This is one of those stories directly inspired by two things, the version of In the Heat of the Night sung by Pat Benatar and the heady culture of the 1980s. It's one of those laid back stories that might or might not be true, I'll leave it up to you to decide. It's set in the Eastern suburbs of Melbourne, Australia.
Author's note. The RTA or Road Traffic Authority is the old name for Vicroads, which is similar to the DVLA in the UK or DMV in the USA.
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Lisa stepped over to the dressing table in her bedroom to finish tying the pussybow on her white blouse as Benatar's soaring vocals drifted down the hall. In the Heat of the Night was a song she'd initially ignored but when her sister gave her the album as a birthday present she warmed to it and just lately it had become something of her own personal anthem. Lisa fastened the three, satin-covered collar buttons and then tied the off-white lace tie into a wide bow.
She stood for a moment or two as she examined the new blouse. It was a good fit, she'd made it herself last weekend and today was the first day she'd decided to wear it to work. Two wide pleats with black edging adorned the bodice, complementing a third pleat that covered the buttons, the cuffs were held together with two silk-covered buttons. She turned to look at the side profile and arched her back, pushing her breasts out further and ran her hands over the tan, A-line skirt and for a moment contemplated the buttoned tartan skirt hanging in the wardrobe. The skirt she had on fell below her knees and was fashioned from a polyester-wool blend, now that summer was over and they were heading towards winter, warmer clothes were coming out of her wardrobe the skirt was also one of her creations.
"Well, here goes nothing," she sighed and picking up the watch, slipped it over her wrist and then gathered up her handbag and black jacket.
The half cup of coffee was tepid by the time she returned to the kitchen and she poured it out as she mentally went through her routine. A day at work, then detour via Eastland to pick up some food and then sewing supplies. She contemplated calling her mother because there was a planned family dinner this Sunday but then changed her mind and stepped out onto the front porch. The corroded brass chimes clanked in the cold wind and she glanced up at the blue sky, and on second thoughts she went back inside to retrieve a warmer jacket in preparation for Melbourne's notorious 'four seasons in one day' climate.
It was only when she opened the driver's side door of her second hand Toyota Corolla that she realised her mistake. The courtesy light hadn't come on and she had a flashback to the night before when she'd been fishing around in the glovebox for the cover of the Pat Benatar album. She'd turned the light on because the glovebox light didn't work. Sure enough when she turned the ignition key, the engine just ticked rapidly. She tried once more and then thumped the wheel in frustration.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, why me?" Lisa stared out the window.
Thumping the wheel however was not going to smooth things over at work and so she went back inside and called work. There were some people who started earlier and she was hoping it wasn't Creepy Tim but instead it was Jane and she breathed a sigh of relief. Jane listened patiently to her tale of woe and then came up with a solution.
"Siobhan is starting an hour after you and she's just down the road from you. Would you like me to give her a call and get her to pick you up?"
"Oh," she bit her lip as she pictured the dark-haired Irishwoman who'd recently started work in the office, "okay, I mean, would she mind?"
"Of course not, I'm her boss too. If it's not okay I'll call you right back. We'll adjust your hours when you get here."
Lisa had some time to think as she made herself a fresh cup of coffee. Siobhan had caught the eye of just about every red-blooded man at the RTA, regardless of their marital status. She was born and raised in Northern Ireland and like many, had emigrated as the Troubles became ever more bloody and the conflict more entrenched.
She'd left a family behind in the Protestant north and had a loathing of all things pertaining to sectarianism. Her most noticeable asset was her face with a firm jawline and green eyes that sometimes looked grey, her jet black hair fell to her shoulderblades and most days she wore it loose. At five feet nine she was taller than average and it was perhaps due to her height that she could put away more alcohol than many of her male colleagues.
However the most startling feature was not her looks or her immaculate dress sense but her sexual orientation. Siobhan made no secret of the fact that she preferred women and while she could drink with a man all night, if he so much as made the wrong move towards her he'd wind up wearing a bottle in the face. So far no man had attempted to test her on that account.
Her sexual orientation had made her both a figure of fun and someone to admire because while those kinds of people certainly existed, very few dared come out for fear of ridicule, the fear of being held back for promotion or both. Lisa had had little to do with her because Siobhan worked in the back office with middle management whilst she worked in records.
The knock at the door startled her and she ambled through to the front door. Siobhan was standing on the front porch wearing a black trouser suit and white blouse that was open to her cleavage, she took off her sunglasses and offered up her best smile.
"Hello, you're Lisa?"
"Yeah, sorry, I didn't hear you pull up."
"My fault, I've got a very quiet car, are you ready?"
"I'll just get my bag, um, you can come in if you want."
"Okay," Siobhan stepped over the threshold as Lisa retreated to the kitchen to fetch her bag.
Siobhan paused by the pictures hanging on the wall that showed Lisa's family, one was a family shot of her father, mother and two sisters, the others were individual shots but there was a blank space where a picture had hung.
"Who's the disgraced relative?" Siobhan asked as Lisa came back through with her bag.
"Huh?" Lisa stared at the spot.
"Oh, I had a picture of my boyfriend there but now that we've broken up I took it down."
"Quite right," she nodded, "so where is he now, on the dartboard?"
"Oh it's in one of my drawers in a photo album," she moved past her.
"How long ago was this?" Siobhan followed her, "sorry if I'm being nosey, it's an Irish thing we always want to know who you're related to and who you're fucking, just in case we're fucking them too," she reached the door.
"Sorry, that was uncalled for."
Lisa restrained a grin as she closed the door and locked it.
"On the contrary, it's actually quite... funny."
"Well it'd certainly be funny if I was bedding him."
"I've heard that about you," she nodded, "I'm really glad you were able to come by and pick me up for work, the public transport here is a joke."
"It surely is but it's better than negotiating checkpoints, give me Melbourne transport any day over that shite back home. So, what's up with your car?"
"A flat battery," she replied, "I guess I'll have to call dad and get him to charge it up for me."
"You can call from work," she shrugged, "just step into my office and I'll turn my head while you make a personal call."
"Oh that's all right."
"Of course it's all right," she stepped out onto the street, "it's my feckin' phone and rules were made to be broken, it's why they're called rules."
Lisa didn't reply to that and it wasn't until they were in the car that Siobhan spoke again.
