Roadhouse Blues - BFF &TWW prompts

Nicky didn't like highway lights. They passed with the monotonous regularity of a metronome and with similarly hypnotic effect. She gripped the wheel hard enough to hurt, strengthening her grip, glued her eyes to the centre line and flicked on the radio. Late night DJs didn't help. Low, smooth voices whispering about pulling over to rest accompanied by easy listening muzak. She shrugged, stretched out her neck. Why did this route seem longer every time? Her tired mind played with images of demons moving the exit sign further and further until she was driving in an endless loop, always playing catch-up.

She came awake with a jolt, a car horn blaring, lights blinding her. She swerved sharply into the right lane, scared into wakefulness and tears were close when the exit sign loomed into view. She swung off, clamped to the wheel, bolt upright, eyes staring, unblinking lest she fall into sleep again. Yes, she needed to reach the roadhouse, needed to detach from her life, but not permanently.

The guy behind reception grunted, handing over the key to number 71. It was all the acknowledgement she ever received, despite her three years of monthly visits. The anonymity soothed her. Allowed her to park the car in front of the bungalows and stroll through the darkened lot with its broken out lights with confidence. She couldn't be seen and she was unknown. No lights showed in the block of eight stopovers, dingy hovels without personality. She let herself in, closed the door, pulling the nicotine-stained blinds as she moved about the room.

It always took a few minutes for her mind to let go of 'wife and mother' mode. Dumping her case on the sagging bed, which she would later spray for bugs before covering with a clean sheet, she turned on the shower, let it run. Ten minutes was the average before it warmed enough to prevent hypothermia. She laid out her Nicole clothes. Nicky was the mum who had run the kids to school, packed their lunches, cooked, cleaned, played nursemaid. Nicky was the wife who had lain in bed, obediently closed her eyes and never looked while he poked at her, dipped and left. Nicky who never felt clean afterwards. Who'd always sat under the shower, crying for her emptiness where she couldn't be seen or heard.

Nicole was who Nicky could never be. Nicole wore short skirts, garter belts, stockings, skyscraper heels and scarlet lipstick. Nicole knew about dildos and handcuffs and lube and positions the Karma Sutra had never heard of. Nicole was wild, free, unencumbered by guilt and doubt. Nicky entered the shower and Nicole exited, washed clean of 'Mrs' and 'Mum'. Nicole sashayed where Nicky slunk. Nicole laughed where Nicky kept silent. Nicole smoked, drank straight whiskey and had just landed a highly paid job in the city. Tonight was Nicole's debut to the world, Nicky's exit.

She felt a surge of excitement, a sexual heat spreading through her body when he knocked. She let him in, went to him eagerly. She was enthusiastic, patient, crazy, everything he needed for the next two hours. She accepted his payment, even allowed him a sentimental moment, a kiss when she explained their monthly assignations would be no more. She promised to send him someone new, when she was settled in her new situation. He left smiling, satisfied and she popped the last instalment into the waiting envelope on the bedside table, prepared to wait for the last time.

She strained to hear. Felt a rush of adrenalin when a car pulled in, but the babble of voices, reduced to gobbledegook by the walls between, told her it wasn't who she waited for. She tidied her hair, fixed her lipstick, wondering at the dusky eyes, alight with life in a pale, porcelain face. Only a matter of hours now. She'd kept her vows. 'Til death do us part'. The kids were grown, gone. Time to move on along.

Lost in her thoughts, Nicole startled at the light tap on the door. A familiar figure stood outside. She cocked her head enquiringly. He nodded. She handed over the envelope, shook his hand and watched him walk away, the moon glinting once off the revolver tucked into his belt as he bent to get in the car. She looked down, gazed at the image he had pressed into her hand during their shake. A Polaroid of a man, face down, single gunshot to the temple. She was free, and she'd bought a very expensive client list from a madam who was retiring.

She grabbed up her case, slipped out to the car, started it up and drove out of the lot. Nicole grinned, chuckled quietly as she flipped the lid on a beer, lit a cigarette and turned on the radio to hear an old Doors number...

'Let it roll, baby, roll'