I saw the revolving lights in my rear-view mirror and nearly pissed myself. The only thing holding me back was the instinct not to wreck my new suit.
Fifteen minutes earlier I'd had a run-in with a cop. I was having a cigarette outside my wife's favorite social club. The club was kind of a straight-laced, fru-fru joint, and I'd gone outside to blow off some steam. It was a full moon, and for kicks I let out a few howls. An officer Karl Morgan came around, charging me with being 'drunk and disorderly'. A couple of martinis had made me brave, and I gave him a little guff. He wrote a citation, and warned me to watch out.
"I don't care how much money you aristocrats got, or if you know the damned mayor or even the president! If I catch you drunk in public on my watch, you're paying the consequences like any other damn citizen."
At his use of the term 'aristocrat', I laughed. Although my new wife, Patricia, came from money, I came from getting her father's coffee at board meetings. This social club drew a lot of the money crowd, though, and I gathered that I wasn't the first guy to get busted there.
So I could see there was no arguing with this hick, or at least no quick arguing anyway. Patricia's favorite TV show was coming on soon, and I knew if I didn't get her home I'd never hear the end of it. So I swallowed the ticket, and went back into the club to get my wife. When we came out, the officer was gone. We headed back to my and I got behind the wheel.
I took a little-used back road to get home. Although I really wasn't that drunk, the gravel road was wreaking havoc with the Mustang's tires, and I swerved from time to time. When I saw the lights flashing in my rear view, I had a fair guess what kind of trouble I was in.
I loosened my black tie, tugging at the collar.
"Oh perfect. What'll happen, do you think?" Patricia asked. I looked over at her. Aside from her worried expression, she looked unruffled in an expensive silk blouse and evening slacks, a leather hand-bag clasped to her side. She was a real doll, and I didn't mind looking at her when I had the time. Right now I didn't have the time, but my eyes gave her a look-over anyway.
As usual, she didn't have her safety belt on. I had a sudden brainstorm.
"Well hey, what if you switched seats with me?" I asked. Patricia's eyes went wide under her arching, plucked eyebrows.
"Come on. Be serious." She said incredulously, her little mouse voice barely rising over the engine. She drummed her fingernails on her purse. I watched that hand move, those soft fingers working against the leather.
No bones about it, when we got married a year ago I knew what I was getting into. Patricia was a well-bred, sheltered, indoor girl. Her body was all woman, but she liked to be taken care of and she was a little timid when it came right down to it. Which was fine by me, except in situations like this. I nearly barked at her.
"Switch when we've stopped! Quickly, before he sees." I urged, undoing my belt. I eased the car to a halt, throwing on the parking brake.
"But, dear – I couldn't possibly-" She started. I shushed her, pulling her towards the driver's seat. She carefully moved around me, not wanting to dishevel her clothing or makeup. Her fragrant perfume filled my nostrils, and I couldn't resist giving her a quick peck before diving into the back. She waved me away, sliding behind the wheel.
In the rear seat was a flannel blanket we sometimes used on picnics. I covered myself with it and ducked down, creaking against the leather upholstery. Lucky for me I had installed dark tinting in the windows a few months earlier.
"But what will I say about the swerving?" She asked me.
I tried to think. Martinis, even a couple, impair that sort of thing. Maybe she had been doing her makeup and let the wheel go for a moment? Cops probably didn't like that much, but it was better than drunk driving.
Then I heard Patricia fiddling with the glove compartment, and I looked up. She pulled a half-empty bottle of mineral water out of the dash box. I gave her a questioning look in the mirror.
Patricia unscrewed the top gently, then dumped the bottle out on her shirt.
The liquid disappeared into her silk with a hiss of bubbles. Patricia squirmed.
"See, I spilled my soda. That's why I swerved." She said. I stared at her chest. The wet fabric clung to her form, accentuating her bosom.
The idea was alright. But the thought of some hick cop, ogling my wife, suddenly made me see red.
"He's never going to buy it." I said hastily, drawing the blanket farther over my head. "I'm headed to jail for sure."
She frowned, scanning the rear view. The cop had stopped his car and was stepping out. Patricia clucked her tongue, looking down at her blouse nervously. Then she did something even more unexpected.
Patricia reached up with her well-manicured, aristocratic fingers - and undid the top button on her blouse.
My jaw dropped.
Her painted fingernails clicked as she undid another button, then a third. Patricia then peeled away the wet silk slightly to reveal her cleavage. Her breasts were full and round, the creamy flesh pale from lack of sun. Though just the top of her bosom was visible, one could clearly see the deep crease between her breasts, disappearing into the darkness of her wet blouse.
I gaped at her. Patricia looked at me in the rear view. She arched her eyebrows defensively.
"Well, isn't that what girls do?" She asked sincerely. I shrugged, annoyed. Hell, maybe it would help. Patricia seemed a little more relaxed. She tried to settle into the driver's seat, a place wholly foreign to her. Then we both had the same terrible thought.
"But dear, I haven't got a license!" Patricia whispered. My mind struggled through the martinis, trying to pull a solution out of the fog. I drew a blank!
Just then I saw the gleam of the officer's flashlight as he walked towards the car. I ducked down farther under the blanket. I kept a small crack open to breathe, and to watch.
The officer stepped up to the window and tapped with his light. Patricia rolled it down. He spoke, and a knot formed in my stomach.
"Evening missus." It was Karl Morgan, the hick, sure as daylight. His voice set me on edge.
"Um, it's miss, to be sure. Good evening to you." Patricia said. I groaned inwardly. She was laying it on too thick. I watched Karl's light play across the top of her exposed bosom.
