Work Text:
Ray ran a rag over the smooth surface of the Riv’s hood, pausing to scrub vigorously at an imagined smudge near the right headlight. It didn’t need any more polishing–it was spotless. The pale green finish gleamed clear enough that Ray could see his reflection. It was so clean you could eat off it. Sighing, Ray twisted the rag in his hands as he rounded the car, checking for any little thing that might need fixing, anything to give him an excuse to not go home yet.
According to his watch, it was just about midnight. It was late enough that Ange would likely be in bed, but sometimes she stayed up to watch the Late Show . Maybe he would take the long way home, just in case. Balling up the rag, Ray tossed it onto the work bench. He slipped inside the car, body molding perfectly to the seat, like it was made for him. His fingers curled around the steering wheel, gripping hard, anchoring himself. The air was heavy with the scent of must, motor oil, and gasoline. Filling his lungs with it, Ray felt like it was the first decent breath he’d been able to take all night. Being here, inside the cabin of the Riv, was the only place he felt at peace anymore.
For the past two weeks, Ray had been taking refuge in the garage of the Vecchio home, spending hours tinkering away on the Riv after work. It started when he had stopped by to check in on his mother, who had been calling and calling him to fret over his father’s declining health. The stubborn son of bitch refused to go get checked out despite the laundry list of ailments–chest pain, dizzy spells, hacking cough, shortness of breath; all sorts of things that were hardly surprising for a man over sixty who smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. He’d sat through dinner listening to his mother beg her husband to go to the doctor, imploring Ray to talk some sense into his father. As if the old man would ever listen to sense, let alone listen to anything Ray had to say.
He’d finally been able to slip out after forcing down the second helping that his mother had insisted upon (“ You’re so skinny! Isn’t that wife of yours feeding you?”). But once he was in the safety of his car, he’d found that he was in no hurry to get back to his and Ange’s apartment. It wasn’t just his father’s health that was failing, his marriage wasn’t in great shape either. After having dealt with his family’s madness all evening, Ray couldn’t muster up the energy to deal with the troubles waiting for him at home.
As he turned the engine over, Ray had pictured himself hitting the open road and leaving it all behind. Not that he’d ever do it, but it was nice to think about being somewhere far away from all the disappointment waiting to be caused. The check engine light had glowed like a beacon, offering him a small reprieve. He’d steered the car into the garage, figuring it couldn’t hurt to give it a quick once-over. When he’d finally gotten home that night, the apartment was dark and quiet, Ange was sound asleep. It had been a relief to be able to walk in the door without fear of a fight starting or meeting a different kind of silence; a cold shoulder instead of the warm embrace that Ange used to greet him with.
The tension that had been simmering between them for months seemed to finally boil over after Ray bought the Riv. Every time they had to lug their laundry over to the family home to use the machine, or hoof it up four flights of stairs after a long day on the beat, every time the place felt like it was going to bust at the seams with the two of them living on top of each other, Ray was reminded what a reckless decision he’d made. It had taken them years to save up that money; it was supposed to be for them , for their future together. Maybe put a down payment on a place and get out of the shoebox they were living in. He couldn’t blame her for being pissed at him for blowing it on a selfish whim. Every time he looked at Ange, he felt the wrench of guilt in his chest, but It wasn’t quite enough to make him regret it. The Riv had been something he needed .
For a long time, Ray had felt like something was missing, something he couldn’t even name. He had a beautiful wife, a good career, and was well on his way to making detective. By all accounts, his life was going exactly according to plan. The problem was, Ray was starting to question whether or not it was his plan. It had always seemed like there was really only one path to take in life: get a job, get married, start a family, grow old, and die. He just followed in the footsteps of everybody else without thinking about whether or not there was any other way. But now he was starting to wonder if there was something else out there. Something more he could want.
He was barely twenty-two and fresh out of the academy when his mother had started in on him about finding a nice girl to settle down with. At the time, Ray had been too preoccupied with his buddy Tommy to give much thought to girls, nice or otherwise. Most of his nights were spent sharing pizza and beers and then fooling around on the second hand futon in Tommy’s tiny studio apartment. To Ray, it was heaven. But then Tommy decided that he wasn’t satisfied keeping things behind closed doors. He wanted to go out— come out —have a real boyfriend to go dancing with, someone who would hold his hand out in public. It didn’t sound so bad; actually it sounded kind of nice. Sure, they’d get stares and whispers, but Ray didn’t really care what some jerk on the street thought. His family however… He could just imagine the kind of dust that would kick up if he brought a nice boy home instead of a nice girl —that definitely wasn’t part of any plan. In the end, he just couldn’t do it. He broke things off with Tommy and that was that.
A year later, he met Ange, and she was more than just nice. Ray fell for her hard and fast, thinking maybe his Ma was right—maybe it really was time to settle down. They’d barely been dating two months when he decided to pop the question, and six months later, they were married. For the first couple of years, it was everything he’d hoped for. Ray treated Ange like a queen, and she made him feel like he was finally becoming the kind of man he was supposed to be. He was a good cop, a good husband, and, maybe soon, he’d become a good father too. He’d be the exact opposite of the example he’d grown up with.
But as time went on, Ray started to feel restless. He had a near-constant creeping sensation just under his skin, crawling along his spine and making it hard to sit still. He’d heard of the Seven Year Itch , but he and Ange hadn’t even made it that far yet. It didn’t seem to matter, because Ray was itching anyway. Ignoring it only seemed to make it worse; it gnawed at his nerves, putting him on edge. Little things he’d barely noticed before suddenly drove him out of his mind. Pressure built in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He needed to find relief somehow—otherwise, he’d end up clawing himself open just to make it stop.
Ray had never been a saint, and, married or not, he still had eyes. When an attractive person crossed his path, he noticed. But aside from an appreciative glance, he’d never felt tempted to take it further. Lately, though, when his eye wandered, Ray felt the urge to follow it. One night, after work, he stopped at a sports bar and nearly followed that urge into a bathroom stall after catching a sly smile from a man across the room. Ray’s feet moved before he could even think, guided by the blood pounding in his veins, by that itch searing all over his skin.
As he pushed open the door, the bright fluorescent light hit him—a sharp contrast to the bar’s dimness. The shock of it woke him up. Heart racing, he jerked back and bolted out of the bar as fast as his shaky legs would take him. Shame hit him like a wave as he staggered into the alley, stomach roiling as he bent over and heaved up his club soda and cranberry. Squeezing his eyes shut, he was hit with memories of all the nights his Pop didn’t bother coming home, the sound of his Ma crying herself to sleep. Despite having made all the right choices, taken all the right steps, Ray somehow found himself exactly where he didn't want to be: on the verge of becoming just like his father. If something didn’t change, he wasn’t sure where he’d end up, or what he’d end up doing.
Seeing the ad for the Riv had felt like a godsend. That car was one of the few things in Ray’s life he’d wanted purely for himself, something that had nothing to do with anyone else. He was ten years old the first time he saw a 1971 Buick Riviera, fresh off the lot, that beautiful green color shining in the sun as it glided down the street. Ray had been riveted, staring down the road long after it had disappeared, hoping for just one more glimpse. Before he’d even had his first crush, he’d fallen in love with that car. Just the thought of finally having the one thing he’d always wanted within reach felt like a balm to his soul.
As soon as he laid eyes on the car in person, Ray could see his future with Ange, all the plans they’d made, crumbling away. Handing over the cash, he imagined the disappointment in her eyes, heard the hurt and anger in her voice beneath the thrum of the engine as he pulled out of the lot. It should have been enough to make him turn back. But all Ray could focus on was the deep relief that washed over him as he finally slipped behind the wheel.
Even now, with all hell ready to break loose, Ray still felt that calm settle deep in his chest just from sitting in the parked car. It told him everything he needed to know—that he’d rather be here, freezing his ass off in the garage, than curled up next to his wife in a warm bed. He loved Ange enough to know she deserved better, someone who would put her first above everything else. Someone better than him. Deep down,maybe he’d hoped that buying the Riv would solve his dilemma—that it would finally push Ange far enough to do his dirty work for him, get her to say the things that Ray was too much of a coward to admit. That it was over between them.
Every time Ray thought about broaching the subject of ending things, he’d picture the look of heartbreak on his mother’s face at the thought of one of her children desecrating the sanctity of marriage. His Ma, the old school Catholic that she was, didn’t believe in divorce. Why else would she have put up with all his Pop’s bullshit for forty years? She’d want Ray to stick it out, turn to the church for guidance. But there was something inside Ray that no amount of counseling or prayer was going to fix. If he wanted to do right by Ange, the only thing he could do was let her go. Hiding out in this garage every night was just delaying the inevitable. It was time to make a move.
The engine purred to life as Ray twisted the key in the ignition. With a wistful curve to his lips, he smoothed his hand over the dashboard, feeling the vibration of the engine beneath his palm. He wondered if he’d ever meet somebody that made his heartbeat as fast as this gorgeous hunk of metal could. If he’d ever want somebody more than he wanted this car, want somebody enough that they were worth throwing everything else away for. Maybe he’d never meet that person, but if he did, Ray just hoped he’d have enough courage to take the same risk on them.