[b][center][h2]Joel Nicolosi[/h2][/center][/b]


“Because I don’t put up with that high-society bullshit.” Joel said flatly in response to Sio’s first question. He leaned on the control lever for his single hydraulic lift and the body of Sio’s Corvette lifted up away from the chassis leaving only a frame with four wheels, an engine and a transmission still sitting on the shop floor. Since Thursday morning he’d worked his normal bizarre hours around the shop stripping it down to the bare components that were now being separated. The parts were spread all over the shop: The dash, the seats, the wiring harness, the long nose section that he planned to swap out, steering linkage and all the plumbing that went through the firewall. He hadn’t decided what he was going to do with the paint, body work was not his forte, but he had a good source. It seemed an unnecessary waste to completely strip the paint when they were just going back to black again. To her credit, Sio stuck around the whole time. Sometimes they’d chat, other times just listen to the radio. She did a little of her artwork, kept track of the parts and sorted through his mountain of emails reading them off as he worked. 

The lift stopped slowly when the wheel well was at eye level and he walked around to the back of the frame checking out the top of the gas tank as he went. “It’s one thing if they don’t like you, that’s fine,” He continued giving the chassis a light push and rolling it out from beneath the body, “But to exclude you from a [i]public[/i] party that [i]they[/i] were hosting.” He shook his head, clearly disgusted with what he was saying, and tossed down a set of wheel chocks to keep it from rolling any further. “That’s just being a bitch,” He said firmly, “I just can’t stand it.” He left the frame and went back to inspecting the underside the body with a flashlight for corrosion, particularly around the old battery area as he listened to her talk. “Sounds like he needs to get a life.” He said answering her next concern nonchalantly. The underside looked as good as the top. No rust, no holes, just like it had come off the showroom. It still hadn’t come undone very happily and he thoroughly cussed Chevrolet the entire time he’d taken it apart.  

“The only thing she eats for lunch is a piece of lettuce and a glass of water.” Joel replied to her final inquiry. It wasn’t said as a joke or jab, just a statement as he glanced at the clock hanging in the shop and began putting away some of his tools. “And no, we are not dating at all.” He was coming down off some of the rage that the memory of that scene at the party invoked. “I’m surprised you’re worried about offending anyone,” He said glancing back over his shoulder from his massive toolbox at her, “Particularly that lot.” Wiping his hands with a rag, he looked over at the 300 still sitting quietly in the back of the shop bearing the decals of their “sponsors” from the Grand Prix. All those logos reminded him of was the snooty attitude of Marlin’s family, but the memory of beating her at that race was almost as good as winning the Grand Prix. Their dejected and disappointed faces as he cruised back up the flightline fueled some dark satisfaction within him. He again looked at the clock just to be sure his timing was right.

“It’s time to go out to the airport, you comin’?” 

[@Almalthia]


Joel's Shop Radio
[YouTube]https://youtu.be/HfpIKvEtago[/YouTube]