For disclaimers please see MYSTI: Mistress of Dreams - Part One of Mad Max can be found HERE.For disclaimers please see MYSTI: Mistress of Dreams - Part One of Mad Max can be found HERE.
Part 4
Max handed Gillian the helmet to put on, before donning and strapping into her own matching gear. No words were spoken during the routine procedure. Before straddling the Honda she had given her wife as a gift, the blonde noted the very full saddlebags. Golden brows lifted into matching hair as the almost wicked grin crawled across the smaller woman’s face.
"Maxine Murray Montgomery! I knew you hated shopping but could it really have been THAT bad? And why take it out on poor Martha? And, come to think of it, what were you doing shopping when I thought you went to Boulder to check out that lead you had on the missing niece or something. Max? Max?" Gillian passed her hand in front of vacant eyes and began to grow concerned. "Max!"
"Huh?" Long, dark lashes lowered and lifted in rapid sequence more times than the artist could count as blue eyes struggled to refocus on the present. "Honey, I’m sorry. What did you say? Shopping? Um, not exactly. I did plan to check on something special today. It was something I wanted to get for you but I found something else entirely. We won’t even THINK about ‘Poor’ Martha right now."
Gillian seated herself as Max leaned in for a soft kiss. Loving eyes captured the vision of Max pulling on her black gloves before turning and mounting the bike. No further conversation was needed as the two bodies seemed to become one, unique form that swayed and leaned in perfect tune with the machine they rode. It was as if some unheard music urged the well-choreographed movements and the Denver highway system was little more than an elaborate dance floor.
"Hello." Martha snapped open the cell phone abruptly as she stepped into the parking garage. Squinting her eyes against the glare of the late afternoon sun flashing against automobile windshields, she tried to remember where her Yellow VW was. Just her luck, she thought, it all but disappeared in the damned glare.
"This Martha Isaacs? The lady with them leather jackets?" Ruben asked, still tinkering with the stubborn carburetor.
"This is Martha Isaacs. Who may I ask...? Oh wait. You’re that Motorcycle Shop Owner who said you could sell some...Do you still have the jackets? Mr. Ribaldi, wasn’t it?" Never one to do much praying, the older woman offered one up anyway. She was less than thrilled with the answer.
"Ruben Ribaldi. That’s right, but Ruben’ll do jest fine. Nope. Don’t have a one of em left. That’s how come me to call. I need some more. All you got in fact. Got me a real anxious customer who wants to outfit their whole damn club with em. How many more ya got? Ya never said so I just let on I could get some more but ain’t said how many jest yet. So.... how many more ya got?" Dark, greasy fingers laid the motorcycle part aside and reached for the lukewarm can of Coors.
"Describe the buyer to me, please." Martha prayed again. This time she longed to be wrong.
"Oh well that’d be real easy cause she’s a looker, this’n."
"Shit," came the answer. The reply was certainly surprising to the man on the other end of the conversation.
"Gee lady, I didn’t think you were interested in a dumb ol’ grease monkey like me. I wouldn’t worry none though on account of this one is way over yonder outa ma league." Popping another Coors open, he smiled.
"You idiot! I’m not flirting with you. I’m trying to get some information about the customer. Just so I am absolutely certain we are both talking about the same woman, what did she look like? Don’t drool all over the telephone, Mr. Ribaldi, just describe her please." Martha started the car and waited for the answer, all the while dreading it.
Ruben scowled, took another swallow and shrugged. "What did she look like, ya say. Tall. Damn near six foot, I’d guess. Long dark hair and a great big pearly white smile she seemed more’n glad to gimme. Oh and blue eyes. Real blue eyes. Won’t be forgettin’ them eyes no time soon, I kin tell ya."
"Shit." The publisher turned the engine off and leaned back into the vinyl seat. "Thank you, Mr. Ribaldi. I’ll get back to you."
"Well, about them jackets. How many more ya got? I mean we could make us some real money here lady." Ruben held the phone out and stared at it for a moment. "Lady? Lady, you still there?"
No, Martha Isaacs wasn’t on the telephone anymore. She was somewhere else entirely. She was in a world of hurt............and she knew it.
"What are you doing? I thought we were gonna go home and I was gonna cook dinner." Gillian was a little confused when Max pulled the bike to a stop at their favorite take-out restaurant.
Removing the helmet and shaking her hair free, Max turned slightly before answering. The pain in crystal blues did not go unnoticed. "I thought I would treat you instead of making you go home and cook, especially after behaving like an ass and hurting your hand back there. I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. I have very good reason for being so mad but it could never excuse hurting you. I love you so much, Gill."
Two small hands cupped the face, now filled with the ache of regret. "I love you too, Max. More than I ever dreamed possible and you didn’t really hurt me honey. I’m fine. Stop beating yourself up about a simple accident." Green eyes twinkled with mischief. "However, far be it from me to discourage you from your path of redemption...especially if it involves Chicken Curry with steamed brown rice and vegetable egg rolls."
Blue eyes finally smiled. "Oh it does. It does. Egg drop soup too if you play your cards right."
"Well, big spender, what do I get to drink with this little feast?" the blonde asked.
"Hey! I know how to treat my lady. I’m going next door for a whole six pack of ice cold Yoo-Hoo." Max waggled her brows and helped her wife stand.
"Oh boy," snickered the artist. Looking down at the bulging saddlebags, Gillian cocked her head to the side and grinned. "I don’t know what you’re up to Max, but it must be a real doozie." Hearing a rumbling sound from beneath her tailored jacket, she laughed again. "The beast is awake."
Max leaned in close and whispered into one of her two favorite ears in the entire world: "Oh I plan to wake up ALL the beasts before this night is out."
"Oh gods," moaned Gillian as her wife’s tongue darted across a sensitive lobe. "Food. We were gonna get food."
Max smiled against the tanned cheek. "Got mine right here in my arms. Maybe we better feed you though. I have a feeling you’re gonna need your strength."
"Oh gods," moaned the blonde again. Green peered into blue and found all she ever wanted. "Thought you were mad."
"First things first," came the serious reply. "First food. Then YOU. Then....You again."
"Max!"
"Hey! I seem to recall you offering to distract me," giggled the brunette as they stepped into the restaurant.
She’s up to something, thought Gillian. Still, she smiled from the inside outward: a promise is a promise.
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