Breathless

They say that threes a crowd but sometimes it's a good balance of tension and release when the personalities form a triangle. I liked her, yes I have to admit I actually liked one of Drew's girlfriends. Usually he hooks up with over intellectualized fresh out of sociology school women who need to change the world, but not this time. No, this time I like the girl enough to fold up my legs and spread out in the back seat of Drew's Pontiac, make the sacrifice in the name of faux 21st century chivalry.

For the record, I have since been corrected by you know who Drew. The car was a 1977 Pontiac Esprit, and NOT a Transam. The back seat was in excellent condition because it was owned by Drew, and before that Drew's father drove it and we know his father only had sex twice in his whole life, so it never had any use. Still with the roof open, meaning glass plates were in the trunk with the beer, ventilation was sufficient enough to keep me comfortable. Besides, Carla seemed be the best map reader to live in Burbank. Maybe I should write Guinness.

When the summer's day comes to an end in California you can usually catch the vista through the pollution enough to sigh and think wistfully oh how nice as the sun sinks into the ocean. There is less haze in Baja and once you get out of Mexicali and off highway 1, a lot less cars. Frantic fantastic California drops away, the wild sandy west envelops you, and the air adopts electricity. As we pulled over a ridge and descended towards the beach, the sun started it's slow degrade into night all to the sound of Sasha's Encore Une Fois.

The sun had completely gone by the time we got to the party, and we didn't need Carla's map reading skills to find it. We heard the noise a mile or two away, even over the crashing surf, and the bonfire was a good six feet high. I realized that this was where all the cars in Baja Norte had been while we were driving. There must have been thirty or so California plates parked just where the road ends, and a dozen 4x4s on the beach around the bonfire, and someone's Suburban was cranking out some serious bass. I noticed my brother's beat up Honda parked as we pulled up to the mass of cars.

Drew, me, and Carla grabbed a case of beer each and went looking for the coolers. They were not hard to find, and the beer was not in short supply - our three cases made almost no difference to the masses of alcohol on supply.

I pulled duty emptying the cases as one of Drew's friends whom I never remember his name dragged him and Carla off to talk to some people. Drew is a bigger deal than me, don't ask, just understand that sometimes lame people are insanely lucky, and he's got the gift of sometimes because producers and directors just love that guy.

I was unloading the last case and I noticed a pair of legs standing next to me as I was hunched over. Her toes were painted hot pink, and she was tanned or dark or whatever. She had princess feet, feet that seemed to never have been calloused, never restricted by hard shoes, and perfect ankles leading the shapeliest calves I have yet seen.

Before I got to her knees I hear her voice. It was ever soft, gentle, and low, an excellent thing in a woman. It had the subtle trace of the earth in it, rolling from her throat, washing around inside my ears, giving me nice goose bumps.

"I love your shorts", her accent was south of the border.

In a split second, not to miss a thing, my gaze crept up her body calculating as best it could while under the erotic assault of the sexiest voice I had ever heard. Her legs were shapely, thin and elegant, she was a thin trim girl wearing a white see through sundress with a light blue bikini underneath. Her face was more Penelope Cruz with a hint of Eva Longoria, and her dark hair seemed to be perpetually in distress flowing in the breeze.

"Oh, these old...", I was cut off as I saw her eyes for the first time. Liquid pools of almond, showing hints of authority, of a woman with inner fire, of innocence, vulnerability, sophistication, and yearning. She left me breathless.