The Remarkable Restorative Properties of a Little Black Race Car

Chapter 55: The Remarkable Restorative Properties of a Little Black Race Car

April 1, 2004

Annie leaned against the parked car, thankful the promised rain had held off so far. She couldn't wait to see the look on George's face when he saw her and realized the significance of what she stood next to. She was confident he would love his birthday present, even if it wasn't his to keep.

She didn't have to wait long. He emerged from what looked like an abandoned storefront – which she alone among the pedestrians on the street understood actually served as a popular pub and busy point of travel for magical Britain – almost as if materializing from thin air. Which just happened to be another feat she had seen him perform thousands of times by now.

He looks good. He wore a plain white t-shirt under a lightweight, heather green v-neck jumper and a light grey denim jacket cut like a blazer. He dug through the front pocket of charcoal grey jeans, which fit him a bit more snugly than his usual baggy trousers, and pulled out his cell phone. Unfortunately, he then turned the wrong direction and began walking up the street away from her.

Annie reached inside the open car window and gave the horn a quick honk.

George spun around, looking for the source of the disturbance. His jaw dropped when his eyes found her. Quickly recovering, he jogged over to her with an enormous delighted smile lighting up his face.

George had been on pins and needles all day, looking forward to the evening ahead with excitement. Annie had told him to wear something nicer than his usual work clothing but not fancy (Bless her heart!), yet nothing else about her plan. He had been distracted at work, thinking about it all day long, wondering what she had in store for him on his birthday.

The thought occurred to him that the whole thing might have been a devious little trick on her part. His wife knew that April first, of all the days of the year, was often the most difficult for him to get through. Had she intentionally tried to distract him from dwelling on the gloomy, depressing thoughts of the brother he no longer shared the day with? If so, it had been a successful ploy, for the most part. The anticipation of his surprise to come had driven most of the sad memories from his mind.

Even so, he had to admit: each year the day had gotten a little easier. The sharp blade-edge of sadness had dulled significantly with the passage of time, blunted by all the other days filled with comforting routine, weeks filled with cheering moments, months of watching his own family grow and prosper. Life with Annie and his children had been a healing salve, helping to knit closed the once gaping wound, softening the scar tissue left behind.

"Hello, George!" old Tom the barman called out to him as George practically dashed through the Leaky Cauldron toward the front door instead of the fireplace. "Not heading straight home today?"

"The wife and I are off for a night on the town tonight, Tom," he answered with a smile.

"Give my best to Annie, then," Tom replied.

"Will do, mate," George answered cheerily.

He stepped outside and blinked. The grey light of the overcast city was still much brighter than the dim tavern inside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Meanwhile, he began walking away from the interference of the magical entrance to Diagon Alley and turned on his phone, anticipating a message might be waiting for him from Annie.

A car horn blared, startling him. He spun around, curious to see the source of the disturbance. He was stunned a moment later when his eyes found his wife leaning against a magnificent sports car.

As he jogged toward her, he noted she looked as sleek and beautiful as the car. Like the machine, Annie was dressed modestly in all black – modest only in the fact that very little of her golden skin was exposed. The v-neck jumper did not plunge so far as to reveal any cleavage, nor did the knee-length skirt expose anything more than an inch or two of leg above the heeled boots she wore. The allure was in the fit; her curves were displayed to maximum advantage by the clinging clothes. And he knew her body well enough by now that she might as well be standing there naked.

"You are a lovely, wicked girl to give me a Porshe 911 Carrera for my birthday," he said, kissing her on the cheek and lacing his fingers into hers. "And in my favorite color, even." He noted with pride that the only jewelry adorning her tonight – the peridot earrings, the heart pendant that lay in the hollow at the base of her neck, and the golden band around her finger – were each presented to her by himself.

"Not given, exactly. Only hired for the night," she corrected him gently.

He knew that, of course. It would have been preposterous to think otherwise. Owning a car like this was impossible to consider – not with a family of four children all under five years old at home. And likely more to come....

He kissed her again, pressing her body lightly up against the car. He considered again how she was like it: compact, powerful, and responsive. Not to mention dead sexy and out of his league. "May I have the keys?" he whispered expectantly.

"Not yet. I'm hungry, and I'm taking you to dinner first. Get in," she ordered him as she used her hips to push him away from the car.

"I thought it was my present," he whinged.

"You'll get your turn after we eat," she assured him, smiling with devious delight at his frustration.

Like a thwarted and pouting toddler, he walked around to the passenger side and sank into the seat. Annie had already slipped inside. The driver's seat was pushed so far forward as to be comical in order for her feet to be able to reach the pedals.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Not far," she replied as the engine roared awake, then purred in response to Annie's gentle guidance, directing the car to pull into the street. "A little place I found on the internet that's supposed to be the best fish and chips in London."

George smiled happily, immensely pleased their mode of transportation would promise to be the fanciest thing about the entire evening. They had only been traveling for about ten minutes when she parked in front of a greasy-looking dive of a chip shop – his favorite sort of dining establishment. They strolled in together, arm in arm.

"Aren't you finished yet?" he asked impatiently about twenty minutes later, eager to get behind the wheel. He had already plowed hungrily through his own food. It had been delicious and well-deserving of its reputation, but now he was itching to get on with the evening's entertainment.

"Don't rush me," she teased, tossing the last morsel into her mouth. "You'll get your turn soon enough. I'm thinking I might have dessert first...."

Huffing with impatience, he snatched the empty basket from her hands and tugged her up off the seat. Annie giggled in response, jogging behind him as he pulled her quickly out the door.

"The keys," he demanded, holding out his hand as soon as he stood next to the car.

"I should make you frisk me for them," she said with a sly smile.

"Trust me, that would go far worse for you than me," he laughed.

"Right – here you go," she laughed as she dug them out of her pocket.

"So, what's the plan?" he asked as he eased the ridiculously overpowered car into the tiny street.

"No plan. Just drive. Hop on a freeway and go nowhere," she said, waving her hands as if shooing him on his way. "We've only got to bring it back by noon tomorrow."

"My birthday present is to chauffeur your arse around London all night long?" he teased. The first gush of adrenaline hit his bloodstream as he fantasized about tearing down an empty roadway.

"No, your birthday present is a chance to drive around like a bloody maniac in a race car," she retorted. "And nothing says we have to stay in London. You've brought your wand, I assume, so you can magic your way out of jail once you get caught criminally speeding?"

"Of course," he assured her, revving the engine at a stoplight. "Buckle up, then, love."

Annie gazed out of the passenger side window, watching streetlights, buildings, and trees fly past her at breakneck speed. She wished the weather had permitted her to get a convertible; the feel of the wind in her hair would have been even more exhilarating. As it was, George was very obviously in seventh heaven, zipping along a suspiciously empty freeway. She watched as beads of water streaked past her, leaving trails along the window pane.

She had thought ahead to bring several of their favorite CDs, giving her something distracting to listen to while he enjoyed himself behind the wheel. She certainly knew him better than to expect him to share such a glorious piece of Muggle ingenuity, which was why she had picked up the car at noon and driven it around for several hours by herself. She also knew he would feel guilty about his selfishness later, a fact she planned to use to her advantage once they were in the hotel room.

"Thirsty?" he asked her after they had been driving aimlessly for nearly two hours. "I'm a tad parched."

"I could do with a pint," she replied.

He pulled off the freeway and entered a nice-looking neighborhood. Annie did not know London well, but from the looks of the buildings they were now driving past, she suspected they might be near a university of some sort.

"Aha! That looks like destiny, love," he cried, pointing at a well-lit pub down the street. She smiled when she read the sign above it: The George and Dragon. He stopped the car in front of the door and instructed her to save them a table while he found a place to park.

Annie stepped out of the misty rain into the warm, dry pub. It was busy, but not crowded. George's namesake was a pleasant-looking place with a typical wooden bar, worn tables and chairs, and a few old televisions – everything in a state of welcoming dilapidation. She found an empty table within sight of both the door and the bar and took a seat. Not long afterward, George entered the pub. He glanced around, then smiled at her once he located her. He walked over to the bar to get their drinks.

"You look familiar," a stranger's voice addressed her.

She tore her eyes away from George to find two young men now standing before her. "Really?" Annie scoffed. The boy's pick-up line was silly, and she nearly laughed out loud at it.

In spite of the fact that George had often told her he found her beautiful, she knew she did not have a typically attractive face. Instead, she conceded it was perhaps striking in its uniqueness, her features being a quirky combination of classic Welsh stock and some unknown, possibly exotically foreign genes. In particular, her violet eyes were far from anything commonly encountered. In no way would she ever look familiar to anyone who hadn't met her before.

"Yeah. I think we have a class together... maybe Psych?" he continued.

"I'm not a student," she explained, shaking her head and smiling in amusement. She glanced back toward the bar but had now lost sight of George, perhaps because the two young men were largely blocking her view.

"My mistake, then. Would you like some company anyway?" he asked, still not giving up hope.

"I'm here with someone, actually," she replied. Annie had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at his persistence.

"Great! Where is she? At the bar?" asked the other fellow, who had been silent up until now.

"He was," she answered.

They didn't seem to catch the pronoun gender switch because the first bloke began introducing himself and his friend. "I'm Seth, and this is Tim."

"Hello," she said politely. She turned to look at the little menu on the table, hoping they would lose interest if they saw she had none.

"The food here sucks, but the beer is cheap," Seth offered.

"Thanks for the tip," she said, dropping the menu. She was going to have to be a little more direct, she reckoned.

"I didn't catch your name," Seth asked, doggedly pursuing the effort.

"I didn't drop it," she said, unable to help herself from smiling at his attempt. "I'm Annie Weasley..." she began, about to explain that she was unavailable and ask them to move along.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Annie Weasley," Seth interrupted, making a move to sit down next to her despite not being invited to do so.

"That's Mrs. Annie Weasley, gents," her hero's voice came from behind the suddenly startled young men. George stepped around them and set two pints on the table.

"George, darling!" she cried in blatant relief as he leaned over the table and gave her a quick kiss. "These are Seth and Tim, psychology students here at the university. They've been explaining to me about the menu," she said teasingly. She was confident George knew better than to feel threatened for real.

"Oh, excellent! The world can never have enough scholars, I always say. Don't I, my dear?" He was looking at the young men like a cat who'd just cornered a couple of mice.

"Always, love. Remember, nothing's more important than a good education, boys," she said, playing along and only feeling the slightest twinge of guilt for doing so.

"Psychology, eh? I suspect that takes up quite a bit of your time, then, what with all that contemplation of the mysterious workings of the brain and whatnot," George needled the interlopers, toying with them now.

"Erm, yeah. We should probably go study or something," muttered Seth, disappointed and feeling ill-used.

"Oh, that's a pity," George hypocritically sighed. "Well, we understand, don't we, Annie, love? The never-ending quest for wisdom, and all that...."

"Of course. Good luck to you, Seth and Tim!" she called out as they skulked away.

"That was entertaining," George mumbled insincerely as he took a drink.

"Rather. Quite a boost to the old ego, I confess," she said with a smile, taking a drink as well. "And well done, you, for remembering what psychology is."

George snorted as he set his pint glass down and leaned back into his chair, gazing at her appraisingly. "I suppose you don't really look like a woman who's been married six years with four children waiting for her at home," he conceded.

"They're at your mother's tonight, actually. And I'll take that as a compliment, regardless of what you intended," she teased. Then she leaned onto the table toward him, stroking his forearm with her hand. "Further, I freely admit you look every bit the cunning, sexy, ruthless entrepreneur well on his way to making the first of many millions."

"That's quite enough of that now," he chided her. "As if I don't know every third word out of your mouth is utter bullshit. Those poor boys don't realize I rescued them from you, rather than the other way around."

"Well, what did you expect from a bar sitting across the street from a college? The allure of fresh meat, and all that," Annie giggled.

"So, where are all the pretty coeds, then?" he replied.

Annie glanced around the room. She realized within a few seconds that she was one of only a handful of females present. "Well, thanks for bursting my bubble! Here I sat, feeling my oats, only to be crushed now that you point out I'm only slim pickings," she whined petulantly.

George laughed as he leaned across the table toward her, taking her hand in his. "Don't look so deflated. I promise you won't spend the night alone in an empty bed," he added with a wink.

Now that was a pick-up line she could appreciate.

Author's Note: In the interest of full disclosure, I freely admit to stealing the name of the pub George and Annie visit. The George and Dragon Pub here in Phoenix, AZ is a favorite of the local ex-pats looking for a bit of home, and the fish and chips are simply to die for. The coincidence was just too tempting to resist.