Joaquin went over the names and their associations several times more in his head. The car slowed amid a long section where a few highways crossed. While in this traffic, Joaquin cleared his throat, hoping to start a conversation.

“When was the last time you were on a real date? Not a pretend one,” asked Joaquin.

Helen peered down at her clasped hands. “Probably two months ago. What about you?”

“Well.” Joaquin huffed, the fingers of the lone hand on the wheel drumming the leather. “What would you exactly consider a ‘date’?”

“Oho! So you’re into hookups?”

“Well …” Joaquin fixed his gaze on the road, eyebrows furrowing upward.

“It’s okay! I don’t judge. I’ve had a few myself.”

“Phew!” His face relaxed. “All right, so if we’re gonna be straight with each other. My last hookup was two weeks ago. Last real date was maybe six months ago.”

“Wow! That’s a while.”

“Yeah … I dunno. I just got tired …”

“Tired?” Helen asked over a sip of her hazelnut coffee.

“Tired of the dating game: trying to see if things click with every girl, or waiting for things to click …” he sighed.

Helen nodded, completely empathizing. She checked the side mirrors as he changed lanes. “So what do you do?”

“Oh, I’m a contractor by day …”

“Oh no, do NOT get my family started on that! My dad’s a contractor and his brother works in commercial real estate.”

“Should I come up with a new profession?”

“Perhaps. I’ll think on it.”

“What do you do?”

“I work at an art gallery. The work itself is pretty boring; I do admin stuff mostly. But God, the people I have to deal with … You think cows emit a ton of methane? Well, these folks have the same amount of hot air only blown up their asses with their mouths as exhaust vents!”

The flow of traffic picked up, as did Helen’s passion for ranting about her job. It wasn’t her ideal job, but it paid the bills. She did enjoy witnessing how far removed from reality their clientele were, though. And while she regarded most of the pieces in the modern gallery with indifference, or on the rare occasion gave a favorable thought, some of the artwork that came through really rankled her. These she enjoyed venting over the most.

“And get this! One of our gallery’s pieces was sold and a whole team went to the client’s penthouse condo to install it. They drilled a hole in the wall, stuck in a peg, and hung a roll of duct tape off it. They slapped on a plaque with the pedigree a few feet away, and that. WAS IT.” Helen drummed her fingers on her lap and huffed. “Bet I could literally wipe my ass and sell the used toilet paper as art if I had the right connections.”

“At the very least, you might be able to sell it to some creep online,” remarked Joaquin.

Helen burst out laughing before she abruptly quieted. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those creeps.”

Joaquin guffawed. “Not for used toilet paper! Pssh, naw. I may have a fetish or two, but I don’t think I’m that much of a deviant.”

“Oh! What sorts of fetishes?”

Joaquin smirked from the side of his mouth, keeping his eyes ahead. “I’ll allow you to guess.”

“Feet? Or is that too predictable?”

“Nope.”

This was not her first choice for a conversation after the perfunctory topics were exhausted, but she didn’t mind. It was fun. In a way.

“Please don’t tell me it’s some sort of bodily waste.” Helen grimaced.

“Nope,” he repeated.

“Will you even tell me if I guess correctly?” she asked.

“Yes. Because I’m telling ya, I don’t think I’m that much of a deviant.”

The soft sound of the latest chart-toppers fizzled out as they crossed into a different county. A new station replaced them with the usual holiday fanfare. Helen could never escape them. She turned down the volume even further until the road noise nearly drowned out the music.

“Don’t like Christmas music?”

“I don’t mind it, but the stations have got to get more variety! This is the twelfth time I’ve heard this version of White Christmas this week.” Helen particularly disliked this specific crooner lauded as a modern-day revival of the kings of a bygone era. He thought himself so smooth, and women fell for it. It sent Helen’s eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Check it, how about a mixtape?” Joaquin slipped a cassette out of his breast pocket. “I was happy to see your car’s old enough to still have a cassette player!”

Stunned, Helen took a sip of her dwindling drink. “Well, guess we should use it before it completely craps out.” She popped the tape into the hungry mouth below the much slimmer CD feed. A crash of drums fed into a rolling melody increasing in intensity.

“Aw, yeah! Here we go!” Joaquin’s bottom lip jutted out as he began to bob his head. Helen couldn’t help but nod along as well. The myriad of rock songs energized them all the way to the gas station. While Joaquin filled the tank, Helen visited the bathroom of a chain coffee shop next door. She bought another round of drinks for herself and Joaquin. Overhead, the clouds thickened, boding rain. Before they left, Joaquin popped into the gas station bathroom.

Once the rock tape finished, Joaquin surprised Helen with another cassette from his jacket. This one was more ballad focused.

“Do you just have a stash of cassettes in that jacket?” asked Helen.

“Nope. Just those two. Never know when I have the opportunity to listen to something from my childhood!”

“I know I saw your driver’s license, but how old are you?” Helen gibed.

“Heh, blame my parents. They were all about cassettes and vinyl. We didn’t own any CDs until mp3s came out!”

Helen wondered what sort of people raised such an odd man. She was curious to meet them were this a real relationship. No. Helen scrubbed the thought from her mind. Even just considering that felt wrong. Business was business. She couldn’t entertain any hypotheticals. Helen shifted her gaze out the window, focusing on the road feeding into the hood of the car. The ballads wailed on with a soft chorus of Joaquin’s mumbles in accompaniment.