Our love story is less a bodice ripper and more of a Spanx peeler.
I pulled out some storage bags of clothes I had packed away and pulled out my tight leather motorcycle pants, my Clutch T-shirt and my spiked boots. These were not my everyday motorcycle leathers; these were skin-tight and uncomfortably slutty. I found my black leather collar and my short, spiky blonde wig. I had on some racy, dirty-girl underthings – a lacy balconette bra and matching panties. My husband is going to struggle to get all this leather off of me, but I imagine he'll get the job done. Our love story is less a bodice ripper and more of a Spanx peeler.
It was going to be cold riding my motorcycle to the studio but since it’s only three miles away, I won’t die. At least it was above freezing now, a blistering 35º. My Clutch T-shirt was super tight and would provide no warmth so I would need to keep my motorcycle jacket zipped up.
He’s going to forget all about work when he sees me dressed like this. I piled up my long gray and brown hair and clipped it, pulling the short blonde wig over my head and adjusted it. Then I pulled the tight leather on and zipped up the knee-high spiked boots. Not really practical for wearing when I ride a motorcycle, but they have a purpose. The final touch was the scarlet lipstick matched with the dark eye makeup; I looked nothing like myself and 20 years younger.
I walked through the kitchen and the staff was there.
“Good morning, ladies,” I said as I passed through to the garage.
“Mrs. Gerry!” Cook exclaimed and I laughed. “Are you going to be in Mr. Gerry’s movie?”
“No, he’s going to be in mine,” I laughed, and I stopped and asked, “Do I look like a fast girl?” Cook looked at the other two women and then back at me.
“¿Qué es ‘fast’?” Cook asked, not understanding how ‘fast’ was used in this context.
“Virtud fácil,” I answered and then Cook understood.
“Venga, sí,” she answered unapologetically, giving me some eyebrows – as if she were my mother. I smiled and continued to the garage.
I pulled the cover off my Indian Bobber Sixty motorcycle, put on my helmet and started it up. I took the main highway to the entrance of Saltair Studios instead of going across our property and rode around back to the dirt road that led to the western town of Paris, Texas. It’s not the real Paris, Texas, it’s the post-Civil War town that Gerry's crew built. I stopped the bike at the entrance of the dirt street and took off my helmet and strapped it to the back of my seat. I could see a group of people at the end of the street, standing in front of the saloon near a camera dolly.
I finger-combed my spiky blonde short hair, dropped my bike into gear and began driving slowly toward them. As I got closer, I could see Gerry come out, away from the crowd and walk toward me, trying to figure out who it was on his movie lot. It wasn’t until I had stopped the bike and he was within five feet of me that he realized it was me.
I shut down my motorcycle and Gerry walked over to me, leaned down and kissed me deeply. When he pulled away, I noticed that he had scarlet lipstick on his mouth and I brushed it away. I looked past him and all the people standing with him looked shocked. I guess they still didn’t recognize me. I put down the stand on the bike and got off as Gerry took my hand.
“Who is…” Bran Barclay, Scottish actor and dreamy hunk asked, looking at Gerry and then at me. Bran didn’t look happy. Actually, he looked shocked that his friend might possibly be sticking his tongue down some strange, blonde woman’s throat. He continued to look at me, trying to work it out and I just smiled a wicked smile at him.
“Well, if it isn’t Outlander, The Western,” I said waving my hands around the cowboy town. Recognition came over the handsome Scot’s face when he recognized my voice.
“It’s a dreich day but ye look bonny, Mrs. Frey,” he exclaimed in his Scotch accent. When he said my name, everyone else seemed to relax, some laughed. I guess they were glad to know their boss wasn’t cheating on his wife. They wouldn't have believed it if he was.
Copyright Mare Loch 2023 Mojave: The Fame of Gerry Frey by Mare Loch. © All rights reserved. Read for free on Kindle Unlimited or buy on Amazon.
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