The Lady and the Trucker

mf


It was a short run from La Porte to Champaign, but it was the last run of a
long day of contract hauling. Mike was tired and wanted to get some sleep,
so he almost didn't stop for the slim figure in white, holding out a pitiful
thumb. The glare of headlights was unforgiving, picking out every detail of
tired skin and soiled clothing. But there was still something desirable
about those curves, and it wouldn't be human to expect a lonely man to turn
down a shot at them. He pulled over.

"Where ya going?" she called up, hand over her face to shield against the
glare.

"Champaign."

"Is that anywhere near Chicago?"

Mike shook his head, bewildered. "Lady, where are you coming from?"

"Connecticut. But I lost my map, and my last ride wasn't going any closer
than this. This is the best I could do." She sounded stubborn. Like she was
gonna get to Chicago if she had to go through Austin, San Jose, and St. Paul
to do it.

"Well, I'm not going to Chicago, but you're not likely to get another ride
tonight. Why don't you come to Champaign with me and maybe we can find you
someplace to sleep?" Mike smiled at her, the smile that had won over a
hundred waitresses from La Porte to Tallahassee.

She didn't hesitate a minute. As he swung open the passenger door, she swung
a small hand up to the handle and hauled her body inside, landing with a
muffled thump on the padded seats. He'd gotten them covered in fake fur a
couple of years ago. They were starting to wear through, but they were still
a whole lot kinder to bare skin than the original vinyl.

She had nothing with her. No purse, no backpack. Mike had picked up a lot of
hitchhikers in his time, and every single one of them, no matter how down
and out she looked, had something to carry that last photo, that small hoard
of cash. Judging by the tightness of her jeans, this lady wasn't hiding much
of anything in them either.

She swung the door closed, and settled back with a deep sigh. Mike glanced
over at her. In the gentle moonlight she looked a whole lot better. Soft
curves were outlined under a thin lace top, curves shielded only by a fall
of pale wheat hair. Not quite your typical blue-eyed blond, though. Her eyes
were ice blue, her skin ghost-pale. She looked like she'd blow away in the
lightest breeze, or melt in a summer storm.

"What's your name, lady?"

She stiffened. "I'd rather not tell you. Do you need something to call me? I
can make something up." The lady suddenly looked almost dangerous. Cornered.
Terrified.

"Nah, that's okay. Although you could have made something up and I would've
believed you. How 'bout I just call you 'lady'?"

She laughed softly, relaxing again. "That's fine." Mike glanced over to
catch that smile, and suddenly realized that she wasn't really relaxed. Her
hands were clenched into tight balls, her fingers digging into sweaty palms.
She lifted her head, watching him watching her. She smiled. Mike's breath
caught at the sexiness in that smile. Suddenly he didn't want to start the
truck again. He wanted nothing more than to peel off those tight jeans, and
shred that lace top.

He wanted to dig his fingers into those soft breasts, to squeeze the hard
nipples he could see stretching the fabric. Funny how after so many women
the curve of a full breast could still drive him crazy. If he didn't start
moving soon, he'd take her right now. Mike preferred his women willing,
though, and this one still looked scared. Maybe in a couple of hours she'd
be a little more willing. Maybe in a couple of hours, he wouldn't be quite
so patient.

Mike took a deep breath and started the truck again, heading back onto the
highway, going west. She was silent beside him for a long time, maybe an
hour or so till they hit I-57 and started heading south. The moon hid behind
a cloud and the only light was from Indiana stars. Then suddenly she started
talking, opening her mouth and letting the words pour out. Bridgeport with
leaves falling, the sweetness of hot cider and apple donuts, the hills that
closed off the sky. The miles of Midwest emptiness that had frightened her,
but had freed her too. There was a huge empty place in her heart, wide as
the plains.

Then the lady told him why she ran, the man behind the story. Mike listened
to her dry-eyed, making the appropriate noises. It was a story to break a
heart, if you'd never heard one like it before. Unfortunately, too many of
the waitresses told the same tale.

She was beautiful in pain, thin and drawn taut under the tension. As they
pulled into a deserted rest stop, half an hour from Champaign, she had just
finished telling him about her journey. The truckers who'd offered her a
ride in exchange for a bed. The ride before last had taken her bag, her
money, her clothes.

She might have died that night if a hooker hadn't taken pity on her and
given her something to wear. Naked women didn't last long on the streets.
The flood of words dried to a trickle, then a halt, in pace with the motion
of the truck.

"You're beautiful." he told her. It was a line that had worked many times
before, perhaps because he meant it every time. All Mike wanted was to treat
her gently, to kiss away those lines on her forehead. He wanted to taste the
salt at the back of her neck, to give her pleasure she had never known. Mike
wanted to run his hands down her long limbs, to tilt the soft seat back as
far as it would go, and go down on her until she screamed. To treat the lady
better some of the bastards on the road.

The line worked this time too, it seemed. Her body softened, lips tilting up
to smile at him, to beg for a kiss. She closed her eyes then. Mike leaned
across to her -- only then did he notice the hands still clenched,
fingernails digging bruised crescents into her palms. At that moment, he
knew what else she'd gotten from the hooker; she'd learned how to convince
the johns that she was enjoying what they did to her. And, being such a
lady, she'd learned to do it with grace. Mike pulled away abruptly,
painfully.

"I gotta go. There's a ladies' room in back." Mike said, as he swung down
out of the cab.

When he came back, she was still sitting there, looking slightly stunned,
slightly scared.

"Hey, listen --" he said as he gunned the engine, "I gotta friend who lives
in Champaign; owns a jewelry shop in the mall there. She's a little crazy,
and doesn't answer to her real name anymore, but she's a good kid. Why don't
you stay with her tonight? You oughta be able to find someone going up to
Chicago in the morning."

"That...sounds good," the lady replied hesitantly.

"Do you have somebody to stay with up there?" Mike asked.

She still looked surprised, and her eyes were dead, but there was a bit of a
smile in her voice as she said, "Yes, actually. A girlfriend from high
school, working in Hyde Park now."

"Good," Michael said. He started whistling then, some tune he didn't
remember the words to. She didn't say anything and he didn't stop whistling
until they pulled into the driveway of a large house at four am. He left her
there at the door, his friend small and sleepy-eyed beside the lady.