River Walk: Ten Kinky Collaborations (16 page)

I sit there a minute and weigh my options. I decide to get out and try to get a better signal. I feel like an idiot as I point my phone in the air hoping it picks up a signal. I walk slowly, and my 3G lights up. I halt, and my blue circle develops into a browser page with the closest repair shops in the area. I hit the web link for the first shop on the list. Once on the website, I hit ‘call.’

“Hell-…thank… calling...Auto. How-…help you?”

“Hi, yes I need a tow to the station.”

I hear nothing and pull my phone away from my ear to see if I’m still connected, the seconds are ticking off, “location and discrib-of yo-vee..?” I decide to put myself on speaker so I can watch my phone as I talk through this game of roadside charades.

“I’m off of interstate 70 east of the Missouri/ Kansas boarder and I have a black BMW X6 Coupe.”

“Name.”

“Macy.”

“Stacy and your last name?”

“MMM-A-CY.”

“Lacy?” I bring the phone back up to my mouth while I speak louder, “M as in Man. A as in animal. C as in cat. And Y as in yo-yo.” I pull the phone away happy with my acronyms, and then I hear the telltale ‘end call’ sound. Instantly I’m angry that he hung up on me, but as soon as I begin to redial, I realize that my fingers slipped over the “end” on my screen as I was repositioning my phone. I squeeze my phone in my palm. “Fuck you, you fucking-fuckity smartphone!” I scream at the phone out of frustration.

It seems like an hour that I sit there and rage. I bend my head forward hitting it on the padded steering wheel resigned to the fact that I’ve got to do something besides sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Why couldn’t I have had trouble in a metro area? My car is brand new, with just over a thousand miles on it. I purposely bought a new car as opposed to a used car just for this reason. Finally, just as I’m giving up all hope, a tow truck arrives.

“Ma’am,” the driver tips his hat toward me. “It’s getting late. I can tow you to the closest dealership which is approximately two-hundred plus miles east of here. I’m not certain if they’ll be open, so I can either leave your car at the place you’re gonna stay, or I can tow you to a shop I think may be able to help you get back on the road sooner rather than later. It’s only about twenty minutes from here.”

It takes me about two seconds to decide I will not back track two-hundred miles with a chance of the dealership not being open. “I’d like to take my chances with sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, ma’am. Let me just get your car all hooked up and we’ll be on our way.” I stand to the side and watch as he pulls cables and hooks out, then adjusts a few nobs to allow the truck bed to tilt and shift. He lays under the front of my car hooking the cables somewhere underneath it. Then he’s back at the nobs adjusting as my car slowly gets pulled up the bed that’s now a ramp.

The inside of the truck smells so bad. The seat is stained and dirty. My mood sours to a new level. The driver fires up the truck, and then it roughly lurches forward. I don’t feel compelled to carry on a conversation with this guy and thankfully, neither does he. The ride is bumpy, the engine is loud and the dispatcher is constantly conversing with drivers about ETA’s and coordinates.

I stood awkwardly by the passenger door until a big guy nervously ushered me to the lobby area. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch my car get lowered, then unloaded from the tow truck. The chairs are those unstable, foldable chairs, and there is not a drop of estrogen in the whole place. They obviously attempted to make it more welcoming judging by the cheap vase with the dusty, cobwebbed covered, pitiful, droopy, fake flowers siting on a T.V. tray with some even older magazines. The carpet is threadbare and disgustingly stained. I feel so uncomfortable.

I sit alone and try to see out of the window, but a bush obscures my view. The longer I sit here, the worse I feel the situation is getting. I tap my foot anxiously. Then distract myself with some Trivia Crack.

‘Shane’ is barely visible on the patch. “It looks like you blew a gasket in your manifold. So condensation is leaking from your radiator and is mixing in the engine with your oil.” He announces without any preamble while walking in the door.

“Great, so let’s fix it.”

“I need to order the part, and it could take at least a week.”

“No! I don’t have a week. I’m sure this is a rather pricey resolution so I’ll pay double to get it moved to the front of the line.”

“It’s not really a matter of moving anything. I need to order the part.” I watch as he types on his nasty keyboard, it has a layer of thick residue on each key.

“Order the part, have it overnighted or express or whatever. Here’s my card.” I toss it out on the counter.

“I need to track down the part first, which will take some time also.”

“Don’t you have an app for that? Let me see, maybe I can get an app for that.” Shane lightly knuckles the keyboard tray while he’s deep in thought. I tap my Amex on the counter to bring him back to the current conundrum.

“I’ll be right back ma’am.”

“Please, please, don’t call me ma’am. Macy is fine.”

“Yes, Miss.” I guess this is just how they talk in the midwest. I feel like an elder when they call me ma’am.

Shane doesn’t return, instead a thinner, taller man with ‘oy’ on his patch walks in and assesses me like the police look over a line-up. His face is sullen and a little daunting

“Sorry ma’am, your car is so new that it literally has no aftermarket parts available. You can have it towed to the nearest dealership. Or we can order the part, but that could take some time. Shane contacted the closest dealership, and they don’t have the parts either, so if you choose that option you will be paying for another tow, and you’ll be waiting there as well. I can’t even rig it to get you out of the parking lot. The gaskets are smaller than anything I have ever seen, and you need them to seal the head or you’ll end up with more problems in your engine.”

Oy’s voice lacks empathy, and he just seems annoyed to have to deal with me. It pisses me off that Shane acted like I was a problematic customer. Any grace I was grasping at had slipped away. “I have no idea, not a fucking clue what that means!”

He swallowed and contorted his face like he was really trying to keep his cool. I didn’t care because I was white hot mad. I read about this, how mechanics take advantage of women because we don’t know what they’re taking about, and they run up your bill and fix things that don’t need to be fixed. They treat women like idiots and use terms no one understands to confuse us.

“When a manufacturer produces a new vehicle, they have the rights to all the parts for a determined amount of time, so only the dealerships have access to these parts. There are two reasons for this. One is that they want to keep track of what may be malfunctioning on the latest model, and two, because most of the work needed to a newer model is covered in a standard warranty. Thus any problem would be directed to your dealership.” Finally, I am starting to understand what is going on, sort of. I am still irritated that no one explained it to me this way before. “And as you can see, this area isn’t a typical location for luxury vehicles.” I roll my eyes. He just had to throw another dig. Just when I thought we were getting somewhere.

“Yeah, I get it. So now what?” I still haven’t bothered to contain my annoyance. They have a certain expectation of me so I’m going to oblige them.

“I’ll order the part with a rush on it.”

“Okay,” I say resigned. What else could I say?

“It’s going to take at least three days, if not more.”

“Three days?” I confirm and maybe whine a little.

“At least.” He slides a card over the counter toward me. In large embossed silver letters, it says Nelson Auto repair and parts, Roy Nelson Owner. I’m guessing “oy” is really Roy.

“I apologize. I’m being plagued by a series of inconveniences that I went out of my way to avoid.”

“I understand, but there’s no immediate solution. I suggest the Prairie Willow Inn?”

“Okay, and yes. If that’s a nice place to stay.”

“It’s the only safe and clean hotel in town.”

I nod and double tap my phone. I’m more than ready for that bath, and now some heavy drinking. “Ma’am I need your contact information.” I cringe at ma’am, “It’s Macy, Macy Seduva.”

“Phone number?”

He goes on to get my billing address. Absentmindedly, I give him my New York address.

“Any other suggestions?”

He looks at me across the counter with a dark glare, “Regarding?”

“A place to stay?”

He doesn’t answer me he just picks up the phone. “Joan, it’s Roy. Yes, I’m well thank you. I have an out of town customer that needs a room.” There’s a long pause, and Roy walks away. I can’t quite hear him, so I lean over the counter to get closer. He moves further away, and is now out of sight. I start to pace. I’m antsy.

“Turns out there are no rooms available.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked for another suggestion.”

“You can stay with me.” It’s not an invitation. It’s a command. Instantly my mouth takes over.

“Like hell I will! I’ll find a place.”

“You’ll just be more pissed off when you end up with bedbugs or something worse.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Ma’am, Roy’s right. This is a small town; the other motel is where the local junkies and prostitutes live.”

“I’ll get a cab to another town.”

Mocking laughter fills the space. I storm out of the office and start researching on my phone. The nearest cab service is in a town called Olathe, and it’s a hundred and eight miles away. The surrounding towns are small. I still search for a hotel, and there are no available photos. That’s never a good sign. Fury is filling my body. I have a headache, and my whole body is tense.

CHAPTER THREE

I recently had given up smoking, but I found myself in desperate need of a cigarette. It was the only real vice I ever had. I just so happened to have found an unopened pack when I was packing my stuff for the move. I frantically search my bags in my trunk. I kneel on the bumper so I can get in further. “I know you’re in here fuckers,” like talking to them is going to make them appear faster. I should have put them in my purse, but I wasn’t going to risk soiling my new car smell with stale cigarette scent. My portfolios shifted so I restack them and find my small bag with my swimwear. I dig around in there and find my pack smashed and distorted. Peeling off the cellophane and stepping down onto the ground, I hold my breath that at least some are intact to get me through this ordeal. I flip the top open to find over half of the filters crushed flat. I pull out the smashed ones two at a time. Less than half the pack is left.
Oh well, this will have to do for now.
I look up feeling relief and notice everyone staring at me. I back up, then slip, but regain my footing before I fall. I look down expecting to see some kind of shop hazard only to find that I discarded my smashed cigs right onto the ground. I’m not usually this careless or rude, but I’m frazzled beyond belief. “Sorry,” avoiding eye contact, I use my hand to scoop the remnants into a pile.

“Stop!” “Don’t do that.” “No!” I look up to see a different pained expression on each one of the men’s faces gathered around me. I pull my hand away and place it on my thigh to help me stand. “No!” They shout in unison. I stand and look down at the black greasy hand print on my linen pants.

Roy roughly grabs me by the elbow, but corrects himself when I gasp in shock. “This is why customers aren’t allowed in the shop,” he grabs a blue cloth on the way out of the door. “The bathroom is right there. You can get the grease off your hand, but I doubt it will ever come out of those pants.” He pushes me forward toward the door. I glare over my shoulder at him.

I practically have to throw my whole body into the battered door to get it to budge.
This just keeps getting better and better.
Immediately, I’m assaulted by the harsh scent of an artificial air freshener. At the sink, I pump my palm full of soap and elbow the tap on. I lather and lather, but the grease is just smearing all over my hands. I use my fingernails to scrape it off, and then my nails turn black. I keep scrubbing and scrubbing until my palm is free from any residue. I use my other fingernails to dig out what I can from under each nail, but it just transfers to under that nail. I just give up. I can’t take the awful smell in here a second longer. I walk in the opposite direction of the shop. There’s an empty lot covered in weeds with a horse trail sitting on the far side. I stand at the edge then flick at my lighter and the blue flame is so comforting. I hold it up to the end of my bent cig inhaling.

“Put that out. We need to go.” I just roll my eyes, and take another long, deep drag. I’m gonna need a new pack if I have to deal with this guy for three more days.

“Are you this authoritarian with everyone; or is it just me?” I turn to find him already half way back to the shop. “Dick.” It takes me two more drags before I’m done. I’m being stubborn, since he’s such an ass.

“Grab what you need from your car.” Before I can respond with my own snarky remark, he has his back to me again walking away. I flip him off with both hands in front of the rest of the guys. As I walk closer to my car, they all scatter like ants. I grab what I need then slam the trunk shut, just to make the point that I’m pissed off. He pulls up right as I turn around, then grabs my suitcase and throws it carelessly in the back. I want to say something, but I just get in.

The ride to his place seems long, but it’s only about seven minutes. I know because I’m watching my phone. Maybe I should be worried that he’s a murderer or a rapist, but I’m not getting that vibe at all. That said, you should always have an escape plan, so I’m paying close attention to my surroundings. We drove through a small neighborhood and then down a gravel driveway. The house is decent size. There are two large buildings on both sides of the house, but they are some distance away.

From my window, the land seems to go on forever. It’s very peaceful, but it makes me feel so small. I forgot places like this existed. The room is simple and clean. The bedspread looks like it’s from the eighties; it’s white with tiny pale blue flowers all over it. The throw pillows are the same pale blue but in a velvety fabric with lace.