Get a Load of This

     “At your risk,” the cop returned. “Sorry to stop you, but we're warning all traffic. Hurricane's on the way an' it's likely to catch you up around Fort Pierce.”

     Denny nodded. “I know,” he said, “the Conoco people told me. I'm going to get as far as I can. I'll stop at Fort Pierce if it looks tough.”

     The cop saluted. “O.K., sir, just as long as you know.” He took his foot off the running-board and waved them on.

     Denny scowled into the small driving mirror. “They're making a hell of a fuss about a storm,” he said. “It's got to be mighty bad to stop me.”

     Gerda leant forward. “You're a stranger to Florida, ain't you?” she asked.

     “Yeah, what makes you ask?”

     “It sticks out a yard. Folks who live around this district take these hurricanes seriously.”

     Denny was bored with this talk about hurricanes. The sun was still very hot and strong and there was only a mild breeze coming from the coast. There was not a sign of a rain cloud anywhere. He glanced down at Stella, who sat away from him in the corner of the seat. From that angle he could see her firm beautiful curves and he wished that Gerda wasn't with them. He said, “You don't worry about hurricanes, do you?”

     Stella glanced at him and shook her head. “I guess not,” she said. “I've seen a good few, and they don't really amount to anything.”

     Denny liked her voice. “What are you two girls, anyway?” he asked. “What's the idea of hitch-hiking?”

     Gerda took charge of the conversation. “We're looking for a job,” she said, almost in his ear. Her voice was low and flat. “Daytona Beach bored us, so we thought we'd go on to Miami. I guess we'll find something there.”

     Denny turned into the old Dixey Highway that led to Port Orange. He trod on the gas, sending the Lincoln forward with a sudden push. “Well, what do you do?” he wanted to know, looking with interest at Stella's nicely rounded knees.

     “Who we can,” Gerda said, with a harsh little laugh. “Don't we, Stella?”

     Stella didn't say anything.

     “I see. That sounds sort of bad,” Denny said, wondering what she meant. “I'm in real estate myself. I was wondering if either of you could shorthand or something. I might be able to get you fixed up.”

     Gerda laughed again. Denny frowned. He didn't like her hissing little laugh so close to his ear. “Don't do that,” he said sharply. “What's funny about it?”

     “Nothin',” she said quickly, “we think you're swell to offer, don't we, Stella?”

     Stella said after a pause: “You see, we do a song an' dance act. I guess office routine is way up the wrong street.”

     Denny grunted. “Sure,” he said, “I understand that. If you're an act, you don't want any sort of job. What makes you think Miami'll take to you?”

     “Oh, we don't know,” Gerda said, “we just hopin'. When you've pushed around as we have, hope is about the one thing that gets you anywhere, and nice-looking Stella.” She laughed again.

     Denny watched her in the driving mirror. “So Stella helps too, does she?” he said for something to say.

     “Sure, it's her capital to look nice,” Gerda said with a tiny sneer in her voice.

     “And what do you do?” Denny said curiously.

     “Me? I guess I run the outfit. We've got along all right so far, haven't we, Stella?”

     Stella didn't say anything. She shifted uncomfortably and her short skirt rode up a few inches. Denny could see a long expanse of bare thigh and he pursed his lips. If it wasn't for Gerda in the back, he could go for this honey in a big way he told himself.

     They swept through Port Orange and on to the U.S. Highway 1. They were now in the heart of the East Coast citrus country and the road curved across lowland meadows, pink with rose mallow. The mandarin trees were heavy with fruit. Denny thought it was all very beautiful.

     “This part of the country does things to me,” he said. “Don't you think it's swell?”

     Stella said: “You don't think of the ugly things in life after this, do you?” She spoke very tensely, as if she meant every word.

     Denny glanced at her curiously. He wondered what sort of a life she had been leading. She didn't look like a little tramp. He shook his head, giving up.

     They stopped at New Smyrna for petrol. Evening was drawing on rapidly and the sun, wrapped in a yellowish haze, was sinking behind the skyline. Denny got out of the car to stretch his legs and the two girls followed his example. Up the road they could see a long line of trucks moving slowly towards them, crowded with farm hands and bedding.

     Denny asked the mechanic who was operating the gasoline pump what it was all about.

     The man shrugged. “Oh, I guess they're coming in because of the hurricane,” he said indifferently. “The radio says it'll hit us before long.”

     Denny felt a sudden wave of apprehension. “Listen, I'm goin' through to Miami tonight. This hurricane won't stop me, will it?”

     The man screwed the cap on the gas tank and hung up his pump hose. “That depends on you, mister,” he said. “Two bucks, please.”