The car door slammed shut harder than I intended as I hoisted the heavy leather work bag over my shoulder. Tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind my ear and wiping the beaded sweat from my forehead, I checked for traffic in both directions on the one-way street before scurrying across the road to the far sidewalk. Due to road work, the once wide, brick sidewalk had been reduced to a narrow strip of asphalt walkway between the orange construction fence and the storefronts. Even as I stepped carefully along the footpath's rutted blacktop surface, my ankles wobbled and rolled in my espadrille wedges and I had to grab the plastic barrier for support.
Over the last five weeks, the street construction below my apartment had become the bane of my existence. First, the city had commandeered my building's parking lot for worker parking and equipment storage, leaving residents like myself to scour the neighborhood for spots on the street. Then the three block stretch of street had been torn up, allowing the exposed dirt and concrete dust to be whipped up by the hot, dry summer winds, coating every surface in the neighborhood in a film of gritty, brown-gray grime. Worst of all, there was the noise. Every morning promptly at 6:30, the drills and saws and hammers and pile-drivers kicked up their chorus that echoed among the surrounding buildings. As I crawled into bed Friday night of that first week, I breathed a sigh of relief that the next morning would be quiet, but at 6:30 I was once again jolted awake by the pulverizing of concrete below my window.
I crossed the first of two barren intersections along the stretch of the project. My heels dug into the hot blacktop with each off-balance step. The summer sun reflected off the asphalt, rising in hot drafts up my loose, knee-length, gray skirt. I pinched the thin, elastic cotton of my pink top and tented it from my body, flapping the blouse to dry the sweat trickling from my flat stomach and round, full breasts. Despite my lace underwire bra's efforts, I felt my tits shudder and sway with each hot, heavy, staggering step.
The heat and humidity of early summer was made worse by the fact that I now had to walk four blocks because of this stupid construction. My mind turned briefly from the misery of the walk to the refreshing beer that awaited me in my apartment fridge. But that seemed far in the distance as I trudged along in the heat, clammy and grumpy.
As I crossed the second abandoned intersection, I caught faint notes of wolf-whistles oozing from a group of workers. My hand instinctively contorted into a gesture of offense, but I reconsidered and muttered insults under my breath as I flattened the back of my skirt against the wind. The cat-calls I endured on my twice-daily walk weren't unexpected - it was a construction site, for Christ's sake - but that didn't mean that I appreciated the day-to-day degradation. "They're just a pack of dumb apes. This is only until September." I sighed to myself.
I picked up my pace as I neared my building. It was just another stretch of sidewalk, a shadowy alley, and then the air conditioning of the lobby and my apartment. As I reached the edge of the alley's mouth, a deep baritone rang out behind me.
"Damn, baby! You're looking hot!" The demand for attention came from the alleyway, in a spot where some of the workers parked their trucks for shade during the afternoon heat. "I've got something that'll help cool you down, honey!"
I stopped dead in my tracks and rolled my eyes so violently I worried my nose would bleed. Another fucking cat-call from a construction worker?! When I was this close to my own door? The weeks of pent-up fury spun me on my heel as I turned to set the roughneck straight. I could see two men standing next to a black pickup truck, while one of them reached into the bed for something I couldn't make out. Further down the alley a white utility van sat idling with one of its rear doors ajar.
The other man spotted me as I approached. "Ohhh, you're dead now, Dave!" He chuckled and nudged his friend in the ribs, warning him of the advancing danger. I reached the wooden barricade barring the alley's mouth and wiped a trickling line of sweat from my jaw as I ducked my head to peer through the orange and white slats.
"What, exactly, do you 'have' for me, you needle-dicked halfwit?!" I spat at him as my glare set fire to the twelve feet between us. Dave's friend collapsed against the truck door in hysterics as my rage echoed off the surrounding bricks.
"Whoa! Okay! Hold on, I come in peace!" Dave stammered as he straightened his six-foot frame, a condensation-coated can of beer in each hand. "Hand to the sky," he held one of the dripping cans above his head, "I was just offering you to join us for a beer on a hot day." He did his best to smile while my blistering gaze softened to a narrow, suspicious burn.
Dave took two hesitant steps towards me, holding a beer at arm's-length ahead of him with the cautious manner of a man approaching a wild animal. "Do you... like... beer...?" He was almost to the end of the alley, and in the direct sunlight I could make out the outline of sinewy muscle beneath his sweaty denim shirt. His eyes darted nervously from my face to the bulge of my breasts, then returned to resume nervous eye contact.
I stepped around the barrier, extending my hand to take the can from him as my face softened into a friendlier, guarded smile. "Thanks," I said as the frosty, wet metal sent a chill rushing from my palm through my shoulders, "I'm sorry I called you a needle-dick."
"Hey, don't worry about it, I've probably been called worse by my own mother! And I'm sorry you I called you 'honey.'" His smile widened with friendly relief. "As you heard, I'm Dave and the guy drinking my beer and laughing at my stupidity is Joseph." Joe raised his can in salute as he set his hardhat in the front seat of the pickup.
"Dave and Joe, got it. I'm Sarah." Dave smiled broadly and extended his free limb to shake my small hand, pointed his beer-arm to the idling van in invitation.
"We've got the AC going full-blast in there. Company vehicle means company gas." He winked mischievously at the misuse of commercial resources as Joe held the van's rear door open.
"A strange van, huh? I don't know... You're not gonna 'Silence of the Lambs' me, are you?"
"Nah! You're pretty and all, but you're way too small to make into a suit!" He winked and laughed, taking my hand as he boosted me through the door.
As I climbed in, I was met with a blast of icy air; the guys were not kidding about their abuse of air conditioning! The arctic breeze almost instantly dried my skin, and my flesh burst into goosebumps as I moved further into the vehicle.
