Coffeehouse was hosting a folk singer this weekend. And Lower Space, the town’s one rock club (hidden on the outskirts of Terrel, near a cheap hotel) boasted Charleston’s punk saviors Toxic Gas. He grinned at that. Now there might be the perfect place to look for Terrel’s fringe element.
After retrieving a cup of coffee from the still-hissing machine, he brought a pair of scissors back to the table and clipped the ad. Maybe Cindy had been to Lower Space. He wanted to remember to ask her.
Joe stomped often on the brakes to keep his Hyundai below fifty on the curving path the local department of transportation defined as a road. The car shifted and bumped, complaining with multiple squeaks as he plummeted down its winding descent to the waterfront. The day had turned out splendidly— the sun was hot and high, the sky achingly blue. He’d thrown some chips and cookies in a bag with his suntan lotion and an obnoxiously orange towel. His shades were on.
Now if Cindy only showed up.
The thought brought a pang of fear to his belly, which surprised him. He really was looking forward to this! He’d known the girl less than half an hour, but he realized that he was going to be bummed out big time if she blew off this “date.”
The car rounded the last curve and suddenly the trees and brush disappeared, leaving him staring straight out into the blue-green waves breaking against a jumble of dark rocks. The cliff was less than a mile ahead.
He followed gravel-filled ruts that skated along the edge ofthe waterfront the rest of the way. Driving this close to the ocean, it was hard to resist the temptation to watch the waves instead of the road. Then the gravel ran out and Joe kicked up sand with his tires as he pulled away from the beach onto a grassy stretch of earth. Despite the perfect weather, the sand was empty for as far as he could see, except for one figure just a few yards ahead lounging on a beach towel. Someone that looked tantalizingly female.
He grabbed his bag and kicked the car door shut.
“Hey,” the sunbather yelled out against the roar of the surf. “No reporters allowed. There’s no news here!”
Joe grinned and quickened his pace as Cindy mockingly shooed him away.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he answered when he got closer. “I’d like to get a statement from you.”
“What about?”
“Well, let’s see…Did you know that wearing a swimsuit like that is dangerous to the mental health of all males within a thirty-yard radius?”
Cindy made a face and gestured at the electric pink and yellow triangles that just barely covered her chest and the private patch of real estate below her belly button. “What, this lil’ old thing?”
“Exactly!”
She bent and picked up her beach towel, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you gettin’ hurt!”
“No, don’t worry about me.” Joe laughed. “I’ve been specially trained to deal with these types of suits.”
“Oh, really? And tell me, how does one get that sort of training in…where was it? Um, Chicago?”
Cindy tossed a wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes. “Do they have these kinds of suits in Chicago? I wouldn’t think they’d be very comfortable to wear in the snow, ya know.”
“Oh, it gets above thirty-two degrees there now and then,” he quipped, playing along. “Heck, there’re even a few beaches— with real sand!”
“Yeah, but isn’t the water usually iced solid or slushy?”
“Solid, no. Slushy? Depends which way the currents from the Indiana refineries are moving—and what sort of waste they’re carrying!”
She laughed and let the towel slide off her shoulders, revealing a dark but not heavily tanned complexion. Cindy looked like the type who could tan easily, Joe thought, but she’d said that she hadn’t been out in the sun too much yet this year for all her cliff-walking.
“Well, you’re welcome to share a towel,” she offered,
After retrieving a cup of coffee from the still-hissing machine, he brought a pair of scissors back to the table and clipped the ad. Maybe Cindy had been to Lower Space. He wanted to remember to ask her.
Joe stomped often on the brakes to keep his Hyundai below fifty on the curving path the local department of transportation defined as a road. The car shifted and bumped, complaining with multiple squeaks as he plummeted down its winding descent to the waterfront. The day had turned out splendidly— the sun was hot and high, the sky achingly blue. He’d thrown some chips and cookies in a bag with his suntan lotion and an obnoxiously orange towel. His shades were on.
Now if Cindy only showed up.
The thought brought a pang of fear to his belly, which surprised him. He really was looking forward to this! He’d known the girl less than half an hour, but he realized that he was going to be bummed out big time if she blew off this “date.”
The car rounded the last curve and suddenly the trees and brush disappeared, leaving him staring straight out into the blue-green waves breaking against a jumble of dark rocks. The cliff was less than a mile ahead.
He followed gravel-filled ruts that skated along the edge ofthe waterfront the rest of the way. Driving this close to the ocean, it was hard to resist the temptation to watch the waves instead of the road. Then the gravel ran out and Joe kicked up sand with his tires as he pulled away from the beach onto a grassy stretch of earth. Despite the perfect weather, the sand was empty for as far as he could see, except for one figure just a few yards ahead lounging on a beach towel. Someone that looked tantalizingly female.
He grabbed his bag and kicked the car door shut.
“Hey,” the sunbather yelled out against the roar of the surf. “No reporters allowed. There’s no news here!”
Joe grinned and quickened his pace as Cindy mockingly shooed him away.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he answered when he got closer. “I’d like to get a statement from you.”
“What about?”
“Well, let’s see…Did you know that wearing a swimsuit like that is dangerous to the mental health of all males within a thirty-yard radius?”
Cindy made a face and gestured at the electric pink and yellow triangles that just barely covered her chest and the private patch of real estate below her belly button. “What, this lil’ old thing?”
“Exactly!”
She bent and picked up her beach towel, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you gettin’ hurt!”
“No, don’t worry about me.” Joe laughed. “I’ve been specially trained to deal with these types of suits.”
“Oh, really? And tell me, how does one get that sort of training in…where was it? Um, Chicago?”
Cindy tossed a wisp of blonde hair out of her eyes. “Do they have these kinds of suits in Chicago? I wouldn’t think they’d be very comfortable to wear in the snow, ya know.”
“Oh, it gets above thirty-two degrees there now and then,” he quipped, playing along. “Heck, there’re even a few beaches— with real sand!”
“Yeah, but isn’t the water usually iced solid or slushy?”
“Solid, no. Slushy? Depends which way the currents from the Indiana refineries are moving—and what sort of waste they’re carrying!”
She laughed and let the towel slide off her shoulders, revealing a dark but not heavily tanned complexion. Cindy looked like the type who could tan easily, Joe thought, but she’d said that she hadn’t been out in the sun too much yet this year for all her cliff-walking.
“Well, you’re welcome to share a towel,” she offered,
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