Cherry Money Baby (6 page)

Chartreuse.
It
was
a ridiculous word.

The Spider jerked, heaved, and rolled into the lot of Kerrigan Auto on Main Street, pushed by two sticky, filthy, bruised young women. They lurched the last few feet into the waiting garage.

“If only my friends could see me now,” Cherry said.

Ardelia picked at a leaf sticking to her rear. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Cherry turned on the shop lights, casting a glare across the chrome and metal tools. The light was on in Pop’s office, a half-finished beer on the desk, still cold, as if they’d just missed him. Ardelia, refreshing herself with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, inspected the guts of a turbo engine, then peered into the undercarriage of an elevated pickup truck.

“This is where your father works?”

“It’s his business,” Cherry said. “This is my inheritance.”

Ardelia hefted a menacing-looking power drill. “Very impressive. Will we get to use this?”

“Not to change a tire,” Cherry said. “But if you want to put holes in shit, there’s an old Gremlin out back.”

“Delicious.”

The girls positioned themselves on the dusty floor. Cherry showed Ardelia a length of beveled piping with a crosspiece. “This,” she said, “is a tire iron.”

“I bet I know why it’s called that.”

Cherry started on the busted tire. “Now, you wanna pop the bolts before you jack up the car. That way the weight on the wheel gives you extra leverage.”

“I’m learning so much today,” Ardelia said. “No more shall I be a damsel in distress.”

“I hate damsels, especially distressed ones.” Cherry grunted, popping off the last bolt. “Okay, now we jack.” She rummaged under Pop’s table and came back with a jack. “You should always keep one of these in your trunk.”

Ardelia saluted. “Roger.”

Cherry showed her how to position the jack under the car and started to crank. After a few revolutions, she felt Ardelia’s gaze.

“Do I have something on my face?” asked Cherry.

“Yes. Grease. And possibly caramel?” Ardelia wiped Cherry’s cheek with her thumb. “But I was wondering why you dye your hair.”

Cherry cranked with a little more force. “You can tell?”

“Darling, I may not be able to change a tire, but I know a home dye job when I see one. Your eyebrows don’t match.”

Cherry let out a breath. “I dunno. I like blond better.”
Crank, crank.
The Spider wobbled higher. “Also, Pop always says I look like my mother, and I’m not too wild about that.” She wiped her brow. “I never told anyone that.”

“Mum’s in Cabo with a yoga instructor named Juan,” Ardelia said.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Mothers, right?”

“Who needs them?”

Cherry sat back, sweating from the effort. “Well, Ms. Oscar Nominee. Ready to change your first tire?”

Ardelia wrapped an arm around Cherry’s shoulder. “My
God,
yes.”

As they pulled into the trailer park, Ardelia texted something on her phone.

“You’re seventeen Sugar Village, right?”

“That’s me. And we’re here.”

Cherry brought the Spider to the curb and killed the engine. Ardelia turned in her seat.

“This was . . . magical.”

Cherry shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a good time.”

“You certainly are. Thank you. For everything.”

They hugged.

“I guess I’ll see you on the big screen.”

“I suppose so.”

The girls climbed out, and Cherry headed for the door. She turned. “Take care of that car, will ya? She’s a beauty.”

“Cherry.”

“Yeah?”

Ardelia tossed her something shining, tinkling. Car keys.

“She’s yours.”

“What?”

Ardelia patted the hood. “You’ll take better care of her than I can. It’s the least I can do.”

“Holy shit.” Cherry stared at the keys like they might suddenly turn into Marshmallow Circus Peanuts. “Holy. Shit. You’re giving me your
car
?”

“Well, one of them.”

“I . . . I can’t take this!” She gaped at the gleaming automobile. “Jesus, what am I saying? Of course I can!” She ran to Ardelia and hugged her, squeezing until her back cracked. “Thank you!”

“Don’t break me!”

“You want me to drop you at your hotel?”

“No need,” Ardelia said.

An engine growled, and a black SUV rounded the corner. It parked across the street, and a kid in a Paramount polo shirt climbed down from the driver’s seat and opened the rear door.

“Car service by text,” Ardelia said, waggling her phone. “A nice perk.”

“You’re officially my new favorite movie star.”

Ardelia waved. “See you around, Cherry Kerrigan.”

The SUV pulled away, disappearing onto Hope Ave. Sugar Village was quiet again.

Cherry tested the weight of the keys in her hand and rubbed her thumb across the Alfa Romeo bobble that hung from the ring like a lucky rabbit’s foot. They were
hers.
She jumped, pumping her fists, and whooped at the moon so loud, every dog in the neighborhood started barking.

She could hear voices as she approached the trailer door. She came in to see Stew waving his hands like he was putting out a fire.

“She’s coming, she’s coming!” he hissed.

“I can hear you, jackass,” Cherry said, laughing. “You guys are
not
going to believe this —”

Pop stood at attention by the side door like the world’s fattest palace guard. He cleared his throat.

“My lady, if you’d step this way.”

Stew patted her back, grinning. “Oh, man, are you gonna love this.”

“Have you two gone completely mental? What is this?”

She was ushered into the garage.

“I was going to wait for your birthday, but after all the craziness this afternoon, I figured we could do this a little early,” Pop said.

“Do what?”

He flicked on the overhead.

Bathed in the halogen light was a rust-spotted Gremlin, freshly refurbished with new (though mismatched) doors and side-view mirrors, a bumper from a Volvo 950, and a beautiful chrome muffler, brought out special from Marlborough.

“Ta-da!” Pop spread his arms wide. “And she’s all yours.”

“I mean, she’s no Dubber,” said Stew, opening the driver’s door and getting behind the wheel. “But she’s fucking tricked
out,
Cherr. Specialty dials to track your fuel efficiency . . . And I found this
killer
radio in a Prius that some kid rolled in Springfield.” He turned the dial and Lynyrd Skynyrd began to play.

“So,” said Pop, touching her shoulder. “What do you think?”

“She’s speechless!” Stew said. “Wait for it — here comes the screaming.”

Cherry managed two words, drowned out by the radio. Stew switched it off.

“What was that?”

Cherry swallowed.

“Fuck. Me.”

The three stood on the lawn, admiring the gleaming Spider. It looked entirely out of place, a time machine dropped in the middle of the shit-pot Stone Age. Pop let out a long whistle.

“Well,” said Stew, “this is ironic.” He glanced at Cherry. “Am I using that word right?”

“I’ll give it back,” said Cherry. “I should give it back.”

Stew leaned on the hood, pressing his cheek to the curves.
“Mmm.”

“Please don’t molest the car,” Cherry said. She glanced at her father. “I’m sorry, Pop.”

Pop puffed out his mustache. “What are you sorry for?”

“She just
gave
it to you?” Stew said.

“These are the keys.” Cherry dangled the key ring. “It’s a thank-you present, I guess.”

“Some thank-you,” Pop mumbled.

“Well, I did save her life,” Cherry said. Pop cocked an eyebrow. “What? I
did.
”

“Can I drive it?” Stew asked.

“You
have
a car.”

“I don’t have an Alfa Romeo. Wait, if
I
save her life, can I get one, too?”

Neighbors peered through their curtains. Mrs. Budzenia was walking her German shepherd, Grover. She stared. Grover peed.

Pop cleared his throat. “Let’s go inside.”

“Come on, Pop!” said Stew. “Can Cherry take me for a spin —?”

“Now!”

Stew walked backward into the house, clutching at his heart, pining for the car.

Pop and Cherry stayed a moment.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Her father rubbed his chin, his stubble going
shhhh-shhhh.

“You seem kinda . . .” Cherry made a grouchy face.

Pop shook his head, then said, almost accusing, “It’s just . . . I can’t give you a
Spider.
”

“I know, Poppa! I know.” She hugged his arm. “I love the Gremlin. It was made with love.”

Pop grunted.

She nodded toward the sports car. “Besides, think of all the speeding tickets I’d get in that thing.”

Pop grunted again at a higher pitch.

They stood arm in arm. The Spider seemed to grin back stupidly, like a new puppy.

“It really is beautiful,” said Cherry.

“Yes, it is.”

“I can’t give it back, can I?”

“I would disown you.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Poppa.”

He put his arm around her. “You deserve it.”

At 1:04 a.m., Cherry plugged her dead phone into its charger. The little Nokia played its cloying jingle and began to
ping-ping!
with texts from her best friend, Vi.

She turned off the light and crawled into bed. Curled into a ball, sheet tucked to her chin, she dialed Lucas’s number.

“Just calling to say good night and that I fucking love you.”

“I called your house line, but your bro said you were out.”

“Yeah, I had an insane evening,” Cherry whispered. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning.”

“Did you tell your dad about us?”

Cherry stared into the gloom. The glow from Lucas’s window bled through her drapes. She pictured him at his desk, sketching. “Not yet. You?”

“Yeah. Dad said good for me ’cause I’d never do better.”

Cherry smothered a laugh. “Hey,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“You’re the most amazing thing that happened to me today.”

“You, too.”

The exhaustion settled on her like a blanket, and they whispered their
good-night
s. She dreamed of piloting a rocket car across the sky, an endless ocean sweeping beneath her wheels.

Cherry’s alarm chirped at 5:05. Her pre-dawn run was comatose. Her eyes passed over the pavement without seeing it, her ears filled with the rush of her breath. She showered, dressed for school, and was pulling on her sneakers when the previous day began to climb her like ivy. The sun was bleeding through her blinds. It was a new world out there. Or maybe she was new. Or both.

“Can I drive the Spider to school today?” Stew asked. He stood in the hallway wearing nothing but a towel. With the toothbrush in his mouth, it sounded like, “Cahwah dah da shaydah wa oolooway?”

“No chance.”

He removed the toothbrush.

“I hate you.”

She patted his cheek.

Pop was at the kitchen table. Red Sox mug. Sports section. His mustache was dusted with white powder.

“You’ve been eating donuts.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

She checked the fridge. The Entenmann’s box was half empty. “Jesus, do I have to start putting a padlock on these?” She turned with a grin. “It’s fine. Everyone deserves a treat once in a while.”

Pop fluffed the paper. “Uh-oh.”

“What oh?”

“I never get off that easy. What did you do?”

Cherry took a seat, folded her hands, and assembled her most winning grin. She worked in some daddy’s-little-girl eye gleam for good measure.