“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “The four-wheeled Smurf rides again!”
Cash gave Luc’s truck the nickname in honor of its paint job. It’s the exact color of the cartoon characters—except for the driver’s-side rear panel. That’s primer gray.
Luc pats Smurf’s hood as he rounds it. “Mom’s been storing him in her garage. All I had to do was replace his spark plugs and filters, and he fired right up. Now, stand up, Maggie May. Lemme get a gander at you.”
I dutifully stand and shake out my skirt. After doing a pirouette, I strike a pose, one hand on my hip, the other up by my head.
Luc whistles. “Can I just say, hubba-hubba?”
I laugh and curtsy. “You clean up pretty good yourself.”
Unlike Cash, who cultivates an I-don’t-give-a-crap look, Luc is wearing jeans paired with a white undershirt and a black sports coat. Nothing too flashy, but on his middleweight boxer’s frame, it looks effortlessly chic.
Heismovie star material.
Grinning, he points to my red pillbox hat with the fake joint glued to the hatband. “Nice headgear.”
“In honor of Jelly Bean.” I smile wryly before adding, “I got class coming out of my dumper tonight, boys.”
Luc and Cash laugh. It’s an easy sound. A familiar sound. A sound I’ve heard a million times in my dreams.
“Let’s do this thing, shall we?” Luc says.
Cash helps me down the steps, then presents me with his arm at the same time Luc offers his.
Locking elbows with them and setting off down the street in the direction of Preservation Hall, I can almost forget my missed opening with Cash.
Almost…
