Those Sterling Hours
When Love Can Appear From Out Of The Barren Desert...
I’d hedge a bet that most lovers meet one of two ways: they screw first and ask questions later, or someone picks up someone off the side of the road. Could be a crime, an accident, a meet-cute, or in my case, car trouble. Everyone loves to talk pretty about the Bug, but when you’re driving a stock-standard Super Beetle like I was, you get all them wonderful factory-line problems they had. And my little critter decided to suck his battery dry in the middle of nowhere, halfway to Doc’s.
I wasn’t in my apron or anything, and thank God I wasn’t because I had to get down and dirty in that little guy’s rear. Didn’t have a spare, didn’t have anything to jump start him. That car was an unlucky SOB back then. And it was with my rear in the air, jeans getting nipped by every little tab of metal in the back, that I heard a revving engine and one heckuva whistle.
The engine belonged to a bright yellow Jeep Cherokee, the kind covered in surfboards and headed for the local wave pool. The whistle belonged to Buck. When I turned around, got my curled black locks out of my eyes, I saw him.
He was built tough. Big broad shoulders, gray Sherman tank physique, if not as stocky as he is now. Dressed the same way too. Same old sandals, same old tank-tops, same old jeans and shorts. And that smile. That goofy-ass “wassup” smile. That I didn’t buy it for a minute, not when he came up behind ladies whistling like that. But then, in the first of many times, he turned it all around.
“Cute little critter those Bugs!” he smiled. “What’s the fella’s problem?”
Just like that. Like he had known me all his life, like we were next door neighbors. Kind, courteous, practically flew into the little guy’s engine. I told him who I was and where I worked.
“Nice to meet ya Miss Swanson,” he said, “Name’s Buck Sterling. Headed that way myself. Let’s see what we can do for ‘im.”
Buck Sterling. God what a name that was to have laid on me. Sounded like a comic my kid brother read way back when. But here he was, just a regular guy running around with a name like that, offering me a jump start. Which we tried.
And failed.
After a few more shots, he offered a ride to Doc’s, the little Bug hooked to his hitch. I didn’t have time to say no. Helped me up and into his Cherokee, got my car all secured, and without a care in the world, floored it. The Jeep leapt forward, my car rattled behind, and I wasn’t sure whether I should cling for dear life or not. He was headed the right way, hadn’t lost control, and had we gotten my ride up and running, I probably would’ve put my foot down too. Problem was he drove like his weighed too much to keep up.
I would’ve told him to slow down, but the moment we got talking, I forgot to. The way Buck disarms folks should be studied in bomb squad classes. He starts asking about work, what I’m up to, how’s life, all that jazz, and I keep chatting it up with him. He’s driving like the nicest maniac you’ve ever met, but you feel right at home. Favorite nugget of the day was this:
“Craziest order you ever took?” he asks me.
“Someone wanted a table full of brandy garnished with a tray of cannolis.” I said. “And the strangest thing was, he asked me this dead straight. No twitches, no drug eyes. Just a table of brandy with a plate of cannolis sat on the center.”
“Totally sober.”
“Yeah.”
He busts up, but pulls himself together long enough to ask the obvious question. “How the heck you manage that?”
“Cannolis were easy; Murray made ‘em in a jiff. As for the brandy, Doc himself was pouring full bars of glasses and then passing them to me as I filled the table.”
“What did he DO with ‘em though?” he pressed. “Like what’s a wolf, coming in alone, gonna do with like, 50 brandies and a half-dozen pastries.”
“Drink 10, eat 6, pay the tab and leave.”
We were in hysterics by the time we pulled up to the Oasis. When he offered to come back with a new battery for me, I couldn’t say no. For starters (to quote Doc) I didn’t want to be stranded at work. And for closers, he just wasn’t a stranger anymore. Took him all of half-an-hour, and it felt like I grew up with him.
I remember Poppa always told me you gotta watch your back out here every second you ain’t at home, with a gun in your hand, or with folks you know. He wasn’t a paranoid man, but he sure as hell could catch the bug when he wanted to. He was protective. Smart, but protective. And then from out of the desert, the time when you’re more likely to get yourself a duellist trying to goad you for sport, a crook on the run from Hell Patrol fit to do God-only-knows, I roll sixes and wind up with a genuine gentleman.
When I was chatting with the girls, they could see he had left quite the impression on me. And me being Miss Jane Swanson, of course I was trying to talk myself out of him.
“But what if it’s all a front? What if he’s a wanted man?” I’d ask.
Melissa was always the nearest springboard, and wasn’t having any of me. “Trust me Jane, if he was, finding a waitress with a broke-down car woulda been easy pickings.”
“What if we aren’t all that, y’know, compatible?”
Those hazel eyes came out on stalks. “He can talk about normal shit for more than five seconds without blacking out over to camshafts and cylinders. My Norman can’t manage that for more than two. God just put beefcake Lancelot in your lap, Jane. Don’t let him take him away just because you don’t know if it’s for real. Just take the time to find out. Worst case, you got a cute new friend by the sounds of it.”
And so, down comes the guard. Just in time for him to be back with the new battery. Strolls in, tells me its fixed, and sits right down, ready to have his order taken. Come to find out he’s a medium-well man. During the day it’d be a classic American burger and a fruit-protein smoothie of some kind, and at night, the same but with a Jack & Coke instead. Just one. “I like seeing the road ahead of me” he’d always say.
I know just about every regular in the house, Buck had been a regular customer for weeks now, and neither of us know how I had missed him. Maybe luck of the draw always kept us on opposite days, who knows. But the thing that always kept happening; he always checked in on me. I never had to make the first move. I did from time to time, but he would almost always call me over just to chat for a little bit between orders.
“Still driving strong Jane?” he’d lead in with. And of course the answer was yes, seemed that the Super Beetle had gotten a helluva tune-up while I wasn’t looking. We’d talk about all the usual small talk you could fit in 30 seconds; weather, the new and exciting whatever in your life. He always seemed to be adventuring, climbing mountains, fording canyons, just going all over and having a whale of a time. I wasn’t much good in the “excitement” factor, but he’d get tickled-pink when he heard I went racing a little for fun.
And so I kept seeing him there. Same corner, same one drink only, digging whatever band was on stage. And when I had the five seconds free, he’d wave me over. Make me feel like the whole world wasn’t on fire with work and chores and all that. And all it took was a few more nights of his wining and dining before I finally said yes...to him taking me on a drive.
We left Doc’s after work and the way he drove at night was probably twice as terrifying as during the day, if only because you could spit further than his ride’s hi-beams. But he liked the odds enough to keep playing with them. Almost took out a cactus, which made the pair of us jump, but when I felt that hand on mine and heard the earnest “jeez, you alright?” I chose not to spoil things. I think he just wanted to get my blood up, not scare me half to death.
He didn’t help with his choice of Makeout Point. Flat-pawed bastard didn’t jam his brakes until the front tires were two inches from falling off. He pulled back to safety, but I think I saw half my life flash before my eyes. Mostly just playing in the backyard.
When he coaxed me into his lap, I figured this was the moment of truth; love-em-or-leave-em or the real McCoy. He pulled the driver’s seat back, helped me over the gearshift and there I was, right between his legs. Right behind the wheel. Could’ve done anything that night. Went to town, talk about all the twisted things we enjoyed. My mind seemed so wrapped up in its own ideas that I didn’t realize what was happening, not until I heard him say, in a gentle voice, “Gosh you’re cute.”
He just had his arms around me, and his head right on my shoulder. Didn’t go in for a kiss or start mauling, just held me there under the stars. I think I was so damn tired “Watcha waiting for?” just kinda slipped out.
He nuzzled my neck, and with a chuckle, gave me the answer. “Nothing, I just like how you cuddle.”
I looked up and didn’t see that goofy smile anymore. His eyes were warm, his fur soft to the touch; he was just happy to be there.
“What you looking for?” I teased back. “Plucking up fair maidens off the road side the way you do?”
“Well.” he started. “Been doing a lot of thinking is all. Lot about why I’m here. Trailblazing up and down the hills ain’t bad. I used to work highway duty with Old Man Grant. But now I’m thinking I need a few more things in my life. A cute waitress sure is a start.” He snickered as he nuzzled me some more. “Wouldn’t mind a kid or two as well. Teach ‘em how to drive, climb, have fun out here. Maybe see ‘em bring some life back to the land.”
And that was it; big guy just wanted to be a dad. And of course, the sonofabitch made me blubber on our first night out together. Just kept squeezing me tight, nipping all over me at last, trying to wind me down, and after a while I did.
I think it just got to me, the dream of it. Of being together for as long as you lived, of having kids and seeing them grow up. And I don’t know how to explain it, but it felt right and wrong all at once. Part of me was Pop raving about the bombs and the bullets. Why bring kids into the world, why now? Not that he didn’t love us but because things got bad with the City and the desert after we were born. But the other half was me wondering where the hell I wanted to be when I got old. And I saw it. I saw it in Buck.
As he thumbed my tears away, I finally asked, “could we?”
“Right here right now?” Buck asked back.
I nodded, getting up on my knees so I could look him eye-to-eye. “Yeah. I want our firstborn to know he arrived on time. Right when I knew I loved his Papa.”
Love never felt better than with a man like him. Because, and I can say this to you and you’ll get: he was a MAN. That. Damn. Good. He’s a gentleman, a sweetheart, and an absolute stud. And I get to say all this because of a pretty little ring on my finger I ain’t ever taken off.
Sure enough, Junior came out an even nine months later; right on time. Laci we had the year after and they been growing ever since. And the craziest thing about it, we never lost that little something we had. I don’t know if it came tucked in that goofy smile of his, but Buck never let us drift. Not an inch. We had space when we needed it, if we ever got worked up over something, we knew what to do for each other to make it right. But he never let me forget how much I meant to him, in that moment, after all the small talking and all the joy. And I made sure he knew, no matter how many what-ifs cross our minds, he picked the right breakdown to help out.
Speaking of the Bug, he got that devil running so hot it’s the neighborhood staple. You can hear it for miles, especially when he’s behind the wheel, and you’ll almost always hear the kids giggling and screaming when he turns it loose on long drives. And you know what, I think I finally see what he sees. He is a cute little critter.