Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (2 page)

"Sorry for the delay, " Dr. Moore said,
flipping on the bright light over her head. "We had an
unexpected emergency?

"
Most of them are," Munch said. She leaned
back, opened wide, and closed her eyes. She let her thoughts drift as
she disassociated from what he was doing inside her mouth.

Robbing banks had been another one of Ellen's bright
ideas.

Munch remembered the day Ellen had come up with the
plan. The equipment necessary for the great bank heist had been easy
enough to come by: panty hose, Superglue, and their disguises.
Simplicity, Ellen had assured her, would be the key to their success.

Ellen's plan was to glue the stockings inside the
night-deposit drop slots. They would do this at night, after bank
hours, and return before the bank opened and reel in their booty.
jail was full of brain surgeons such as them. It had never gotten
that far. Their careers as bank bunglers had been blessedly short.
The glue had stuck to their hands. The nylons had stuck to everything
but the stainless-steel slots. At the third bank a security guard had
discovered them. He'd been alerted, he said, by their giggles. Ellen
had convinced him that what they were doing was a harmless sorority
prank. On-the-spot improvisation was one of Ellen's strong suits. But
then, Ellen was good at anything that involved lying. The rent-a-pig
had let them go after they let him cop a feel. Cheap payment indeed.
Munch didn't realize until later that bank burglary was a federal
bee£

"
Open," Dr. Moore said.

"Sorry," Munch mumbled, adjusting the
suction hose with her tongue.

"
So how's the limo business going?"

Munch started to reach for a business card, but the
dentist stopped her. "You gave me one the last time you were
in," he said.

He had her rinse and spit. She filled the paper cup
and adjusted the suction on the hose. While waiting, she had fiddled
with every knob and switch. "Now that prom season is over, we've
been enjoying the, uh, slower pace."

"
I've heard it's a tough business."

"
It's the insurance that kills you," she
said.

"
At least you don't have to worry about mechanic
bills. "

"Just parts. But you're right. That's our edge.
Plus, with the Olympics coming to L.A. this year, I might have to
expand the operation."

"
How many cars do you have now?" he asked.

She paused. That was always a tough question. In
other words, the truth wasn't the best answer, not if she wanted her
business to come off as a going concern. People loved winners. To say
she was struggling along with one, previously owned, Cadillac stretch
and working out of her house made the wrong impression.

"As many as you need," she said. "Are
we all done here?"

"I think we should take some X rays," he
said.

How much will that cost?
"Maybe next time, I've got to get back to work." She
unhooked the alligator clips holding on her bib. The truth was she
worked on straight commission, was raising a child on her own, and
the limo business—her ticket to easy cash—wasn't panning out.

She thought she had it made when she bought the
silver Caddy with its classy, blue-velour interior. Another good
feature was that the car had been stretched and outfitted by the
reputable Executive Coach Builders, not some half-assed cheapo chop
shop that never got the driveshaft right or used enough steel in the
reinforcements. The limo had needed some electrical work, but that
was no problem. Wire and solder were cheap enough. In fact she had
worked all the numbers out, figuring in costs of insurance,
advertising, drivers' salaries, and had come up with encouraging
results. The limo only had to work twenty hours a month to start
earning a profit. After that, everything else was gravy. She worked
in Bel Air with all its rich and famous. And weren't those the very
people who hired limos to squire them around town?

The reality of the
business had been a brutal, depressing lesson in small-business
economics. Since starting the business in January and using money
earmarked for Asia's education, she had only managed to garner one or
two customers who called her with any sort of regularity. And they
were mostly sixty-dollar one-way airport runs at inconvenient hours.
Then prom season had struck, and she had more business than she could
handle and half of those runs had had nightmares attached. The
high-school kids sneaked in liquor, threw up on the carpet, or tried
to climb out the moon roof while the car was in motion. Once the limo
came back with the side windows broken out. Another time the client
convinced the driver to bill him for services. Munch was never able
to get ahold of the guy. Letters to the address he had given her came
back stamped RETURN TO SENDER: ADDRESSEE UNKNOWN.

* * *

She caught a glimpse of gold on the dentist's ring
finger.

"
When's your anniversary? We have a special
romantic evening package—includes a beautiful silk rose and a
bottle of champagne with a three-hour minimum." She didn't
mention that both were leftovers from the Valentine's Day special.
"You should surprise your wife some night."

"
Are your chauffeurs experienced? " he
asked.

"
And licensed,"
she said. The dentist would have no way of knowing she was referring
to a California driver's license; there was no such thing as a
chauffeur's license in California. "I might even drive you
myself," she added, trying to sound cheery. "I do that
every so often just to stay in touch with that side of the business."
She knew she was talking too much. Her bullshit was wearing thin,
even to her own ears. It was the first week of June. The opening
ceremonies of the 1984 Summer Olympics were still almost two months
away. If only she could hold out until then.

* * *

When she got back to work, Lou, her new boss and
former coworker, was standing in the lube bay and speaking on the
extension. After Happy Jack had sold his business to the Japanese
firm that leveled every shop on the intersection to build a
twenty-story office building, Lou had bought the mechanical end of a
gas station in Bel Air and invited her to come aboard. He even
allowed her to install an extra phone line and advertise A&M
Limousine Service from the station's upscale location.

In return, she made the limo available for his dates,
which were varied and many. Happy Jack used to say that Lou would
fuck a snake, whatever that meant. Munch didn't feel she had any room
for judgment.

When Lou saw her, he waved her over to him. "She
just walked in," he said into the phone as she approached. "Let
me see if I can catch her."

He covered the receiver with his hand, and said,
"This is that guy with the Vega, the one you put back together
with stop leak."

She reached for the phone. "Is it still
overheating?"

"
No, he wants to rent your limo tonight."

"
Great. What was his name?"

"Ward, Raleigh Ward."

She took the phone. "Mr. Ward?"

"Yeah." The man's tense voice conjured up
images of his heavy build and nervous eyes. She also remembered the
odor of peppermints that had pervaded his car and person, an odor
that didn't quite mask the undertones of something alcoholic.
"Listen, honey, I know this is short notice—"

"
No, that's fine. Let me check our schedule."
She waved to Lou to bring her a clipboard. "When do you need the
car?"

"
Six."

"
Uh-huh. And how many in your party?"

"I'm not sure yet. Does that matter?"

"Well, the car seats six comfortably. Eight, if
two people don't mind riding in the trunk."

He didn't laugh. "There won't be that many.
Maybe three or four, tops."

"
And how long do you need the car for? Our
minimum on the weekend is three hours."

"
Oh, jeez, honey. I don't know. At least until
two A.M."

Her heart was pounding now. Six to two in the morning
was eight hours. Eight times forty dollars plus the fifteen per-cent
gratuity. . . She forced herself to sound calm. "And will that
be cash or charge?"

"
Cash."

"
We'll need a hundred in advance. Company
policy."

"
No problem."

"You're in luck, Mr. Ward. I have a car
available."

"
You sure it's no trouble?"

"
Not at all." She took down his address and
phone number, hung up the phone, and said a silent prayer of thanks.
She heard Lou asking someone if he could help them. By his earnest
tone she knew that someone had to be a woman—no doubt a young and
attractive one.

"No, thank you, sugar," a woman's voice
answered. "I am waiting for that little gal right over there."
The woman's cadence was as unmistakable as it was unforgettable.

Munch turned and faced her old friend.

Ellen seemed reasonably healthy. She was blond today.
Her clothes fit, and her complexion was clear. She had lost that
drawn look, and there seemed to be genuine color on her high
cheekbones. Jail does that for some people.

"
Hey," Munch said. "Here you are."

"
Yep, this is me. Well, don't you look great,"
Ellen said.

"
I was just thinking about you. How are you?"

"
I don't know. It is weird, being out in the
world. I suppose I will ad-just." Ellen spaced each syllable as
if it were a separate word.

"You mind tagging along while I work? I've got
to get out of here early, and these people are going to want their
cars back for the weekend."

"
I don't mind a bit," Ellen said, following
Munch to her toolbox. "Lord, are all these yours?"

Munch patted her four-foot roll-away Craftsman
toolbox with pride. "You'd be surprised how much money sticks to
you when you're not spending it on drugs." She let that sink in
for a moment while she selected a few wrenches. "Are you getting
along all right? "

"
You are probably more interested in what I have
not been doing."

"
Well?"

"Sixteen days of voluntary sobriety." She
said "sobriety" like it was four different words. The pride
in her tone certainly sounded sincere. Munch had explained in her
weekly letters that Ellen should be prepared to change everything
about herself—that good habits were the easiest ones to break.
After not seeing Ellen for years, Munch had gone to the local woman's
prison last Thanksgiving as part of an A.A. panel.

Ever since getting sober and off drugs seven years
ago, Munch felt it only fitting that she celebrate the holiday by
reminding herself that but for the grace of God she would be dead, in
jail, or insane.

She had walked into that room of plastic chairs and
cold linoleum at the California Institution for Women at Frontera
and, lo and behold, there was Ellen. They had to cool their
enthusiasm lest the guards think this chance meeting was some sort of
conspiracy. And truth be told Munch hadn't been completely at ease
with her old friend. Munch had changed so much since getting clean
and joining society. Seeing Ellen put her in a momentary quandary.
There was an awkward pause while she fought the urge to be hip,
slick, cool, and talk the talk or just blast her friend to a safe
distance with Program rhetoric.

Then Ellen grinned, and the years between them fell
away. Munch felt a surge of relief and wondered why she always had to
make such a big deal about things. This was Ellen. The woman with
whom she'd spent her formative teenage years. Hadn't the two of them
figured out life and men and how the world worked? Hadn't they
revealed all to each other as their lives exploded around them? It
was suddenly absolutely natural that Munch be the one to guide Ellen
through this latest leg of the adventure. Drugs were out. God was in.
Grow or go. Munch spoke about the joy of being self-supporting, and
the return of self-esteem, but she had really gotten through when she
said, "Ellen, you're almost thirty. You can't tell me you're
still having fun." Taking due note of the prison surrounding
them and the fact that after the panel Munch was free to leave in her
own car, Ellen had been receptive. She even said she was willing to
do whatever it took. Munch told her not to bother coming around if
she weren't.

"
Follow me," Munch said, now walking to the
far end of the lot. "I have to put the steering column back
together on this Camaro." She stopped at a red Rally Sport and
slid into the driver's seat. Ellen came around to the other side of
the Chevy, sat in the passenger seat, and watched as Munch pressed
the steering wheel back in place over the splined shaft. "What
have you been doing?" Munch asked.

"
I had to go to one of those halfway houses for
a short spell."

"
That's where you got your sixteen days?"
Munch asked. Ellen nodded. "They still count."

"
Have you been to see your mama yet?"

"Yeah. I stopped by to say hey It went about as
you would expect. A couple of hours is about all I can take of her
and all that."