Off on the left hand side, cars stick up out of the barren ground. They are half buried in the dirt. I count ten of them jutting into the sky. Out of place, but undeniably beautiful. We drive on past, but then Eddie flips a bitch and we’re heading back the way we came.
“What are you doing?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Where are we going?”
No response. The buried cars are getting closer.
“What kind of cars are those?”
“What are they doing out there?”
“It’s art, baby. This is Cadillac Ranch.”
“Like the Springsteen song?” And I’m excited. More than I’ve been in the last year.
He nods and parks, sending up a plume of dust.
“Did you stop here too with your daddy?” I ask, getting out of the car.
Another nod. Did I mention Eddie is a man of few words? He doesn’t need them. Not when his body says so much.
The sun is an eye-burning orange, the dirt beneath my feet a thirsty brown, and all around is blue sky for miles and miles with wispy white clouds threaded through the heavens. It’s a gorgeous day. A group of tourists are leaving as we stroll up to the cars. We meet in no-man’s land – three hundred feet from the road, the same distance to from the Cadillacs. They smile and nod. By the time we reach the art, they’re on the road and gone.
Eddie pushes me up against the third graffiti covered Cadillac.
His mouth is on mine and I can taste the jalapeños from the Burger from Hell on his tongue.
Pinning me to the car with the weight of his body, he stops our kiss, prematurely if you ask me, and says,“You’re a wicked woman, Etta.”
Those are the only words spoken. We laugh and kiss. Unbutton and unbuckle sweat laden clothes and laugh. Laugh and grope each other. His hand is between my damp thighs and I don’t care that people can see us from the highway. This is easy. A free moment not weighed down by the mission I’m on.
And we don’t stop, not even when I see a car pull in behind Candy, or its driver walking the long dirt path toward us.
Eddie’s mouth is pressed against the hollow of my sweaty neck when I come and a minute later he finishes up. Laughing, I fasten my jeans. Standing out there in the desert, the rainbow bright Cadillacs glinting in the sun, I get to thinking Eddie and I should go on a road trip after all this. A real road trip where we can stop at Roadside America sites and stay in shitty hotels, eat bad food and fuck the days away. I brush the loose strands of my auburn hair from my lips and turn around.
The blonde is only a hundred feet away. Closing my shirt with a tug, I motion for Eddie to come along. We have to get going and now that the deed is done, I’m not sure how I feel about the show we gave this stranger.
When we pass, her eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, but there’s a soft smile on her lips. “Don’t you just love art?”
British. She’s far from home. And there’s a slyness in her words that makes me grin. Heat flushes my face, but I glance her up and down and reply with, “Makes me horny.”
“Me too.” Then she’s walking away, towards the cars jutting up out of the ground. Her ass winks at me as she goes.
Eddie asks, “Do you know her?”
“She’s my best friend.” He catches my sarcasm and shakes his head.
The British woman is driving an old Volkswagen Jetta – Delaware plates. While Eddie opens Candy, I peer back through the heat towards the Caddies. She’s standing where I was when I came.