𝐅𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 • Randall Floyd

Chapter 2

WILLA dropped her head onto the steering wheel.

She knew what she was in for when her mother proposed an early family trip to Austin, but she underestimated how prepared she was.

She turned on the ignition to fix the radio just as her mother came running out the house. Then she knocked on the passenger side window, which was closest to the curb, and Willa reached over to wind it down.

"Here's some money to fill up the tank," said Mrs Dolinsky as she extended a twenty dollar bill to Willa that she accepted. "There's a gas station a couple blocks—"

"I remember where it is."

"Good."

Willa slipped the money into the pocket below the radio and sat back, preparing to drive away. But her mother quickly apologised before she could put her foot down.

"I'm sorry if it felt like we were ganging up on you so to speak, but all any of us want is what's best for you. Which is why when I told you I have no reservations against this trip whatsoever, I meant it and still do. Even if Grandpa and Grandma aren't necessarily on the same page as us, it doesn't mean we're not on the same team."

"Mom, you don't have to do this," Willa assured. "If anything, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get heated or irrational."

"You weren't. You were the most rational one at that table," Mrs Dolinsky asserted. Then her lips drew upward into a slight smile, "But with feminists like Pop, Gloria Steinem might as well retire."

Willa laughed through her nose, smiling for the first time maybe all night as far as her mother was concerned.

Mrs Dolinsky was glad and relieved. "Are you going to the Emporium?" she asked.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"It's where my crowd used to hang out back in the day. This town really has a thing for embracing tradition."

"No wonder you were so quick to get out."

"Kiddo, you have no idea. It's why I want California and Brooklyn just as much as you do."

"It's the Greenwich Village," Willa corrected.

Her mother's eyebrows drew together in question.

"I want to stay on the Brooklyn campus but I'm going to college in New York so I can hang around Greenwich Village."

"I beg your pardon," Mrs Dolinsky surrendered with a smile on her face. But then her smile became more sincere than tickled. "You'll get all of that and more if I have anything to do with it. You have my word." Then she finally took a step away from the car. "Now go, I've kept you long enough. Make good decisions—please!"

"I will," Willa smiled.

Then she pulled out into the road and drove away. She turned up the tuned radio and cruised through the empty, dim roads. She opened her window too to keep the breeze running through either side of the car.

Leaving the house was just what she needed.

No amount of complaining would ever make her change her mind once it was set on something but with how suffocating her family quickly became, she was starting to become unsure.

But being on her own behind the wheel with the wind in her hair and the music flowing through the speakers, she was reminded why she wanted to go to California in the first place.

The world was moving around her in a way that was so far out of reach. She wanted to touch it. She wanted to be a part of it. She knew where to find it so why waste time not walking towards it—or running at that. So that's what this trip was supposed to be: a leap.

She didn't both fill up the tank at the gas station. Instead she used the twenty dollars to buy a bottle of Jack and a sixer of Blue Ribbion. As per usual she wasn't IDed and was able to leave the store just as quickly as she walked into it, paper bag in one hand and spare change in the other.

A man across the lot left his Chevy at the same time. He was some inches taller with blond hair slicked to either side.

The closer he got towards Willa, the more of him she saw: his moustache; his good looks; his older age; his white t-shirt with the cover of Ted Nugent's album Tooth, Fang and Claw printed on it. And he was looking at her too with a slight yet noticeable smirk decorating his face.

The closer they got to one another, he didn't look away. In fact, as they crossed paths he said, "Evenin', darlin," with a silky southern drawl.

She fought the urge to say anything back.

But then she remembered something she realised behind the wheel and the only way to solve her dilemma was by talking to a local.

So she bit the bullet and turned around.

"Excuse me," she said.

The older blond only some feet away slowly faced her. He pointed at himself. "Me?"

His unwaveringly slanted lips told her he knew full well who she was talking to.

But she didn't entertain it by paying it any mind. "Yeah. How do I get to the Emporium from here?"

He gave her a once-over before settling on her eyes again. "You're not from around here are you?"

"No," she pursed her lips.

"And where are you from, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Illinois."

"Chicago?"

"Bloomington."

"Safer."

Willa didn't know what to say. She felt like she was being studied somehow.

"I'm actually headed to the Emporium myself," said the older blond. "If you're willing to wait a few ticks I can lead the way."

"That's nice of you but I have a couple stops to make first."

"That's too bad."

Willa only feigned a saddened smile.

"Drive straight up ahead like you're going to the clocktower, you know where that is? You seen that?"

"Course."

"Beautiful. You do your second right, keep driving a few yards, then you'll see a bar called Quinn's on your left. Turn into that lot and the Emporium's the first thing you see on the other side—can't miss it."

"Cool," Willa replied. "Thank you. I feel like I owe you a beer or something."

"No, just a conversation. Treat me to that once we get there and we'll call it even." He didn't miss a beat.

And then, albeit reluctantly, Willa said, "You've got yourself a deal."

"All right. I'm holding you to that."

Willa forced a faint laugh, not that the blond could tell, and headed the remaining way to her car.

Meanwhile, the older guy by the name of David Wooderson made his gas station rounds and picked up a box of cigarettes. He was legal, employed but not yet past his prime so he hung around the younger crowd when he was in town, namely a senior-to-be named Randall Floyd—friends called him Pink.

Once Wooderson was back in the car, Randall who was in the passenger seat asked, "Who was the brunette?"

And Mitch, a freshman-to-be in the back seat that Randall had tag along, listened for Wooderson's answer too.

"Still yet to be determined, my friend."