're back up the hill. The tower's down on the highway."
"Oh."
He must be visiting someone, Bec decided. Anyone who lived around here would have asked for help by now.
"Do you want me to have a look?" she said.
"It's okay. I'll phone someone."
"Yeah," Bec said. "Not without a three kilometer walk, you won't."
He kept looking at her, apparently confused.
"The phone," she said. "There's no signal."
"Right."
He seemed a bit helpless, like he didn't know how to deal with a broken-down car.
She hesitated, then pulled over in front of him, and parked, and climbed out.
As she got out he saw her boots, and stared. She was wearing work boots. Farm boots. Boots that were comfortable to drive in, but that really didn't go with the dress.
"I'll have a look at the car," she said.
"You don't need to," he said.
"Yeah, I know. But I will, because you're kind of stuck here otherwise."
He kept looking at her boots.
"If it's something small," she said, watching him stare. "It's quicker than driving you back to town."
She didn't think he was listening.
"So the shoes are on the back seat," she said. "And I stayed with a mate, it isn't a walk of shame thing. Anything you want to say?"
He shook his head.
"Could you get the bonnet?" she said.
He reached in the window and found the latch and popped it. Bec opened it, making sure to clip it up so it wouldn't fall on her head. She looked at the engine. "What happened?"
"It stopped."
"Yeah, I got that. While you were driving?"
"Yeah."
She poked the battery terminals, but the cables seemed to be screwed on tight. She tried to see a distributor, but it was a new car and there wasn't one. It was probably a fault in the fuel injection, or the main computer, or something else she couldn't do anything about. "Try and start it," she said.
"Now?"
"Yep."
He climbed in and she heard the key turn, heard a click from down in front of her that was probably a battery solenoid, but nothing else. Something had gone pretty badly wrong.
"Yeah," she said. "That's not good."
She thought for a moment. The day was hot and her skin was sticky and she could feel hair trying to get loose and fall past her face into the engine bay. She wiped her face with her hand, then poked the battery again, and wondered what was wrong.
She noticed grease on her hand. She realized she'd probably smeared it on her face too when she'd touched it just then. She put that hand on the side of the car, deliberately, so she wouldn't touch her clothes by mistake and get them oily.
She was leaning over the engine bay hoping she'd get some inspiration. She thought she ought to stand there for a minute and look like she was trying so it didn't seem like she was giving up too soon.
The man leaned on the side of the car and watched her. Hopefully, she assumed.
Then she glanced up and noticed where he was looking. She was wearing a party dress. It was low at the front, and she was leaning, and it was hanging down a fair bit, and she didn't have anything on underneath.
"Mate," she said. "Seriously? While I try and help?"
And he blushed. She watched, a bit curious. She hadn't seen a guy blush that much before.
She watched him blush, but didn't actually move.
He looked away, down at the engine, when she caught him. She kept standing where she was, and after a minute he looked again. Almost like he couldn't help himself. It was sort of flattering.
So Bec flashed him.
She pulled down the front of the dress and held it there and let him look. Because he seemed like an okay person, and he'd actually had the decency to get embarrassed, and because it didn't happen to her that often, people looking. And because after not wearing a bra for most of a day and rubbing around on the insides of the dress, she'd got a bit more aware of her tits than normal. And because she was tired and full of nervous energy and a little worried about being home again for the family Christmas. And because right now she had oil on her face and was sweaty and in a nice dress and hadn't got laid last night, and somehow she felt like a calendar hanging in a service station. In a good way.
So she pulled the front of the dress down.
He stood there and looked at her. He seemed surprised.
She grinned, like it was all between mates, and it actually felt like it was. She didn't necessarily want to fuck him, she didn't necessarily want him getting all smitten and following her around. She just wanted to show him her tits and have him appreciate her.
He seemed to be appreciating her. He was staring.
After a while she pulled the dress back up, because otherwise they might be there all day.
"So I can't fix it," she said. "The car. It's sick. It's completely fucked."
"Oh," he said, like he'd forgotten about the car. "Yeah. Well. Thanks for trying."
"No worries." She slammed the bonnet closed. "Hop in, I'll drop you where you're going."
"You don't need to."
"Three kilometer walk," she said. "At least. Get in." She went to the truck, opened the driver's door. "Come on."
He locked his car and followed her. "Silly question," he said. "You aren't..."
Bec pulled down her dress again. Because he'd been so impressed last time.
They sat there for a moment, in the cool shade of the pickup truck's cab. Bec looked off into the distance, skin damp, one hand on the steering wheel. She looked at hillsides shimmering with heat and the dusty road and the blue sky, and he looked at her. It was odd to sit there with her breasts bare, the breeze from the open window tickling her skin. Odd, but strangely pleasant, too.
"All done?" she said after a while. "They're going away."
"Ah yeah," he said. His voiced sounded a little odd. "Thank you."
"Hey," she said, as she put herself away. "You're polite. That's nice."
"Okay."
"You never know," she said. "I might do that again."
He looked over, seemed interested.
