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J.'s was lame since he had spent part of his 21st birthday there. The one dancer he could remember had bleached blonde hair with a face like a horse, teeth included. He shook the image out of his head and slid into the car seat.To avoid the toll on the Jersey Turnpike, they had to take the long, slow Route 1 Bridge and whip around the backside of Newark Airport. Brendan didn't really mind. He was enjoying the moments of nostalgia as they passed landmarks he had committed to memory. He gazed upon the New Jersey he remembered: the small homes with crappy yards in neighborhoods that were separated by highways and industrial zones. The oil tanks rose and fell as ships came and left. Growling trucks maneuvered in the back of warehouses with their incessant "beep, beep" when they shifted into reverse. Somebody clanged the doors on a boxcar or slapped their hooks underneath a heavy container for hoisting. The air smelled of oil and grease and grit, which his father had preached was a sign of. He showed me where he kept his stuff, and explained what he wanted me to do. For the moment, there seemed very little, but as I watched, I realised what he was doing. From here on it would be for me to do. Stirring the paint, putting the drop sheets down, positioning his ladders.While he showed me, I took stock of him. Shorter than me, lean but muscular, dark hair that needed cutting, and definitely not the most handsome male I'd seen. He had a quick effortless way of getting things done.By the end of the first week, I had the hang of what he wanted, and we worked well together. During our breaks, I found out he was married, with two young boys. I also discovered he had a roving eye, nothing sneaky behind my back, but blatantly taking in my charms. I didn't mind, I knew I was pretty, and had a nice body. Why shouldn't he notice me?Life at home was great. My new outlook on life impressed everyone. Paul and Sue began taking me out with them. Mum and dad began talking to me again. Not.
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