Ollie’s battered Ford pickup rumbled down the rutted dirt track spewing plumes of dust and oil smoke behind it. The cloying heat of summer in the Midwest gathered on his exposed skin. Sweat ran in great rivers darkening his t-shirt. Ollie swiped a forearm across his brow trying to keep the stinging droplets from his eyes.
Had to be getting close.
Ollie checked his odometer. Another quarter mile at most. The jouncing truck rattled his bones. More than once, he hit a wash that made his teeth clack together. All very unpleasant and all done in the name of his art.
Road Rod magazine was small-time, but it was better by far than his previous gig covering Friday night high school football for a small town.
Ollie rounded a bend and sighed with relief when he spotted his destination.
The road ended at a wide cul-de-sac of potholed dirt. Gravel filled the pits, more for traction control during wet seasons than an attempt to smooth out the land.
A small barn, its once vibrant red faded to pink, sat just beyond the edge of the roadway. Two large cottonwoods offered the little building some respite from the brutal summer sun.
Ollie parked off to one side and gathered his equipment. Strange. No dogs came to greet him as he slid from the cab. Perhaps it was just too damned hot for anything beyond lazing in the shade.
The overwhelming noise of the cicadas, awake and horny after their thirteen-year slumber, contributed to the feeling of solitude. It was impossible to hear anything over their buzzing racket.
Ollie approached the barn, calling out a greeting. Only the cicadas responded. No dogs, no humans. Maybe the guy hadn’t gotten the message.
The barn door was open. Ollie let himself into the dim interior. The raucous insect noise died back to dull clicking. Hot, dusty air that smelled of motor oil and musty hay filled his nose. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When they did, Ollie was able to make out the object of his current assignment: a cherry red 1970 Chevy El Camino. Its chrome gleamed even in the low light. It was a magnificent vehicle more than worthy of its pending feature in Road Rod.
“Hello? Anyone here?” Ollie said.
Hollow metallic thumps sounded from the back of the El Camino. Ollie stood near the front grill. He caught a blur of motion through to darkly tinted glass of the back window but was unable to get a clear view.
“Ah, shit.” A man’s voice, thick with sleep, reached Ollie first followed by his head popping over the roof of the car.
Ollie’s heart skipped a beat. The air drained from his lungs.
“Mr. Bradshaw?” the man said.
Ollie managed a breath. Swallowing against the sudden, aching dryness in his mouth he answered, “Yes. You’re…Felix?”
“That’s me.” The man hopped over the lip of the car’s bed and landed on solid footing. “Sorry about that. Must have fallen asleep with the heat and all.”
Ollie shifted uneasily. “I left a message.”
An uncomfortable paused followed.
“To let you know I was coming to do the spread today,” Ollie added lamely.
Felix moved closer and stuck his hand out.
“Sorry ’bout that, Mr. Bradshaw. I’m not used to company way out here.”
“Ollie. Call me Ollie.”
Heat that had nothing to do with summertime rippled up Ollie’s arm when he shook the man’s hand.
The last two hot rod shoots he’d done involved graying mullets and missing teeth and tobacco juice. The cars had been extraordinary, their owners, merely ordinary if Ollie was feeling generous.
But, Felix? He was pure corn-fed Iowa farm boy. Sandy hair that hadn’t seen a barber in a while, light skin dappled with a smattering of freckles at the shoulders and across the narrow bridge of his nose, bright blue eyes.
“Ollie, then. ‘Preciate your comin’ out here for this, Ollie. I put a good bit a time and money into Chloe.”
Ollie turned toward the car, grateful for the distraction, and ran one hand along her fender.
“Chloe,” he said, trying the car’s name on for size. “She’s stunning.”
“Thanks. She’s my special girl.”
Ollie looked up at Felix, hoping to hide his interest in the man behind appreciation for the car.
“I promise to do her justice.”
Felix met his gaze with unflinching scrutiny. Another rush of heat, more intense than the first, fanned out over Ollie’s skin. The other man’s gaze slid lower with the weight of a physical touch. Ollie’s nipples contracted just as sure as if they’d been doused with ice water. The camera around his neck suddenly weighed a thousand pounds.
“So, how do we do this?” Felix had his eyes back on Ollie’s.
For a brief moment, the only response that came to Ollie’s mind was to start with a kiss. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
The car. Remember the car.
“I…” Ollie choked down the dust in his mouth then straightened up. “I always like to start by going for a drive, if possible. It helps me get a feel for the car.”
And, the driver.
Felix dug in the pocket of his jeans, came up with a flashy set of keys. Without warning, he tossed the chrome-plated fob at Ollie. “You drive.”
Ollie fumbled the keys but managed not to drop them.
“You serious?” Ollie unslung the camera from around his neck and set it aside.
“Absolutely.” Felix winked and hopped into the passenger seat.
Ollie walked around and eased himself into the driver’s seat. New leather greeted him with its warm animal scent. Everything felt stiff, new, anticipatory.
“Whoa.”
Felix grinned. “Yeah. Hot, isn’t she?”
Ollie caressed the steering wheel. “Very.”
The passenger door slammed shut. “Let’s cruise.”
