Reins

Chapter 4. Book V ~ Edition II

The rule, only date hot women, dictated, dating hot women opens the door to more hot women, and dating average looking women closes the door to fucking hot women. Six months of dating Rēos led to this rule’s implementation after dinner one night at Ruby Tuesday. 

Our server, who happened to be a sexy college girl, brought the entrées. “Here you go. Be careful, the plates are hot.” 

“Thanks.” Looking up, I noticed her name tag. “Reins is a cool name. Is that your real name?” 

“Yah, thanks.” Her horrible Boston accent stabbed my ears. 

As I began eating, Rēos pointed at her dinner. “Excuse me. I don’t think my steak is medium.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Let me get you another one.” Reins tilted her head in a fake smile.  

“How about now? Is now good for you?” Rēos snapped with a grin. 

“I’ll get right on that; I wouldn’t want you to starve.” 

Their exchange of snarky remarks almost went unnoticed along with Reins' advance when she delivered the bill. A phone number and little heart scrawled on the receipt drew attention to the five-foot girl looking over her shoulder with raised eyebrows as if to say, yes, I know you’re staring at my ass. Reins’ black jeans hugged each tempting curve revealing a perfect ass framed in an athletic musculature. Her face’s flawless porcelain skin appeared like fragile glass just before turning her head of jet-black hair and vanishing into the restaurant's kitchen. 

Rēos and I finished our date at the apartment, having hot, dreamy sex filled with thoughts of Reins’ perfect ass and sexy look. The next morning, Rēos spoke of work while applying makeup in the bathroom. Having no idea where she worked, I agreed while rummaging through pockets looking for Reins’ number. Rēos appeared at the bedroom door and blew a kiss with her hand. “I’ll call you. I’m late.” 

Finding the phone number as Rēos left, I called Reins and exchanged standard introductory information for determining lunacy and homicidal intentions, and upon normalcy confirmation, we made plans. Bad timing due to a family emergency postponed the date until she returned to town the following Sunday. Unsure of the truthfulness of this excuse, thinking she had second thoughts, I placed little faith in the date but remained somewhat hopeful. 

Friday before the date with Reins, discussions of women filled the truck returning from a job. Stan dealt with a relationship problem, and Sissy boasted meeting some supposedly hot girl while ways to improve my sex life churned in thought. We shared the occupation of a mover, but little else. I resided in the yuppie-populated White Marsh while Stan and Sissy lived in Essex, the armpit of the earth, brimming with drug addicts and drunks. Living in White Marsh resulted from learning a long time ago to spend more money on rent to avoid crackhead neighbors burglarizing or having a fistfight outside the front door, something they never learned, as evidenced by their constant complaints of neighborhood drama. 

Stan and Sissy appeared comfortable in Essex and with the women they met on Friday nights at titty bars or local dives, spending paychecks on rounds of drinks to play the big man. Bars sometimes held appeal, but never the absurdity of going to a titty bar to spend half a paycheck just to talk with a naked girl. Similarly, Stan and Sissy would never sit at home or in a coffee shop on a Friday night reading a book, and their idea of a date usually meant a local bar or a diner if they felt fancy. Personal preferences defined the real differences between us, and these preferences extended into women and relationships.  

The goodness of fucking hot women found universal agreement, but even this understanding held many nuances. Referring to a woman as hot always garnered Stan and Sissy’s agreement, but women they referred to as hot, I often considered beastly. The desire to fuck hot girls like Rēos and Reins necessitated further distancing from guys like Stan and Sissy, which presented a challenge since we all worked the same job for the same money. 

Transportation held a sensible solution since lack of a car stifled sex in the high cost of renting cars or hiring taxis and imposed the limitation of only dating women agreeable to dating a guy without a car. Meeting Rēos seemed anomalous and rare when considering the availability of hot, sexual dynamos willing to drive a guy around just to fuck him. These points overrode any lack of desire to own a vehicle. “Guys, I’m thinking about getting a car. What should I get?” 

Sissy leaned forward into the cab. “I’d get a Mustang if I were you. Those new ones are awesome looking.” 

Stan stuck his head into the cab. “Yeah, man, a mustang or maybe a truck like a Bronco or an Explorer.” 

Sherēm shook his head. “You should get something inexpensive and economical like a compact car. You see how gas prices are constantly changing. Those gas guzzlers they’re talking about will kill you in cost.” 

Later at the company, as I finished cleaning and locking Sherēm’s trailer, Diek, the assistant warehouse manager, drove by in his Jeep. With the Jeep’s top lowered and radio playing, the vehicle sparked a curiosity to follow Diek up the ramp into the warehouse. 

As ex-military, Diek seemed strict and task-oriented, but conversations revealed his humor and judicious nature as well as a source of good, practical advice. Although about the same age, efforts to connect with Diek mired in the difficulty of a work schedule that left little time beyond his live-in girlfriend, kid, and the occasional beer. 

Standing beside the Jeep, he unloaded supplies from the backseat and checked them against a list on a clipboard as I began studying the Jeep. “Diek, your Jeep is pretty cool. Can I ask you how it is on gas?”  

The pent waters of Jeep knowledge flowed. “Man, you should get a Jeep. It’s four-wheel-drive so you can travel in any weather. With a Jeep, you get the best of all vehicles. It’s sporty like a convertible and practical when you need to get somewhere in the snow. My girlfriend and daughter love it for taking a drive.” 

A glance outside the warehouse revealed all the office staff either owned Jeep Wranglers or four-door Jeeps adding support to his Jeep lecture. Avoiding the miserable experience of walking in the snow like I endured my first year also held great appeal. 

Thanking Diek for the information, I took a taxi to a local dealership to further investigate the Jeep. A walk around the Jeeps at the dealership revealed the unexpected issue of the new ones lacking the impressiveness of Diek’s Jeep. New Jeeps sat lower to the ground with none of the accouterments such as nice fender flairs and larger tires. The standard factory Jeep did not include those accessories, and outfitting the Jeep made her expensive. 

The need to buy a different vehicle festered disappointment until a salesman approached. Discussing the situation and relating the desire for something similar to Diek’s Jeep caused the skilled salesman to point his thumb to the dealership garage. “No problem. Follow me. We just got this one in today. It’s a repo, but it’s in awesome shape.” 

Behind the dealership's garage stood an impressive Jeep possessing all the accouterments that the prior owner added during a few months of ownership. She appeared more stylish than Diek’s Jeep, with a higher suspension lift and huge tires giving a monolithic look. The salesmen handed me the keys. “Hey, it’s a nice spring day; let’s take the top down so you can take her for a test drive.” 

Possessing no auto expertise, driving the Jeep added no information to the buying decision. After touring the surrounding area, I turned the vehicle around to return to the dealership at White Marsh Mall in front of Reins' Ruby Tuesday. On a slow pass of the mall entrance, a super-hot girl stood along the curb, and glancing at her, she beamed. “That’s a nice Jeep.” The smiling blonde and the Ruby Tuesday beyond combined with thoughts of the pending date with Reins, making clear the necessity to return to the dealership and purchase the Jeep. 

Sunday’s date with Reins arrived, and despite putting little faith in the date, the new Jeep inspired confidence. Parking outside Reins’ apartment building across from Towson University dispelled the suspicion her address might be fake when she emerged from the building. Exiting the driver's side, I assisted her climb in the passenger door, and while stepping inside, she looked around, confirming the wise decision to purchase the vehicle. “Nice Jeep.” 

We went to dinner, and over drinks, she related the death of a relative that delayed our first date, but all efforts to be sympathetic failed in the hotness produced from her stylish skirt and top. Lacking fashion sense did not deter noticing her savvy, metropolitan flair that belonged twirling in the neon of Time's Square. That look captivated me as the evening passed chatting about life's important things. 

“You know I hate your accent?” I removed the olives from my martini and placed them in hers.  

“What? This is the accent of the Kennedy’s. I’m like American royalty,” She laughed and stirred her martini with the swizzle of olives. 

“I don’t know. You sound more like Whitey Bulger ordering a hit on a rival gang member.” 

“Fuck you. Zooin' on me won’t get you fah.” 

“I have no idea what that means?” 

The stimulating conversation continued and turned to her childhood. 

I sipped my martini. “I’m impressed. You took ballet and played the violin. Why did you stop dance?”  

“There’s a certain point in ballet when you realize you’re not going to be a professional ballerina. By sixteen, I knew I wasn’t going any further with dance. That’s okay; I had fun.” 

“Tell me about the violin.” 

She smiled and leaned forward. “I’m no Grappelli, but I can play a little jazz. Would you like to hear me play?” 

“As long as you don’t sing with that accent.” 

The evening returned us to her apartment, where five college kids played video games and drank cheap beer in the living room. Reins spoke with her roommate in the kitchen for a minute and returned with a bottle of wine that she motioned, signaling me to follow her. Entering her room, I closed the door as she turned with a grin and handed me the bottle. With a push, she fell back on the tiny bed, laughing, “Open the bottle.” 

With the place of my knee on the bed, the twisting crack of the cheap wine’s cap mixed with Reins laughter as she fumbled with my pants and belt. “Now, let’s see what we have to work with…”  

Somewhere around four a.m., the need to go to work drove me from the bed to dress. While pulling on pants, the streetlight poured in the window, highlighting a nude, slumbering Reins whose perfect ass smiled and made leaving difficult. Stopping a moment watching Reins sleep brought a strange awareness, and bending over, I brushed her hair from her face as a mixed feeling of selling-out or fakeness overcame me. I kissed her cheek, then quietly exited her room to step with care over the drunk college kids littering the apartment, to hurry home, to shower, and to leave for work. 

The dread of going to work exhausted and coming off a drunk found some solace in knowing the desire for hot women necessitated sacrifice. Seeing Sissy walking down the street a short distance from work, I pulled over, and he climbed in when offered a ride. “Damn. You weren’t kidding when you said you were getting a new car. This is cool.” 

“Thanks. Yeah, I’m really digging this Jeep.” 

He looked around, noticing all the different Jeep features and finished his exploration looking down at the floor. “What do we have here.” 

Sissy held up a Ruby Tuesday’s name tag, which Reins likely dropped from her purse getting in the Jeep or left on purpose as a fuck-you gift for Rēos. He eyeballed the tag and squinted. “Is she that small dark-haired waitress?”  

“Yeah, do you know Reins?” I parked in front of Atlas. 

“Edo and I worked a half-day a few weeks ago and went to Ruby Tuesday for lunch. She was our waitress.” 

As we exited the vehicle, helpers and drivers gathered to inspect and judge the new Jeep and ask many questions, 

“How much?
“Six or four cylinders? 
“What kind of warranty?” 

As I answered questions, Sissy shouted, “Edo, remember a couple of weeks ago when we ate at Ruby Tuesday? Remember our waitress? Vinnie got a new Jeep and the waitress.” 

Edo ran over to Sissy, who held up the name tag, which made Edo turn to me. “Damn man, you fucking that fine-ass girl? I got to get me a Jeep. Shawty is sweet.” 

The Jeep also made Diek happy, and after work, he made me bring it inside the warehouse to impart many Jeep lessons. “So remember, if you’re driving down the road, and you pass someone in a Jeep, you’ll need to wave to them. It’s proper Jeep etiquette. Now, if you are going to take this four-wheeling, there are some improvements you need to make…” 

Buying the Jeep had a far more beneficial impact on life than expected as people began acting differently. Although they would never admit it, the guys at work gave me more respect because of the Jeep and dating two girls, especially Reins, who inspired many questions.  

“Vinnie, how’s that girl of yours?” 
“Wassup Vinnie, you still dating that fine waitress?” 
“Yo Vinnie, why is shawty dating an ugly fucker like you?” 

The bosses also treated me better than other helpers, and this new elevation in status seemed almost unbelievable since nothing about me improved. The mixed feelings of selling out and fakeness returned strong, conflated with foolishness for not recognizing the classist, shallow behavior I despised vehemently held the key to success. 

Working in the warehouse, organizing equipment with Raimo held the pleasure of the diligent worker who never complained, unlike the careless, lazy crackheads who felt the need to verbalize every thought. Mentally challenged guys like Raimo, evoked sympathy for the isolation suffered by their limited conversation’s about work or misquoting things heard in church or other places. The unknown quantities of life passed him in unawareness of his position, making him appear happy and undisturbed by job and relationships. Perhaps Raimo’s incognizance provided some bliss, but ignorance could be a curse like a person born in slavery who never knows freedom and only hardship. Certainly, a slave not knowing freedom is not living in bliss. 

While cleaning storage crates and folding pads, Raimo inquired in his broken communication, “Them guys was saying you got a new pretty girl.” 

“Yeah, she’s cool.” 

He lifted a pad and folded. “The calculation can’t be made. Love sacrifices must be paid. God’s truth goes deep to the marrow. Arrow piercing straight and narrow. Cannot love be formulated. Be it known that love is fated. Subdued not in math provisions. Rationally free intentions.” 

While absently agreeing with Raimo, thoughts of Reins and Rēos began an erroneous comparison as if involved in a relationship. The more time spent with Reins, the more the need to stop dating Rēos increased. My relationship with Reins was as casual as the relationship with Rēos and differed only by having more in common with Reins. 

Natural gravitation to Reins occurred in the shared interest of reading and discussing literature. The confident, smart, scrappy Southie also understood the rules and traditions imparted by old, tough cities and argued fiercely with the Baltimorons. Raised in families that grew from working-class to upper-middle-class, we shared many of the same experiences. We also shared the curse of shitty accents, and although I despised that Boston accent, I liked it when she spoke. 

 Raimo placed some tools in a box. “The Sun God’s love to her was sent. Laurel tree away from him bent. Tree of woman that bore no fruit. Bends away on the purest root.” 

Contemplations of Reins and Rēos became a programmatic error forcing repetitive thoughts of needing to break up with Rēos while mindlessly agreeing with Raimo’s warped, religious mutterings. 

“The Sun knows this tale is love’s way. Sun knows logics cannot hearts sway. God’s wagering is pointless play. Will of the fates create the day. Emotionally beats love’s play.” 

Parting with Raimo and walking to my Jeep at the end of the day, the mulling of ways to stop dating Rēos ceased, deducing the situation required no action other than to stop calling her. Implementing this measure ended the dating after Rēos called a couple of times then stopped when brushed off with excuses. Noncommitment simplified dating and removed the undesirable aspects of crying or arguing.  

Everything went well for about a month until the sexual deficit came to light when Reins went home for the week of the Fourth of July, and the emptiness of the apartment became apparent. Self-inflicted celibacy and her plans to go home in August for a week inspired a rule: never stop fucking a girl unless you’re completely sick of her. 

The language of Massachusetts, Reins’ first language, challenged my understanding, and like me taming the inner Baltimoron, she tried to control the Southie, but that accent clearly resonated, and sometimes, her native tongue broke free in conversation.  

“Your Jeeps a wicked fahkin pissa.” Reins watched me drop the top for our drive. 

I stopped for a moment. “Are you calling my Jeep an old man’s dick?” 

“Whoa, what?” 

“A pisser is what old men call their dicks; Hon, I was crabbin’ and got my pisser pinched.” 

“Pissa, not pisser. What’s crabbin’?” She frowned and laughed. 

“I’ll tell you when we buy crabs.” 

Helping her into the Jeep her shorts revealed dancer’s legs that distracted tremendously from driving. She donned her dark sunglasses giving her a mysterious, sexy quality. “Are you sure you don’t mind going to the outlets? I want to get some new clothes, but the mall is so expensive.” 

“Nah, not at all. I like taking road trips. It’s good to let my Baltimoron out occasionally.” We drove from the apartment’s parking lot headed for the highway to the retail outlets in Pennsylvania. 

“Why do you say Baltimoron? Don’t you like Baltimore?” she called above the wind. 

“I didn’t for a long time, but I don’t feel that way anymore. Baltimoron is my term of endearment as well as a jab.” 

Her eyebrows curiously lifted above her sunglass rims. 

Merging onto the highway, I shifted into high gear. “Okay, Baltimorons are tough, hard-working people, but they can also be pigheaded and fight for no reason. They turned crabs into local cuisine, yet crabs are bottom feeders that eat anything from corpses to crap. There’s a duality in the people, and you kind of love them and hate them.” 

She smiled thoughtfully and removed one of her scrunchies from the gearshift as the wind blew her hair in random directions. “I’m not sure I want to try crabs now.” 

“You’ll like them. You get to eat with a mallet and a nutcracker while drinking beer. What’s not to like?” 

She laughed and finished making a ponytail. “Everyone is that way, you know?” 

“How do you mean?” 

“Two-sided like a coin. I think everyone exists in a duality of opposing forces. It’s something I learned when I was a kid on First Night.” 

Glancing her direction. “What’s that?” 

Her right hand hung in the air, moving up and down, riding a wave of passing wind. “In Boston, the New Year’s event is called First Night, and you can see lots of different shows, and there’s tons of food. There’re also ice sculptures. I like going just to see the ice sculptures.  

“Once, my parents took me when I was little, and I saw a ballerina sculpted in the ice. She was so beautiful; she might have been my motivation to dance. She stood perfectly balanced on one toe with hands stretched as if effortlessly holding all the weight of the dark sky.” Reins looked up, holding open hands to the sky. “The light refracting off her in the icy air made her seem unbreakable.” She dropped her hands in her lap and looked my way. “A short while later, some idiots throwing ice balls cracked off her left hand, and she wasn’t the same. That small damage stole her strength and symmetry, and that image of the broken ballerina stayed with me. Maybe, everything beautiful is fragile.” 

I silently stared at her, and she pointed at herself. “What? I’m more than just a pretty face. I’m going to be a lawyer, you know.” 

Laughter broke the silence as we turned off the highway to find a lonely gas station not far from the exit ramp and parked under the awning guarding the lanes. A storm neared as Reins jumped from the Jeep and dashed for the store while I pumped gas. “Hey, grab me a coke or pop or whatever the hell you call soda.”  

She turned and playfully gave me the finger. When she returned, the rain began falling as I finished pumping gas. “I’ll put the top up.” 

She climbed and sat on the hood. “Don’t bother. It’s just summer rain. It’ll pass. Here’s your soda.” 

I opened my soda and eyeballed her drink. “What did you get?” 

“A frappe with jimmies.” She lifted a spoonful of ice cream. 

I squeezed between her strong ballerina legs as she gave me a bite of her frappe. Dotting my nose with some ice cream, she giggled, kissing it away. I didn’t always understand what she said, but I perfectly understood the language she spoke when she traded bites of her frappe for kisses.