American Outlaw - Jesse James [85]
Janine was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She was tan and fit, with a sensual hourglass body and long blond hair. Everything about her seemed equally stunning. And on a purely animal level, she was tireless.
Janine seemed fascinated by me, too. She wanted to know every detail about my life. I had never had anyone ask me about my childhood before, but Janine seemed ready to hear it all.
“What were you like when you were a real little kid?” she asked. Her hand toyed across my chest as we lay in bed.
“Kinda nuts,” I said, after a second. “A little violent. When I was about five years old, there was this kid down the street who I hated.”
“What was his name?” Janine asked, smiling.
“Steven,” I said, warming to my story. “We always fought each other. One time, he took off his belt and he smacked me in the head with it.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, right? The buckle tore right into my head and made me bleed,” I remembered. “So, I got pissed and went in the house and grabbed this antique bullwhip that my dad had hanging from a hook, and I ran back to Steven. Somehow, I whipped it around his neck. I had him down on the ground, choking him.”
“Jesse!” Janine laughed. “You were a madman. Nowadays, they’d probably hold some kind of intervention.”
“I wish they had,” I admitted. “I was kind of unhappy.”
“You were lonely.”
I looked at her, surprised. “Yeah, I think I really was.”
She fixed me with the most serious, concerned look. Right then, I could read the love in her eyes. I could almost hear her saying, You’re not going to be alone anymore. It was just the craziest thing.
But Janine was more than just curious. She was fun, and she was impulsive. I had never met anyone in my entire life who was as ready to have an adventure at the drop of a hat.
“Man, I am beat. These hundred-hour weeks are driving me crazy.”
“Jesse,” Janine declared, “you need a vacation.”
“I wish. Unfortunately, we’re filming on Monday morning, bright and early.”
“And? It’s Saturday.”
“And, I haven’t been by the shop enough this week. I gotta go in and make sure those idiots haven’t burned it down to the ground.”
“No way,” Janine said, her hands on her hips. “Listen to me for a second. What do you really want to be doing right this instant?”
“Well, riding a chopper into Mexico, or something,” I said, shrugging. “But . . .”
“And who would you like to take there, and have, like, the best time ever with?” Janine smiled hugely.
“Well, you, of course,” I said, “but the truth is, I really can’t . . .”
“I don’t want to hear another word about it!” she cried. “You know that you want to go! You know we HAVE to go! So get your butt up off that couch and let’s go! Come on! Let’s go! Let’s roll!”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. Why not? After all, what good was being a success if you didn’t live like one? With Janine laughing delightedly behind me, I throttled my bike through La Jolla, through San Diego, all the way down to northern Mexico, flying through Rosario, into Ensenada, the wind blasting at our faces, her hands gripped tight around my waist and her thighs snug around my hips.
I had to admit, it felt pretty damn good to be with her. I felt free.
——
“Okay, I got it: an ambulance that can pop a wheelie!”
“No . . . how about a Geo Tracker that turns into a helicopter? Wait, I know, a hot-air balloon!”
“Listen, what do you think about a hot-dog cart that can go a hundred fifty miles an hour—and still serve relish!”
Thom and I were spilling over with ideas. I had to concede that while Monster Garage was an enormous effort, it was still a hell of a lot of fun. And it didn’t hurt that, because of the show, I was slowly becoming more prosperous.
The Discovery Channel paid me a nice talent fee for each episode, but the