Out of the Frying Pan - Part 6
"Let me remind you, Marla, we are good looking, we are free, and we have a shitload of money. That’s a lot to be thankful for, if you ask me, kid."
Hey ! It’s another of your favorite 8-MINUTE road trips with Haylene and Marla — this time they are heading north to New Orleans. This is PART 6, out of the archive of 2024. If you like it there are six other road trips with these two women on the loose. Jump in the old Camaro and let’s hit the highway. Click for PART 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and PART 7
“Okay, so here’s the deal,” said Haylene, licking the salt from the rim of her cocktail glass. “Jerome and I have decided to go our separate ways. We are definitely Split City. We had a lot of fun, I’ll tell you what! But our romance has come to an end.”
“You mean just because of that incident with Wanda?”
“Wanda! That little mattress monkey? That girl can just kiss my go to hell, and that’s all I’m saying about her.”
It was a brilliant red-orange evening in the fine state of Florida. The sun was sliding in sideways under a layer of clouds, lighting up the sky like neon, turning the palm trees into post-card perfect silhouettes. The pelicans were parading in a long line, dipping and climbing just above the surf as Marla and Haylene sat lounging on the lanai, drinking Margaritas and eating Cheese Puffs out of a large Pyrex bowl.
“But Haylene, how many hundreds of times does that man have to apologize to you? It was just one little indiscretion — he doesn’t care anything about Wanda.”
“Oh, honey, I know. He’s apologized plenty for his little one-night fling, but I don’t care about that. Men are men, they can’t help it. It is in their DNA. A man’s brain is always his second-most motivating body part. You know that.”
“Yeah.”
“But when it comes right down to it,” said Haylene, licking the fluorescent orange Cheese Puff dust off her fingertips, “Jerome and I, we’re just plain geographically incompatible. He wrestles alligators and he’s gotta stay in Loxahoochie where the work is, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna leave my beautiful home and move down to that backwater.”
“Well, no, I can’t see that happening. Ever.”
“Let me remind you, Marla — We are beautiful, we are free as birds and we have more money than we know how to spend. That’s a lot to be thankful for, kid! So why are we sitting around here? What do you say we go look for some fun? I am thinking we should take a little spin through Louisiana for a couple of weeks? You know — Cajuns and all! Think of it!
The old yellow Camaro flew up the I-95, cutting through Florida like a hot knife through butter. They pulled into Tallahassee by 4:30 and checked into a large, overpriced room at the upscale Hotel Duval for the night. Haylene wasn’t much for exercise, but they headed for the fitness center, thinking it would be a good idea since they’d just spent six hours cramped up in the car.
~~~~~
“Aaack! Get me offa this thing, Marla! I can’t get it to stopppppp!” Marla jumped off the treadmill and ran over to extricate Haylene from the elliptical. “This thing’s a goddamn death-trap. I feel like I been attacked by an egg-beater. Let’s get out of here and go get a drink, for Pete’s sake!”
Eight p.m. found them hanging out in the rooftop lounge. Haylene, with her platinum hair piled high as whipped cream on peach pie, and wearing her short leopard-print halter dress, was flirting, as usual, with any man that caught her eye. Despite being nearly 43, she was the recipient of more than a few appreciative stares from the single gentlemen in the bar, and no doubt a few married ones as well. Young Marla was used to her housemate’s favorite pastime, so while Haylene perched on a bar stool drinking a Manhattan courtesy of a tall curly-haired guy in thick-rimmed glasses, Marla stood out on the deck with a Mai Tai. Surveying the Tallahassee city lights spread out below her, she was lost in a memory, giving thanks that Haylene had rescued her from her creepy stepfather in Tennessee. She shuddered to think of it even now.
By nine in the morning they were heading west on the I-10 for a six-hour drive to New Orleans. The car radio was tuned to WQIK out of Jacksonville, “the #1 country music station". The playlist was made up of old favorites such as, “I’m the Only Hell My Mama Ever Raised”, “How Can I Miss You If You Won’t Go Away”, and “It Ain’t Love, But It Ain’t Bad.”
Marla and Haylene were singing along with Bobby Bare that fine old spiritual, Drop Kick Me Jesus Through the Goal Posts of Life. …
Just outside of Pensacola, the Camaro sputtered a few times, coughed and lurched sideways like it was doing the foxtrot. “What the hell is that?” said Haylene, pulling into the slow lane, and then well off the highway onto the wide shoulder. The engine wheezed a few more times and died, right up next to the flowering oleanders and the chain link fence.
“Now what? Son of a gun!” said Haylene. “This engine is as dead as the Equal Rights Amendment.”
“Let’s just get out, Haylene, and put the hood up. Somebody will come along.” They stood there in their little white shorts and sandals, blonde hair like semaphores in the onshore breeze. They were leaning back against the Camaro, watching three fighter jets fly in formation out over the gulf, no doubt out of Eglin, when a man on a Harley FLT pulled onto the shoulder, scattering gravel and dust, and then a second man skidded right up behind him on an old Sturgis.
“ Ooooh, now, look at that,” Haylene whispered. “There’s a couple of tall, handsome drinks of sweet tea.”
“Shush, Haylene!”
The men got off their bikes, pulled off their helmets and walked over. “Good morning, ladies. My name’s Trevor, and this is my brother Brad. Wow! Nice old Camaro. What is it, a ‘78?”
“It’s a ‘79.”
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“Damned if I know,” said Haylene. “You know anything about old cars?”
“Sure do. We could take a look for you. Might be something simple – you never know.” Trevor got his tools from his saddlebags. “Come on, brother, let’s see what’s going on here with this beauty.” They monkeyed around under the hood for about ten minutes. Then Brad got behind the wheel, turned the key and it started right up.
“There you go. All set. A wire’d come loose from the distributor, is all, but we got it back together for you. You’re good to go - but you might want to get that looked at pretty soon to make sure it’s running right.”
Haylene weaseled them into going to lunch together – her treat, before getting back on the road, and the four soon found themselves on the sun deck of the Oar House looking out over the water, tall frosty Arnold Palmers in their hands, fish and chips on the way. “So, are you two ladies sisters?”
“Nah, we’ve just been hanging out for a year or so, best friends – we’re sorta like peas and carrots.”
“Where you headed?”
“We live down in Vero Beach,'“ said Haylene, “and just decided to spend a couple of weeks driving around Louisiana, hoping our reputation does not precede us.”
Marla added, “ It’s my job to keep Haylene out of trouble, but it doesn’t always work out. She landed us in jail twice on our last trip. How about you two?”
“We’re from Philadelphia and we’ve been riding around the country together — we try to stay out of trouble, too, if we can.”
“Well, that’s a damn shame. I can’t help you there, boys,” said Haylene, brushing the bread crumbs off of her lap, and emptying her glass. “But you two are both sweet as apple pie and we are happy to have met you.
Haylene and Marla arrived at the swanky Bourbon Orleans Hotel in the center of the French quarter about two o’clock. Their second story suite had two large beds with fluffy white duvets, a minibar, and a wrought iron balcony that looked out onto the bustling New Orleans streets. They’d decided to lounge around the huge swimming pool in their bikinis, and rest up for the evening’s entertainment. Taking a sip of her gin and tonic, Haylene, noticed that there were only women around the pool at the moment. “We might as well be at the YWCA,” she complained. Marla was content to float around on her back in the shallow end of the pool and soak up the sun.
An older woman with long white hair was sitting alone on a lounge chair. She was wearing a wide-brimmed, chartreuse hat and a hot pink swimsuit that looked a bit skimpy for a woman her age, but she did it justice. She had a glass of white wine in one hand and a copy of Shades of Gray in the other. She looked up and smiled at them.
“Now that woman,” Haylene whispered. “is rocking that swimsuit, if you ask me.”
“How old do you think she is?” Marla whispered.
“Hard to say, but I would guess at least 70.”
“Let’s invite her to join us, Haylene. Might be fun.”
~~~~~
Bella had agreed to sit with them, and they discovered, to their amazement, that she was 81, and she was booked to read Tarot cards in the lounge that evening. She apparently traveled all over the country by bus, doing readings and participating in ritual theater.
“Eighty-one years old! Well don’t that beat all!” said Haylene. “That’s an interesting life you got going on, Bella.”
“You two come to the bar tonight after eight. I’ll read a couple of cards for you. Then we can hit the streets, in a manner of speaking. We’ll go around the corner to Bourbon Street for some bar-hopping and a little Zydeco. Maybe go on down to Tipitinos.” You like to dance?”
“You bet!” Bella was old enough to be her mother, but she was a woman after Haylene’s own heart. “Lets see what kind of fun we can find.”
Bella was standing at the bar dressed all in black and silver. Her low-cut black sweater, which showed off her dragon-fly tattoo, among other attributes, was sprinkled with silver studs and sequins. She wore high-heeled silver sandals with ankle straps, long dangles of earrings. A couple of black feathers decorated her long white hair – crow, or maybe raven? Her capri pants were so tight you could just about see her religion.
“This woman has more style than Carters has pills,” said Haylene.
• In PART 7 , the second half of this adventure, we follow the two women for a night out in New Orleans with Bella.
• Thank you to
for allowing brothers, Trevor and Brad, to ride their motorcycles through my story. To read Scott’s Vision Quest odyssey, click HERE. I recommend it.
The descriptions and details push the petal to the metal Camaro riders reliable to provide a good shoe. Trouble’s brewing but not in a glass. #7 next. Got to love these two characters.
Are these two hinding in your back bedroom closet???