The next morning Angela and I took the M6 to meet the boys for our Saturday morning drive. I’d come to realize that the Porsche really wasn’t very much fun on city streets or mountain roads unless it was driven at warp speed, and although my Saturday boys were fast, only Stein was ever willing to go the kind of speeds it would take to get exciting in the Spyder.

When Jimmy got his coffee and joined the rest of us in our traditional pre-drive shit-shooting session, he touched his cheekbone and gave me a questioning look. “That from Linda Rubio?” he asked.

My shoulders drooping, I asked, “Jimmy, how the hell have you heard about that? And what exactly have you even heard, anyway?”

“Linda Rubio?” Teddy Bear asked. “Like, the Linda Rubio that fights in the UFC?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Apparently our girl here jumped her in some sort of fight outside a bar or something, and Linda got messed up.”

“Is that really what you heard?” I asked, exasperated.

“What- Did you really get in a fight with Linda Rubio?” Teddy Bear asked, his mind still reeling.

“Yes, Linda Rubio jumped me in my gym’s parking lot, so I beat the living crap out of her. Put her in the hospital,” I said, rolling my eyes. Shrugging my shoulders, I said, “Really, it’s not that big a deal.”

“I guess your definition of ‘not that big a deal’ is different than mine,” Geoff said, shaking his head.

“Lee did get a nasty scrape on her knee,” Angela volunteered.

“Ruined my favorite Armani skirt suit, too,” I added. “I guess that’s what happens when you brawl on crappy old asphalt instead of a nice gym mat.”

“And you put Rubio in the hospital?” Teddy Bear asked.

“I had the guys load her in that car so I could drive her to the ER myself,” I said, pointing at the BMW.

“That’s crazy,” Teddy Bear breathed.

“We all heard about what happened in Arizona,” Stein said. “And now this.”

I was about to defend myself, but Angela chimed in with, “Leah doesn’t take anything from anybody. Nobody messes with my Leah.”

“Sounds like Linda Rubio took something from Leah- a beating,” Teddy Bear said with a laugh.

“Jimmy, how did you even hear about this, anyway?” I asked. “And why were the details wrong?”

“It’s all over some of the discussion boards I check,” Jimmy said with a shrug.

“God damn it,” I said, my shoulders slumping. “I really wanted this to stay under wraps.”

“Like, I can set the record straight, if you give me the details,” Jimmy offered, trying to be helpful.

“I would really rather there be no record at all, but I guess if it’s out there, it might as well be the truth. So, I was working out in the MMA gym I train at, over in Santa Monica, minding my own business, and she comes in and gives me the eye. I have no idea who she is, but she looked strong, and tough. Anyway, she wants to throw down with me there and then, but I tell her to take a hike, not interested. She says she’ll give me five thousand bucks if I can beat her, and I tell her to get lost. I’ve got enough money, and anyway, I don’t fight for sport.”

“You told her that?” Stephen asked.

“Yeah, I told her I’m not into it as far as competition goes. I might have said that the fights I get in tend to be, um, more of the back alley kind.”

“You fucking didn’t,” breathed Jimmy.

“Yeah, I did. I just wanted her to go away, and I wasn’t really thinking about it, alright? Anyway, I finished my workout, changed into my office clothes- that linen Armani suit I mentioned- and in the parking lot, she stepped out from between some cars where she’d been waiting, saying, ‘Let’s do it!’.”

I took a sip of my coffee, enjoying the rapt attention from the guys listening to every word. “In retrospect, I should have just threatened her with police response and a lawsuit if she so much as touched me, but like I said, I wasn’t really thinking. So I drop my gym bag and kick off my pumps, and we start going at it. Well, I’m like six inches taller and significantly faster than her, so I’m working her over pretty good with the strikes, right? She can’t get in without getting punched or kicked, and she knows that she can’t last like that.” I take another sip, then continue. “So it was inevitable she’d try to take me down, and that’s what she does. She shoots, gets a good hold, and next thing you know, we’re rolling around on the shitty old asphalt like a couple of, well, you get the idea.”

“She’s known for her ground game,” Teddy Bear says, nodding.

“Well, I’ve been working on mine, but that’s where her smaller size worked in her favor. Come to find out, she won an Olympic medal in Judo, so pretty soon she’s got me in a serious leg lock, and it’s really starting to hurt, so I punched her really hard right in the face. That stunned her, so I did it again and she let go. I immediately smacked her a few more times, then kicked the crap out of her while she was on the ground.”

“And that’s what put her in the hospital?” Stephen asked.

“Well, that and the fact that I kept slamming her back down onto the pavement any time she so much as twitched, until she stopped twitching,” I said.

“Fucking brutal,” Jimmy said, amazed. “That’s fucking brutal.”

“So that’s when I went back inside and got the guys to lift her into my car to take her to the ER. I found the officer on duty at the hospital and told him I wanted to file assault charges.”

“Even though you beat the shit out of her?” Geoff asked.

“She freaking attacked me in my gym’s parking lot,” I said, still pissed off about the whole thing. “I just wanted to work out in peace, then have a mellow day at the office.”

“Wow,” Geoff said.

“Stephen, you’ll like this, since you’re a lawyer,” I said. “I went to talk to her in the hospital and she threatened to sue me.”

“Good luck with that,” Stephen said. “But she’ll find a lawyer who’ll take her case. They’d figure you’ll settle just to make the whole thing go away.”

“I have James Turner at Stoddard on retainer,” I said.

“Holy- Yeah, when any lawyer she talks to figures that out, they’ll drop her like a bad habit,” Stephen said. “Those guys are not known for fucking around.”

“Of course Leah would have some real heavyweight lawyers on retainer,” Stein said, rolling his eyes.

“Stein, man, these guys are like Mike Tyson in his prime heavyweights. Any lawyer Linda Rubio takes on hears the opposing counsel is Stoddard, they wet their pants. Then run away.”

“The whole thing is completely crazy,” Geoff said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

The drive that morning was pretty relaxed, which was fine by me. I actually wound up wishing I’d driven the Porsche, since it would have been nice to pull the T tops off and enjoy the sort-of-convertibleness of it. We were basically just cruising, anyhow, so enjoying it would have been nice.

Sure, we weren’t really sport driving, but it gave me the chance to simply enjoy Angela’s company as we talked about nothing important. I used the opportunity to keep my hand on her bare thigh, enjoying the warmth of her smooth skin under my hand.

“I love it when you touch me,’ Angela said, resting her hand on mine. “I feel very lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one. You knocking on our door that day was one of the best things to ever happen.”

“Antonio getting arrested was one of the best things to ever happen to me,” Angela said. “I never could have imagined it would lead to me falling in love with you and Em.”

Just then Teddy Bear pulled off at a vista point with a great view of the Pacific Ocean far down below, so I put my hand back on the steering wheel, getting a little noise of complaint from Angela. I parked the M6, then leaned over for a kiss.

“Leah,” Angela said when we separated, “promise me you’ll love me like this always.”

“I can make that promise,” I said, leaning back in for another kiss.

“Hey! Get a room, you two!” Geoff said, rapping on my side window.

Laughing, Angela and I got out of the car to take in the view. Looking out over the Pacific, we could see Malibu below us and the Channel Islands just offshore. The warm onshore breeze carried the scent of the dry, dusty sage smell of the chaparral with it as it rose up the slope.

I held Angela in my arms as we admired the view, her arms wrapped around mine.

“I want to go back to Catalina,” she announced, pointing at the wrong island.

“That one’s Catalina,” I said, pointing at the next island to the right.

“That one, then,” Angela said, pointing at the correct one this time.

“We can go tomorrow, if you want,” I said.

“I want to go for a whole weekend,” Angela pouted.

“Weekend after next? Next weekend is a San Jose weekend.”

“It’s a date,” Angela said.

“You know, I’ve never been to Catalina,” Geoff said. “Born and raised in Southern California, and never crossed that seventeen miles of ocean to get there.”

“You really should go,” Angela said. “Avalon is just a tiny little town, but it’s pretty, and it feels like a different world. I’m sure Linda and the girls would love it. That reminds me- when are you two going to bring the girls over again?”

“The kids keep asking when we can visit you guys again,” Geoff said.

“Why don’t you come over tomorrow? We can have lunch out by the lagoon pool and the kids can swim all they want. Or we can have lunch on the deck and they can swim in the little pool,” Angela offered.

I was pleased that she was confident enough of her place in the household that she had no problems inviting friends on the spur of the moment like that, so I just gave her a little squeeze to let her know it was O.K. with me.

After Angela wandered off to talk to Stephen and Teddy Bear, Geoff said, “You know, it’s true. The girls have told all their friends that they’ve been to Emmy’s house several times. I don’t think any of them really listen to her music, but they all know who she is. It’s a big deal to hang out at a rock star’s house.”

Amused, I asked, “How about you? You tell anybody you party with rock stars?”

“A few, yeah,” Geoff admitted. “A couple of the guys at the office are big fans, and when I told ‘em, they just about shit bricks,” he said with a smile. “Hey, you know tonight’s the club dinner, right? You coming?”

“To be honest, Geoff, the only reason I might is to continue to rub some of the guys’ faces in it. The… misogyny is pretty thick in the club in general-”

“Not all of us are like that,” Geoff protested.

“No, but a lot are, and the ones that aren’t don’t really speak up. I’ve been dragging Angela to these breakfasts and dinners, and asking her to really get dolled up just so I can look those assholes in the eyes and make it clear that yes, I do have the hottest babe they’ve ever seen in their lives on my arm, and yes, I do have the car they only wish they could drive.”

“That’s sorta petty,” Geoff said with a little chuckle.

“Oh, one hundred per cent,” I agreed, laughing along with him. “But it’s true. You know that one jackass, what’s his name? The guy with the orange Carrera RS?”

“Davis Williams?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Every single time, he tries to get Angela to go with him ‘for a drive’” I said, making air quotes with my fingers. “With me right there.”

Geoff smirked, imagining the scene. “What does she tell him?”

“She’s really nice about it- you know how she is- but she basically tells him the grass is not greener on his side of the fence.”

“If he doesn’t take a hint, you could always just- what’s that wrestling move, where you lift a guy over your head and then slam him down on your knee?” Geoff asked.

“Fake. It’s called ‘fake’, Geoff. That’s not a real move, and nobody but those WWE guys actually do it in the ring.”

Geoff laughed, and asked, “You mean professional wrestling isn’t real?”

“Every bit as real as the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus,” I replied with a laugh.

“Say it ain’t so!” he mock-wailed, which got the attention of the rest of the group, who wandered over.

“What ain’t so?” Teddy Bear asked.

“Leah just told me that pro wrestling is all fake!” Geoff answered in a stricken voice.

“What? What do you mean?” demanded Jimmy, lowering his hipster plastic-framed glasses to look at me over the tops. “You mean Goldberg didn’t actually beat Brock Lesnar?”

“I’ve got bad news for you, buddy,” Stein said, patting him on the shoulder.

Thinking about my conversation with Geoff, I tried for a different approach when I got ready for the Porsche Club dinner that evening. Angela wanted to stay home, which was fine for what I planned. I was going to the dinner to make a point more than anything, and going solo would probably work just as well.

I didn’t often dress up really ‘girly’, but that doesn’t mean I never did. That night I wore a spaghetti-strap knit mini dress that Emmy had gotten for me because she thought the color really highlighted my eyes and a pair of sandal heels that added nearly four inches to my height. Angela did my makeup, since she was far, far better at that kind of thing than I ever was. With her cosmetic magic she plumped up my lips and accentuated my cheekbones. I told her to not bury the scar, though. A bit of mascara and eyeliner later, and I was ready to go.

“I love it when you dress sexy like this,” Emmy purred when she saw the finished product. “Do not stay at the dinner too late- we have things we need to do when you get back,” she said in a husky voice.

Angela shot a few pictures before she let me go, kissing me on the cheek to not mess up my soft pink lipstick.

Looking in the full-length mirror in our closet, I liked what I saw. I looked like a perfect paragon of the SoCal pampered blonde, if you ignored the fact that I was six foot five in those heels and one hundred and eighty-three pounds of mostly muscle. Which was honestly very hard to ignore, since that little dress left my arms, shoulders, and legs bare for the world to see. I was never competition bodybuilder-level ripped, but even so, I was obviously very seriously built.

I pulled up to the valet stand at the restaurant in Venice, getting a comical double-take from the guy in the red vest when I stepped out and handed him the keys.

“Please be careful with my baby,” I urged. “It’s worth a couple of million bucks.”

He almost dropped the key when I told him that, but regained his composure and handed me the ticket with a, “I certainly will, Miss.”

I gave him a smile of thanks, then made my way to the door. I told the hostess I was there for the club dinner and she told me that the tables wouldn’t be ready for another fifteen minutes, but I could wait at the bar if I wanted.

Rick, the club’s event coordinator and therefore host for the evening, spotted me as I entered the bar area.

“Wow! Leah, you look really great tonight. And, um, huge…” he said, looking me up and down.

“Thanks,” I said with a smile. “I’m feeling great tonight. And huge, too,” I said, giving him a quick flex, which made his eyes bug out.

“Uh, well…” he said, at a loss for words. “Um, did your wife stay home tonight?”

I wasn’t surprised he asked about Angela, since I’d already paid for her dinner that night and he had the guest list in his hand, but also, she’d managed to charm pretty much all the guys that attended the regular breakfasts and dinners, even the handful that I thought were probably gay.

“Yeah,” I said. “She just wasn’t feeling it tonight.”

“Well, tell her we missed her,” Rick said, checking Angela’s name off his list.

There was an empty seat next to Targa Mike, so I joined him at the bar. When he glanced over to see who’d just sat down, he did a double-take almost as comical as the valet’s.

“Wow, Leah, that’s um, a different look for you,” he said.

“Well, Angela didn’t want to come to the dinner tonight, so I figured it was my chance to be the hot one,” I said, signaling to the bartender.

“House Chardonnay,” I told her, amused by the ‘Of course’ look I got.

When we were notified that the tables were ready on the patio, I made sure to sit next to one of the guys that I’d pegged as among the club’s most sexist.

“Hey, Rob, right?” I asked as I took my seat.

“Um, yeah,” he replied. “Do I know you?”

“Leah, with the blue 918,” I prompted.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “You look different.”

“Different in a good way, or in a bad way?” I asked.

“A good way, I guess,” he replied, seeming a bit uncomfortable with the question.

“Hey,” I asked. “Have you ever done any of the club track days? I’m thinking of doing the Willow Springs track weekend next month.”

“You’re gonna bring your Spyder to the track?” he asked, surprised.

“Sure. I mean, it’s a fast car, right? It should be fine on a racetrack.”

“Cars can get kind of beat up on the track, even if you don’t crash,” he warned.

“I’m not going to go so fast I’ll run off the track or anything,” I said, sipping my Chardonnay.

After we gave the waitress our orders, Rob said, “Well, you should be fine. It isn’t a race, after all. So, you’ll need to prep your car- get some fresh tires on it, I mean. Since it’ll be your first time, you’ll need to do the driving school on Saturday, and if the instructors think you’re ready, you’ll get to drive solo on Sunday.”

“Will you be there?” I asked. I’d overheard him talking about it to one of the other guys last breakfast, so I was pretty sure he was planning on it.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll bring my Cayman S,” he said. “I’ve got it set up as the perfect track weapon.”

“Really?” I asked. “What have you done?” And with this, the floodgates opened and he spent the next half an hour telling me all about the competition headers, the center radiator, and on and on. I just said, “Uh huh,” and occasionally asked him for explanation. At one point I saw Geoff listening in, and when I caught his eye, he gave me a sly smirk.

After a while I steered Rob in the direction of driving advice, and he was very happy to share his infinite wisdom, peppered frequently with nuggets like, “Don’t forget, it’s just a track day. We’re all there to have a good time and learn our cars that little bit better, right? So there’s no winner and no loser. Well, I guess if you crash, that’s losing, right?”

By the time dinner wrapped up he’d committed himself to giving me driving advice. “Of course, you’ll go through the new driver’s school on Saturday, but Sunday I can follow you and see what you can do to go faster.”

After dinner, we all returned to the bar, where Geoff and his wife Linda found me.

“You just spent an hour setting that guy up, didn’t you?” Geoff asked.

“Like a ball on a tee,” I said, miming a golf swing.

“What’s going on?" Linda asked. “Oh, and what time should we come over tomorrow?”

“Emmy’s not much of a morning person,” I said, “So maybe ten, ten thirty at the earliest? That way the girls can swim before lunch.”

“Perfect,” Linda said. “So what was going on with the guy you were talking to?”

“Leah just spent all dinner talking about the upcoming track weekend with that guy, and he went on and on about how fast his car was and how to drive on the track,” Geoff said.

Seeing the look on his wife’s face, he added, “He has no idea she’s probably driven ten times as many laps on the track as he has, and could probably lap him in a VW Beetle.”

Linda smiled, probably imagining me in a brightly colored Volkswagen with those eyelashes on it, railing around the race track.

“You’re gonna do the club track days, right?” I asked Geoff.

“Yeah, I am,” he said. “I guess I’ll finally get to see what the other guys have been saying since last summer.”

“What have they been saying?” Linda asked.

“Last what, September? Leah’s parents got her a private track day at Willow Springs for her birthday, and bought her a race car, too. The guys said she was an absolute demon on the track, and totally merciless. Teddy Bear said, well, he said that she would motor by him around the outside, sideways, through a turn. He’d look over and she’d be waving hello as she sailed by.”

“I only waved the one time,” I said, smiling at the memory.

“It left an impression,” he said dryly. “So why are you planning on destroying Rob’s ego?”

“Like we talked about this morning,” I said. “These guys just can’t believe, even though I own a car that cost ten times as much as theirs, that I can drive.”

“It’s a shame you can’t bring your race car to the Porsche day,” he said with a smirk.

“I’ll just have to make do,” I said with a shrug. “Oh, and you’ll love this. I have an appointment with Stein’s wrap guy to have the Spyder done up in pink for the track weekend.”

“Pink? Like, um, Penelope from that old cartoon?” Linda asked.

I had no idea what she was talking about, so she pulled out her phone and did a search and showed me pictures from some old cartoon from the Sixties. It turns out the car was actually pink and yellow, a truly horrible combination.

“No, not like that at all,” I said, but the character’s pink helmet made me think that I should get my helmet done with the same vinyl as the car. My lipstick should match, too.