CHINA
The rumbling of a well-tuned muscle car is music to my ears. Leaving the Hollywood Hills in a car that’s outward attire is less fantastic than what we rode up in, I find comical. What with its peeling and chipped paint, dingy and faded black vinyl top, and obviously distressed leather seating, I feel like I’ll gain a disease from the previous inhabitants. But I’m more than excited to find out what this will become. These seats have seen years of abuse, love, sex on occasion for sure, and have come to the end of their reign. But, I can see the beauty that lies beneath, ready to be fixed up and made pretty again.
I guess that’s why when Risen told me to wait by the garage doors, I was both a blend of shocked and thrilled, enough to want to put my hands on it.
“Well, color me surprised.”
“I’m glad I can cause such an effect on you. I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of pretty cars, Doll. This must be quite a disappointing piece of metal to you,” he says almost gleefully. He really thinks I’m materialistic and petty.
“Where did you get this? There can’t be more than a handful left in existence.”
“There weren’t. This grandma in Northern Kentucky had been holding it for her son. He died before he could get it.” Risen passes through the doors, opens the passenger door and motions for me to sit. “She sold it in a contents sale when she closed up to live on a cruise ship for the rest of her life.”
Hopping in, then gently closing the door with a heavy click, Risen walks around to the driver’s seat. He looks at peace; totally calm in his surroundings.
The house where he resides is stark and regimented. The Porsche is a stringent stunner, but none of it suits Risen. He seems to fit this rugged and unpolished style like it was built for him. Looking over the interior, I relish the simplicity of the cabin. In the sixties and seventies, there was no navigation, no computers, no cars that spoke to you or communicated with your smart phone, and nothing was able to tell you why it was overheating. Sure, cars today are marvels of engineering, but this is a marvel of power and speed that nothing of this century can touch. They try to duplicate it by placing the badges on them, but they’re a sad reminder of what being an American Muscle car meant.
Turning the key, waiting for it to send the fuel, Risen starts up the beast. Even though it takes three tries to turn it over, when she does, it sends shivers down my spine.
It’s beauty and beast, all in one. The vibration is tantalizing and perfect in every way as I touch all the ancient perfection in its flawed ways.
“No seat belts, so hold on, China.” I’d normally snap back at the speaker, correcting them in their term of endearment that is left for family and close friends only, but I kind of like him calling me that.
“Not the first time I’ve ridden something dangerous without a seatbelt. I think I can handle you and your inherent police officer trained safe driving skills, RiRi.” Looking over with a cheeky grin, I laugh. “Try your best.”
With a twisted smirk and quirked eyebrows, Risen shifts the monster into gear, tearing off down the lane.
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Her? How do you know it’s a her?” Shifting gears and spinning ourselves down toward the Valley, I revel in the little details that others wouldn’t notice or care about.
“It’s always a her, and she’s lovely. The smell, the tight shift, the rude rumble as she passes through the crowd. She’s a head turner. A debutant in a room full of toddlers in tiaras.”
“That’s a vision I’d rather never have again.”
“Sorry, but she’s fantastic. I think I’ll name her...Dame.”
Growling, Risen shifts harshly. Turning us into the heavier traffic of the lower L.A. area, he grinds out, “You will in no such way call my car Dame.”
“Well then, what’s her name?” Egging him on further, I slap him on the shoulder teasingly. “How about Myrtle? Oh, oh! Or we could go with Ella.”
“If she’s a she, in no way will she be named after a spring break location or a Disney princess.” Risen tenses up and misses the shift to second.
He slaps into fourth by mistake, “Oh. Ouch, that one ground out. Want me to drive?” I ask sweetly. Risen shakes his head and turns toward me, breathing out a heavy breath.
“You won’t touch my shifter. My clutch is mine, and her name will be Beatrice.”
I’ve yet to see Risen really lose his cool. Not when we were becoming acquainted at the arrest, and not during our night of dirty desserts, and still, not as of yet. Even as he’s been harnessed to my comfortable prison, for some reason, I’m looking to fight him. I was more than eager to be out of the house on a road trip, and so far, even though it’s been uneventfully fun, I’m actually enjoying myself. Casper is the only one who gives me a run for my money with words. With him not around, I’m spoiling for a fight. Stupidly, I’m trying to make him lose his shit. It might not be smart, and I could be looking at a war I can’t win, but I’m up for a challenge.
Laughing, jokingly touching his shifter, I stroke it from the base to its oversized shift handle. “You sure I can’t touch your shifter? It’s suck—I mean, such a pretty shifter.” I laugh as he visibly tenses.
“Fucking death of me,” he mutters as we signal down Van Nuys.
“So I have to ask, what are we going to get? And why did we need Dame?”
“Beatrice.”
“Let’s agree to disagree. I’m the princess in this fairy tale, as you’ve so frequently remarked. I believe that means I have the right to title this marvelous toy. Now, again I ask, where were we headed with Dame—Beatrice?”
“Short term memory loss, China? I need to go to Creaper’s. It’s a garage off Van Nuys that brings in old performance parts. Duke’s been holding a set of headlights for me while I’ve been in my court-appointed vacation home. He had another buyer looking for them. I was told I had to get them or lose them to some schmoozehole.”
“Is that a technical word, or a legal policie one?”
“Policie?” he questions before shaking it off. “I only use my policie language in annoying company. You’re a lucky person, Doll. I let my language off the chain on your account today.”
I fake shiver and laugh. “Well, I’m glad you have such an extensive vocabulary, and that I’m entitled to see it firsthand. Will there be a wanker, a booger, or a flickin’ horsefly in there for good measure?”
“Is there a reason you try to get a rise out of me? Am I special? Or is this the true talent of China Crown’s racing prowess. She pisses them off without even having to hit the track.”
Dick. I guess I shouldn’t ask for what I don’t really want.
“Fuck you, Officer.”
“Big words, China Doll. Princesses don’t cuss.”
As steam rises from within, my blood boils. He’s trying to piss me off. “This one does, asshole.” I peer out the side window at the street inhabitants before I growl out, “My name is Miss Crown. Not China Doll, not China, not CD, not Doll, and not princess to you, Officer Mason.”
Parking the car on the curb, Risen shuts off the lovely car. He turns to me, pleased as punch. “So there’s fire in that little girl. I wondered how much was an act, and how much was real. Let it off the chain. Let yourself off the chain, Doll. There’s no one here to stop you. It seems like it’s been awhile since you let the wild side surface.”
“Look who’s talking, Officer,” I snap condescendingly. “You’re no better. Why is a rich kid like you hiding behind a badge? You obviously don’t need to work by the pretty Porsche, high-end digs, and one of a kind muscle car. That had to cost a pretty penny. Even in this state,” I wave around, “this car is a hundred grand, easily. So what is it? You afraid to let your dog off the chain too, or are you a tame pussy cat?”
Staring me down, gathering his composure, Risen grins tightly. “You don’t know anything about me. Now, as you so rightly announced, you are hitched to my ass. My wagon and yours are inseparable for now. Get out of the car, smile, don’t be a bitch, and let’s get along in public. As long as there’s a chance for paparazzi to be around, we should act cordial. If they think we’re an item, they’re less likely to dig, so let’s give them a show.”
I resign myself to the fact that he’s probably right. “Fine, Officer. I’ll act sweet in public. But the moment we’re back at my house, you keep to your end of the house, and I’ll stay to mine. Or your balls will be in a sling. Comprende?”
“Understood, Miss Crown.” Taking the keys and stepping into traffic, Risen rounds the curb.
Prick.