Off-Duty by Ronen Divon

Joe stared at the glowing digits. It showed ten past midnight. The greenish radiance of time, it occurred to him, was just slightly brighter than the reddish blush of the zeros beaming of his taxi meter. All in all it wasn’t a bad day. The cold weather, increasingly common mid October, usually meant good business. He should call it off and head home; home – where his wife was already asleep, and most likely “not in the mood.” The past few months presented a rough patch in Joe’s five years marriage. Sandra, his wife, seemed oblivious to his sexual needs. And with his crazy schedule, the little time he had with her hardly ever resulted in an intimate encounter. For a while he suspected she was having an affair, but despite following her several times, he could prove nothing. Call it a taxi driver’s intuition. He himself was not faithful. On occasion, when a decent looking passenger offered to pay him for a long ride in sexual favors, he found himself accepting. Joe still remembered his first time; somewhat embarrassed and not sure how to respond to the “I am out of cash. Is there another way I can pay you?” The young-looking female passenger took the initiative, running her fingers along his right arm, the arm he was in the habit of spreading along the back of the front passenger seat. The rest was easy. He actually quite enjoyed it. Later, he learned from chats with other cabbies that this was not uncommon. “Welcome to the club!” his dispatcher Jim announced aloud, causing Joe to blush. Joe turned the heat control lower. With no passengers coming in and out for this past hour, the air in the cab was getting stuffy hot. Joe liked to keep his cab warm, wearing a short sleeve shirt even on the coldest days of the year, but not to the point of sweating. He yawned a hearty yawn and said aloud, “Oh well, I can use the sleep.” Switching the Off Duty light on Joe turned his taxi towards a street leading to Manhattan’s FDR, back home. It had been, after all, a long day; a day that started at 6am. Joe did take a short break around noon. He had an arrangement with a small motel in Astoria, Queens, only minutes away from Manhattan, where the owner, an acquaintance, allowed him to use a room for an hour's nap. Joe was turning from Third Avenue to 48th Street, where there was an entrance ramp to the FDR. A woman in a white fur coat caught his sight, waving at him calmly. “Oh, what the heck. One last passenger for the day.” Joe stopped a few feet past the woman. “Where to?” he asked rolling the window half way. “Astoria, please.” and then, as if concerned he would refuse, “I’ll make it worth your while.” “Okay,” replied Joe, and, to make her feel better added “I am heading in that direction anyhow.” “Great! Thanks.” She opened the back door and entered. Joe couldn’t tell her age but from the little that he saw – the way she moved, was dressed, and the little glimpse he got of her facial features, she looked to him like a model, right out of one of those fashion magazines. The FDR highway leading to the 59th Street Queenboro Bridge was jammed-packed for this time of the night. Joe used the slow traffic to sneak peeks at the mirror. His passenger was looking outside, drawn in thought. Not the chatty type, thought Joe. He spread his right arm along the back of the front passenger seat and relaxed. It’s going to be a long ride. They still had a good twenty blocks to cross before reaching the bridge.

The sensation on his right arm was unmistakable but Joe just couldn’t comprehend it. He quickly glanced at the mirror. His passenger didn’t seem to move. Her head still turned outwards. He could have sworn he felt her licking his arm. It was still possible. She may have just bent down briefly, licked his arm, and come back to sitting in the same position. But he wasn’t sure so he said nothing. From now on he was alert, frequently checking the mirror, to a point he almost bumped the car ahead of him when it stopped abruptly. “Shit,” he whispered, stopping just an inch ahead of the car in front. “Excuse me? Were you saying anything?” came his passenger’s voice from behind, gentle yet firm. “No, sorry,” replied Joe, “just talking to myself,” “Oh,” she said and turned her head outwards. Traffic was moving again, and Joe was focusing on the road when it happened again! She licked his arm! He quickly looked at the mirror just in time to see her turn her head out. He was unsure as before. Should I remove my arm? Joe hesitated. But then again, the sensation was quite arousing. What if she is interested in him? Just the mere thought caused him to feel a certain member of his anatomy responding in anticipation. They were now on the Queensboro Bridge and approaching Astoria. Joe kept on sneaking looks at the mirror, hoping to catch her in the act. But no luck. The passenger in the white fur coat kept a straight pose and didn’t as much as exchange one glance at him. They were coming within a few blocks of her drop-off address. The night was quiet except for a police siren somewhere in the neighborhood. Joe wondered if and how he should bring her interest in him up. Should he divert from the route and stop by the nearby motel, where he takes his midday naps? He was sure the owner wouldn't mind giving him a room for an hour. Or should he first say something so she knows he is interested. Then another, scarier thought crossed his mind – what if she is an undercover cop? Maybe this whole thing is a sting aimed at arresting him? Maybe another passenger who gave him favors in lieu of a fare complained? Or maybe his passenger is working for a private-eye and this whole thing is his wife's idea? A plot to catch him in the act so she can get a divorce and keep their apartment? While considering the different scenarios, Joe found himself arriving at the destination. The green glow showed 12:50am and the red glow showed $35.75 plus $2.50 extra night rate. “Here’s a fifty, keep the change, and… again – thanks.” No hint whatsoever to the licking. “Sure…”said Joe in a somewhat dry voice. She opened the door and stepped out in her model-like way. It’s now or never, thought Joe. He rolled the front passenger window down. “Listen,” he called. She turned back, approached the cab and leaned over the open window. “Yes?” “I was thinking,” said Joe, but before he was able to utter another word, the head of a small dog, one of those Chihuahuas, peaked from the inside of the woman’s coat. “Yes?” she repeated her question, and seeing he noticed the dog added, “Oh don't worry. Zoe here is very affectionate.“ Joe felt his throat drying. “You were saying?” repeated the woman. “Oh, just watch your step,” managed Joe to mumble, “it’s cold and there may be icy spots.” “Right. Good night,” and she walked away. Joe sat there for another moment. The green glow showed 01:01am. He turned the Off-Duty light on and, ignoring a waving person along the road, drove off into the night.