Once upon a time - and no doubt it was a dark and stormy night - Henry Mann was driving from work, on his way to the empty apartment he now called home. It was late, he had worked long into the evening finishing an assignment for a new client, and autumn leaves blew in little gales across the streets as he drove, covering the yellow painted lines on the roadway and hiding the boundaries of the pavement in drifts of harshly lit reds and golds and browns. A crescent moon peeked out from behind low-scudding clouds as they streaked across the night sky.Pumpkins sat on porches, grinning ghoulishly into the night.
Henry's wife of nearly twenty-five years had left him almost six months ago, left him for a man half his age, for a man, she said, whose cock still worked, and who knew how to fuck the shit out of her. What little there was left of Henry's deflated manhood had on that April Fool's night vanished like a faint tendril of winter's mist on the warm breeze that had crushed him in it's passing.
Henry Mann was a commercial photographer - and don't get your hopes up thinking that Henry spent his days photographing exotic models on distant beaches for glamorous magazines. No, indeed not, for our Henry photographed small machined fittings and plumbing fixtures for various mechanical engineering and contracting companies around New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania. The closest Henry had ever come to exotica had been, oh, almost ten years ago when he had been given an assignment by an agency to shoot various items of lingerie for a regional department store. He had been told to make some of the items 'look sexy', but he had no idea what the client wanted in that regard. Lingerie simply hadn't been sexy to Henry Mann.
He had, of course, never done another shoot for that client.
Oh, where was I?
Oh, yes. Driving home on that dark and stormy night.
Henry had, however out of character this may seem, been modestly successful in his dogged way, and had made a comfortable living shooting ball valves and toggle switches; his wife had taken remarkably little of his in the property settlement agreed to in mediation. She had agreed to split the proceeds after the sale of their house, and she had allowed him to keep his various photographic odds and ends that he had accumulated over the years. Henry's pride and joy, his old tangerine colored Porsche 911 T she had allowed him to keep, as well. And in this, his faithful steed, he was driving home when a modest hunger pang hit. As Henry kept almost no food in his little apartment refrigerator, he decided - despite earlier declarations to the contrary - to stop again on the way home for yet another hamburger or bucket of chicken.
He made out the orange and yellow sign of a hamburger stand up ahead, and signaled to make a left turn into the little restaurant's parking lot. After waiting a moment for traffic to clear, he pulled into the lot, and on seeing a crowd inside, drove around the back to order from the drive through lane. He waited behind a car ahead of his, then moved forward when his time came. He studied the colorful sign for a moment, but still managed to jump a bit when the girl's voice came over the tinny little speaker. Even so distorted, the girl's voice was attractive, and suggested honest happiness in the tone and flow of her words.
Henry ordered a Super-Sloppo with cheeze-whiz, fermented fries, and a chocolate coconut oil milkshake, and proceeded to the drive-up window after being told this delightful culinary concoction would set him back a little less than five dollars.
As Henry drove up and stopped at the little window he caught sight of the girl whose voice was so alluring. Actually, the first thing he noticed was the girl's red hair. But really, red doesn't do justice to the color of this girl's hair. Her hair was a rich auburn - chestnut color, hung well below shoulder height, and was as straight and shiny as a summer's rain shower. Henry was, frankly, speechless as he approached the drive-up window. Henry was a photographer, after all, and he appreciated visual perfection above all else.
The girl's name, Henry read on the little plastic nameplate on her uniformed breast, was JOY, and he was surprised to see a face that reflected genuine warmth and happiness as she went about taking people's money and giving them their change and their meals. And she was no less happy and warm in her dealings with Henry, who was her next customer.
JOY was the first female he had seen in six months that did not make him flinch and want to run away in terror. And while he could not really tell her age, he suspected that she was either in high school, or more likely, just graduated from some dead-end school into this dead-end job. It was a miracle that she still had a smile on her face.
He handed over his money to the girl, and tried to make contact with her hand - he wanted to feel her skin - wanted to touch JOY. When he did, they both jumped from a little electric shock, and she laughed out loud at the infinitesimal jolt. She handed Henry his nickel back, and passed over his milk shake, and told him it would be a minute more for the burger. Henry just smiled at the girl, but his heart was beating faster as he looked at her. Finally, she handed him a little white sack with his dinner in it, and Thanked him, wished him a Good Evening. "You too," Henry had said - perhaps wistfully - as he slipped the old Porsche into gear and pulled away.
xx:xy
Two nights later Henry found himself sitting in line at the burger stand's drive through ordering another burger, fries, and shake. JOY was there - he could tell by the voice on the tinny little speaker. As he pulled round to the drive-through window, he felt happy anticipation at the prospect of seeing JOY once again.
And she remembered him!
She said - in happy welcoming tones sure to warm the darkest warrens of even the most jaded soul's heart - 'Nice to see you again . . . that sure is a neat car!'
"Oh, thanks, I've had it forever. Wouldn't part with it for the world."
And she had taken his money, given him his change, and his shake, then the little sack of food. Then she had told him Thanks, Good Evening, AND 'Hope to see you again soon!'
"I hope so too," Henry had said.
Who was that jaded philosopher who once wrote: "All the lonely people, where do they all come from?"
xx:xy
He went again the very next night, but JOY was no where to be found, and he drove home in a very deep funk.
xx:xy
It was almost a week later when Henry once again drove through looking for JOY, and she was there that night. She recognized him again, and appeared to brighten when she saw him, but only just perceptively so. She was obviously very upset about something as she took his money and handed him his meal in return. Henry felt he needed to say something to cheer the girl up - give her something to feel good about, so he said "You know, you have the prettiest hair I've ever seen. I would love to photograph your hair through the twilight sun some day." She had smiled a little when he said that, then written something down on a scrap of paper and handed it to him as he sat there looking up at her.
Henry had driven away, then stopped under a street light to look at her message. In fat round and ultimately schoolish-feminine little handwriting he had read: 'I need a ride - could you pick me up a little after eleven?' Henry looked at his watch; it was not quite eight, so he drove home, and quickly ate his almost-cold dinner. He grew increasingly uncomfortable, nervous really, at meeting JOY in the flesh, and he thought he might not go, might not pick her up, but he dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it had come to him. But he took a shower, shaved the course stubble from his pale face, and put on some after-shave lotion. He cleaned his little apartment, more out of anxiety than any unrealistic expectations about where the evening might lead, and then brushed his teeth, hoping that his unrealistic expectations might indeed lead the girl back to his little apartment.
A few minutes before eleven, he hopped into his old Porsche and drove off toward the burger stand.
xx:xy
He had parked opposite the little drive through window where she could see him, and he waited. Ten minutes went by, then fifteen, and no one came. It started to snow. He was about to start the car and head home when he saw her walking out of the building. It was the first time Henry had seen the girl from the chest down. He could see she was a young girl about five feet tall, fairly small chested, but fairly broad in the bottom, but not too badly so, he decided as she drew nearer the car. She came to his window, and he rolled it down.
