Joey

When Percy moved into the neighborhood, I was thirteen. Immediately after he unloaded the last piece of furniture into the house, I introduced myself. At the time I didn’t realize it, but I later admitted that I my admiration of him was two-fold.

The first reason was that his life mirrored the one I suspected my real father had lived. Intrigued by living next door to a real-life biker, I absorbed everything about him and his way of living, all the while imagining my deceased father had lived in the same fashion.

Secondly, I detested my stepfather, but desperately needed a male role model in my life. Fate allowed Percy to step into that role when I was a teenager. I asked him questions about life, my feelings, relationships, and motorcycles. He answered them all to the best of his ability, never denying me his time.

I was young and inexperienced at everything feminine. Subsequently, my makeup skills were nil.

One day, only a few weeks after his arrival, he laughed at my makeup. He told me a girl as pretty as me didn’t need makeup. I’ never forgot that day, and I’m sure I never will. My inability to apply makeup on that day earned me a nickname.

Smudge.

Although my makeup skills improved, the nickname stuck with me.

Grateful that I eventually became accomplished in the craft, I inspected myself in the bathroom mirror at the dealership.

My eye was still slightly swollen, but the thick application of foundation and having the blush a little higher on my cheeks hid the bruise.

Convinced I looked good enough to lie my way out of any inquiries, I washed my hands and meandered to the parts counter.

“Damn,” Blane said as soon as I walked in. “What happened to your eye?”

“Bee stung me.”

“On your eye?”

“My cheek.”

He winced. “Damn, that sucks.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not so much anymore.”

He took another quick look. “That’s cool.”

It was that simple. He didn’t dispute my claim, stare, or ask any other questions.

Throughout the course of our busy morning, a few of the customers asked, but that was it. Upon hearing a bee stung me, they all replied in the same manner.

It was unfortunate.

As I watched Percy walk across the sales floor, my heart initially raced. And then, it sank. Lying to him about my eye wasn’t going to be as easy. And, he wasn’t going to be near as gullible.

He stepped up the counter, leaned forward, and looked me over. “How’s it going?”

“Good.”

His eyes remained fixed on my cheek. “Didn’t see you all weekend. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s great. Why?”

He shifted his gaze to meet mine. “Just wondering.”

“What brings you in?”

He took another look at my cheek and then dropped his eyes to the counter. “Looking for a one-piece dash. Got to be H-D, not an aftermarket fucker. I’ve seen an aluminum one. Polished. It’s got flutes that run the length of it. Baseball card deal went well, and I want to give the old chrome on a toss.”

“Your tank isn’t stretched, is it?”

I knew it wasn’t, but I asked anyway.

“No.” He looked up. “Standard tank.”

“Hold on a sec,” I said.

I pulled up the color catalog, went to the page of dashes, and turned the monitor so we both could see it.

I pointed to one of the polished aluminum custom dashes that Harley-Davidson offered. “This one?”

“Like that one, but fluted.”

I looked at the three on the following page, none of which were fluted. After a quick check on the internet, I determined the dash he wanted was discontinued.

I clicked on a Google image, enlarged it, and then pointed to the screen. “Like that?”

“That’s it.”

“Discontinued.”

“What the fuck for?”

“Hard saying with Harley. Could have been a great seller, and they pulled it because they wanted to introduce something else. Might not have sold well because of the cost. It could be anything. Want me to see if I can find one in stock somewhere?”

“What’s it cost?”

“$229.30”

“Shit. I figured it’d be $500. Fuck yeah. See if you can find it somewhere.”

A search of dealer stock in our area produced nothing, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t eventually find it.

I let out a sigh. “It might take me a day or two. Let me see what I can find out. Anything else?”

“That ought to do it.”

“So, the baseball card deal went well?”

“Too well. Checked over my shoulder on the way out of there a couple times, thinking it was a set-up.”

“That’s good. Good that it went well. And, that it wasn’t a set-up.”

“Hell, when I’m done selling these fuckers off, I might be able to afford a new couch.”

“Is your old one in bad shape?”

“Pretty sad. Bought it for $50 when I moved in. I hate spending money on furniture, so I’ve never done anything about replacing it. Don’t mind spending money on my sled, though.”

I cocked my head and shrugged one shoulder. “A man has got to have his priorities straight.”

He folded his arms in front of his chest, lifted his chin slightly, and looked me over. “You going to be around tonight?”

“Always.”

“I’ll be in the garage this evening. If you see me in there, stop by.”

I tried to hide my excitement. “Okay.”

“Want any beer or anything to drink?”

“No thank you.”

“How old are you?”

I wagged my eyebrows. “Twenty-one.”

I wasn’t, but I was close enough to claim it.

“Hot damn,” he said.

“Hot damn?” I chuckled. “Why’s that?”

“Old enough to do anything this world has to offer. Rent a car, buy a drink, vote, military. There’s nothing you won’t be able to do, now.”

In my mind, being twenty-one didn’t change much of anything. My finances were still going to be the same.

“I suppose so.”

He clenched his fist and held it over the counter. “See ya, Smudge.”

I grinned and pounded my fist into his.

As he walked away I realized the entire time he was talking to me I hadn’t worried about my shirt. Somehow, my cleavage and I had become completely comfortable in his presence.

I’d always been more comfortable around him than anyone, but I found it fascinating that I’d talked to him for fifteen minutes at work and never once considered where my shirt was, how much cleavage was showing, or if one of my nipples managed to escape the pushup bra I wore, but didn’t necessarily need.

“Why’s he call you Smudge?” Blane asked.

It’s none of your business.

I looked at him and shrugged.

“I have no idea.”