by Jack Stratton

The first time I met Lola was in the backseat of my cousin Tommy’s black boat of a Lincoln Town Car. She was one of his friends. Tommy had a crazy crew of friends, hippies, stoners, punks, and musicians.

Tommy let me hang with him during the summer break before my senior year of college. As I sat in the back he pulled up to a bar and a few of his friends jumped in. Lola opened the door I was sitting next to and climbed right over me to sit in the center of the back seat.

She was this little firecracker. Around my age. Short, feisty, jet black hair with bangs, and lips that were always bright red. She dressed all rockabilly, like some modern take on one of the girls in Grease.

We drove around for a while. Visiting Tommy’s haunts. Picking up beer. She didn’t say anything, she just watched me. At around eight, we pulled up to a burger joint and she looked at me expectedly after tap tap tapping on her phone.

"My Daddy’s not here, so you have to pay for my fries," she said plainly, looking bitchy and bratty at the same time.

"Is that so?" I laughed.

She didn’t laugh or even smile. She moved closer, sitting right on my hand pressing her big ass down on it.

"Yeah, it is. You have to or you can't sit next to me," she said threateningly.

There was no irony there. It was a stupid juvenile thing, but it worked. She leaned back and stretched, pushing out her chest. I reached for my wallet.

Tommy left us alone in the car and went to talk to some friends inside. After eating her fries and most of mine, she chewed on her straw while she looked at me inscrutably. She unbuttoned the first few buttons of her navy blue dress, to expose a pink bra. I was hypnotized by her. She slowly traced the top of her bra with her finger, pulling it down a little, almost giving me a glimpse of more, all the time watching me.

“I think you like me,” she said with a self-satisfied grin.

I laughed nervously.

"I bet you'd rob a bank for a taste of my pussy," she purred.

I swallowed.

Just then her phone buzzed. She picked it up and read something, smiled, and then furiously typed a response. Then just like that, I was forgotten.

She leaned over me, her hands pressing painfully into my shoulder and chest, rolling down the window next to me and sticking her head out.

“Tommy we gotta pick up Frank!” she screamed.

With that, Tommy came back to the car and we headed for the bus station.

I saw him waiting there, leaning against a wall. Her “Daddy.” He wore a leather jacket, a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and boots. When we stopped he walked slowly to the car. He slid in the other side of the back seat, sandwiching Lola between us.