Car Pool

by Karin Kallmaker

  Her mind was already grappling with the remediation possibilities. How could they remove the xylene and leave the soil and water table intact? At the rate of movement there was as much as seven years’ grace before the flow reached the open water channel that led to the San Francisco Bay. Plenty of time for a relatively inexpensive and thorough remediation. A 200-foot channel with forced pumping of groundwater through a bioreactor might work. And it would screen out other substances which, while not hazardous, wouldn’t do the marine life any good.

  She went back to her report and wrote up the suggested remediation, including her estimates and plot of the water movement. She worked through lunch, munching distractedly on her peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When she finally copied her report to a floppy disk to take to word processing for formatting, she realized she didn’t remember eating her sandwich at all. She was exhausted and considered long and hard calling in sick at the pizza parlor. The thought was appealing, but when she finally quit she would get her sick leave in pay. She was counting on it as a little nest egg so she could quit a bit sooner. She couldn’t afford to miss a day.

  She credited her exhaustion with the fact that she spent the entire drive home — without the presence of any racist S.O.B.s from the refinery — excruciatingly aware that she wanted to put her head down in Anthea’s lap and go to sleep. Since sleep occurred to her before anything else she might do with her head in Anthea’s lap, she knew she was tired. Too tired to fight the breathless ache she felt as she examined Anthea’s shapely calves, caressed by

  taupe hose. They were the epitome of femininity. The epitome of the kind of calves that normally did not attract her. She wondered why she had only admired muscled, taut calves before. She wondered when she would get a full night’s sleep.

  She wondered if this was what it felt like to be on the edge of a breakdown. She let her gaze travel up the back of Anthea’s calves to the soft area behind her knees. She got a warm glow in her stomach and then felt as if she’d just eaten a couple of chocolate bars. If this was a mental breakdown, she could live with it.

  “Takes all kinds,” Martin said.

  His sudden appearance startled Anthea. She turned to face him as he leaned nonchalantly against her cube wall. She shook her head. “Come again?”

  “Your car pool mate. A real militant, isn’t she?”

  “No, not really. I think you brought out her … opinions.”

  “Well, you’re certainly tolerant. Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.”

  Anthea started to speak, but she was stopped by a wave of nausea, followed by a hot flash and cold sweat. “I’m more…” she stuttered. “I’m. …” Her phone rang.

  She answered in a shaken voice, then began rattling off the cost data for yet another anxious product manager. Martin gave a wave and disappeared in the direction of his office. When Anthea finished her call she couldn’t recall what column of data she had read. She hoped it was the

  right one or the no-brand all-purpose oil profit estimates would be in sorry shape.

  She took a deep breath. She had almost said it. Almost. But lord, who would have thought mere words really could stick in your throat? For a moment she had thought she was going to be sick. Over saying a few words!

  What was she thinking of… she knew that coming out at work would cost her any hope of Martin’s job. Not that she’d be able to prove discrimination. What was motivating her to give it up? Nothing had changed. A tiny voice reminded her that something was different — her body still felt the imprint of Shay’s. Her arms tingled from being around Shay. It had only been for a moment, but she had felt electrified. She didn’t want to feel this way. She was just going to get hurt again.

  She shivered and fought down the queasy roil in her stomach and gradually the sounds around her invaded again. Over the hum of air-conditioning and her hard drive she could hear Adrian on the phone, speaking in an unusually low voice. Anthea had learned that when Adrian was quiet on the phone, he usually needed to talk afterward — if only to exult over a date with a new guy or a weekend trip to wine country for the sunshine.

  His voice rose slightly and she could make out the words. “I thought he was stable… shit. Oh shit.” Adrian’s words took on a breathy, choked, quality. “He loves that car — always joked that he wanted to be buried in it. I know, I know, that was before this, but… okay. I’ll ask around. I’d buy it myself if I could, but I couldn’t pay him what it’s worth, and certainly not in time.”

  After Adrian had hung up, Anthea could tell he was sitting very still. She picked up the thickest report she could find and a pencil, then assumed an air of nonchalance. She sat down next to his desk, not looking at him yet, and opened the report. She let lots of green and white striped computer paper ruffle to the ground. No one — particularly Martin — would come within a mile. Adrian finally said, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Faking it. So what’s new?”

  Adrian sat back in his chair, eyes closed. “Goddam paper-thin walls.”

  “They’re not walls in case you hadn’t noticed. Can I help?”

  “It’s not likely.” He rubbed his eyes vigorously, then put his glasses back on. He looked at Anthea owlishly, hiding behind the lenses. “Not unless you want to buy a sixty-nine mint-condition fire-engine red VW bug ragtop last appraised at ten thousand. A friend is running out of time and needs all the money he can get for the duration — rent, AZT, food. Christ, he cleaned that car with a diaper and a baby’s toothbrush. Rebuilt every piece of the engine himself.”

  Anthea could feel her heart accelerating. How many times? This would make five, she thought. Five of Adrian’s friends had “run out of time,” as he always put it. He was too young to have a suit specifically set aside for funerals. She felt helpless and selfish, and everything Lois had ever said about her started to replay in her head. She said, in a faint voice, “I’ll give him twelve thousand for it.

  “Don’t kid around, Andy,” Adrian said.

  “I’m not kidding. I can write a check.”

  “You never told me you were rich.” He obviously still thought she was joking.

  “I have no house payment. I don’t spend much on clothes. I’m satisfied with a mere five pairs of shoes. I clean my own house. I have no dependents. And God knows no one to travel with and I hate traveling alone. I only buy new things when old things break.” Anthea shrugged. She felt numb all over suddenly. “It’s only money. Lois said that giving away money was all I was good for and I suppose —”

  “Now we’re getting at the truth,” Adrian said. “Lois was a bitch and that’s no reason to buy a car you don’t need.”

  “I know that. It won’t even dent my money market balance.”

  “Don’t you even have it invested in something with a better return?”

  “It seems greedy when I already have enough. Besides, rates aren’t what they used to be. My parents believed in lots and lots of life insurance.” She shrugged again.

  Adrian shook his head. “I think you need to spend a little of that nest egg on more therapy, my dear.”

  “I suppose so. Except I can tell you word for word exactly what a therapist will say and then what I’ll say. So why bother? It would be a waste of money.” At that she laughed. “I don’t make any sense sometimes, least of all to me.”

  “I noticed. I have no idea why you even work here.”

  “It’s what I went to school for. I really went to

  school to escape my parents, but the official story was I wanted to get my MBA.”

  “That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “Yes, it does. I’m not ready to admit I spent six years in college and God knows how much money just to get away from my parents. Besides, coming to work every day is something to do —”

  “And you do it well.” He stared at her as if he was only seeing her for the first time. “I’d go nuts if you went anywhere else. Tell you what.” Adrian reached over and patted her on the head. “Let Uncle Adrian hav
e all your money and he’ll give you an allowance.”

  “I’m not that stupid,” Anthea said. As the numb feeling faded she realized that it was how she used to feel all the time, ever since Lois’s first affair. “I’m serious about the car. I —” She stopped, about to say that she thought Shay would be totally shocked and pleased when she saw it. Shay had nothing to do with this. “I’ve always wanted something a little more outrageous. I would really like to have it and I’d take very good care of it. And… and you can tell your friend that if he ever wants to buy it back, it’s his.”

  Adrian’s mocking expression disappeared. “He’s only got six months, maybe more, and it’s the car or move into a group home. His savings are long gone and he just got an eviction notice. I thought he had worked everything out with his family, but apparently they’ve faded away now that the really hard times have arrived.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Are you sure? Really sure?”

  Anthea dumped the rest of the report on the

  floor and went back to her cubicle. She came back with a checkbook. “Who do I make it out to?”

  “You haven’t even seen the car!”

  Anthea smiled archly. “If it’s not as you said it was, I’ll have you dropped in the oxidation ponds. You’d glow in the dark for the rest of your days.”

  Adrian smirked. “Now that’s a new thought. You wouldn’t need a glow-in-the-dark condom if you had a glow-in-the-dark body.”

  Anthea gaped and blushed. “Please, my tender years,” she managed to say. She waved the checkbook at him. “Name, please.”

  Adrian took a deep breath and then a tremulous smile lit his face. “You’re a prince. And darling, you are going to look magnificent in that car.”

  Shay thought Anthea looked excited about something. Her eyes were sparkling. Maybe another date with the Ferrari. The thought gave Shay a twinge of envy. “Another test drive,” she asked as she merged over from the 280 lanes to 880.

  “As a matter of fact,” Anthea said, “yes.” Suddenly she gave Shay a blinding flashbulb smile. “This time it’s a fire-engine red Volkswagen bug. A convertible.”

  Shay blinked. Convertible? Did she mean bisexual? She glanced at Anthea when she could. She opened her mouth to ask outright, then hesitated. Anthea looked as if she was going to have hysterics — her face was flushed pink. Even her hair seemed to sparkle. She had never seen her so animated. The difference made her wonder what

  Anthea looked like when she… Shay stomped on the thought. Fire-engine red? Did that mean a fire fighter? A bisexual fire fighter?

  “Mint condition.”

  A young, bisexual fire fighter. “Right.” Shay was at a loss for words.

  “I’m picking it up on Sunday. Probably test drive all over the city.”

  “There’s no need to gloat,” Shay said. A young, bisexual fire fighter with stamina. Fine, she thought. I have an open mind.

  “Well, it’s not every day something as cute and sassy comes along. In such good shape.”

  Jeeez Laweez. She didn’t have to go on about it. Shay was already green with envy. And she hadn’t thought Anthea would be so fixated on looks. “Well,” she said, “appearance isn’t everything.”

  “Oh, of course not,” Anthea said. “Performance is what matters. It’s a classic. A sixty-nine model.” Anthea had a fit of giggles. Shay hadn’t thought Anthea knew how. Lately she’d been more prone to giggling. Ever since she’d been in the pizza parlor with that baby butch.

  It had been a surprise to find out Anthea was a lesbian — she just didn’t look the part to Shay. She supposed Anthea could be bisexual. Maybe the baby butch had been Anthea’s moment of conversion. That was a depressing thought. But ever since she’d realized that Anthea was a lesbian, Shay had found it harder and harder to not think about her.

  “Don’t be crude,” Shay said, wondering what Anthea would look like with her hair loose. The thought of it in her hands made her body twinge. She was shocked by the way she wanted to touch

  Anthea’s hair, and every other place. Maybe she was jealous of the baby butch for being the one who showed Anthea the light. She told herself that she needed to get out there and do some test driving of her own. Sure, she had plenty of time to try and find a date. She could look between three and five p.m. every Sunday.

  “Adrian says it really performs,” Anthea said, wiping her eyes.

  Shay knew Adrian was Anthea’s closest work buddy. She gave herself the time it took to change over two lanes. Then she said, “Have I missed something?”

  “The part about the car,” Anthea said. “That I just bought.”

  Shay laughed so hard she changed lanes without meaning to. Finally, she said, “If you have money to burn what are you working for?”

  “Because I need to and I want to.”

  “Well, sure,” Shay said. “But why on earth NOC-U? For next to nothing? A place were it takes three days to get a lousy report formatted and printed out?”

  “It’s the job I’ve always had,” Anthea said. “I got it after my MBA.”

  “But… Oh, great. An accident.” Shay let the car drift to a stop. They inched along as everyone ahead of them took a good, long look at two cars stopped in the median strip. “You’d think they’ve never seen two cars by the side of the road before.” She shot a worried glance at her thermometer gauge. This kind of traffic was hard on her car. And it felt like the hottest day of the summer. Tomorrow would be

  freezing fog, no doubt. It wouldn’t be this warm again until October.

  Anthea rolled down her window and slipped out of her suit jacket. Shay realized she couldn’t take her gaze off of Anthea’s blouse. When she finally tore her attention back to the road, the sight of those soft, full swells under a high-collared silk shirt was burned in her mind’s eye like the afterglow of an acetylene torch. Good God, she thought. It had been too long. They were probably as soft as mounds of Mrs. Giordano’s baby tushy pizza dough. Shay trembled and realized she was salivating, which revolted her enough that she could breathe again. She was not salivating over Anthea. Absolutely not. Anthea was definitely not her type… closeted, apparently rich, and… well, not athletic. Even if her calves were fabulous. Think about groundwater remediation, she told herself. Think about your report to the Water Board. Think of a white bear.

  The traffic stayed thick all the way into Oakland. Finally, they left the freeway on Ashby and took surface streets into Berkeley. Almost ninety minutes from the time they had left the refinery, Shay pulled up alongside Anthea’s car where she had left it on Hearst. “What will you do with this car now that you’re bringing home a cute, sassy VW? It’ll probably get jealous.”

  Anthea arched her eyebrows. “I think there’s room enough in my life to drive two cars.”

  “My, my,” Shay said. “You are adventurous.” Maybe there was room in her life for two women. Stop that! My God, Shay thought. What was happening here?

  “Oh stop,” Anthea said. “Actually, I feel quite decadent. I’ll have to make good use of both of them and make them last the rest of my life. One for commuting and one for fun.”

  “A convertible,” Shay said with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted a convertible.”

  “Would you … no, Sunday’s your day off.”

  “What?”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me to pick it up? You’d be doing me a favor,” Anthea said. “Adrian was going to follow me home in my car and I was going to drive him home again which was going to take an incredible amount of time. This way you could follow me and I’ll drop you back. I’d even… buy dinner. I was going to take Adrian and his friend — the guy who’s selling me the car — out to someplace they like.”

  “Well,” Shay said. You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t. It would take up your only free day. She needed groceries and she had books to return. She said, “I’d love to.” Oh shit.

  “I’ll pick you up at two.”

  Anthea was gone in a ripple of silk and legs. Shay drove
to her apartment parking lot in a daze. As she locked the car and then walked around the corner and up the two blocks to Luciano’s, she tried to decide if Sunday was a date. No. Couldn’t be. She was doing Anthea a favor. That wasn’t a date. No way. Just a friendly arrangement. Right. She had given up the few hours of her precious free time for no reason at all when her brain was mired with

  constituent parts per billion and velocity heads. As she opened the door to Luciano’s she decided it was definitely not a date. And she was a fool to think otherwise.

  6 Merging Lanes

  Anthea flicked through hanger after hanger. Black suit, gray suit, navy blue suit, black skirt, white blouse, white blouse, gray suit, a navy blue skirt. So much for the hope that the back of the closet would reveal something to wear. She sighed and started at the beginning again. The brighter suits in the front broke up the monotony, but one fact was very plain: she had no apparel appropriate

  to joyriding in a cute and sassy car. Sitting next to Shay, no less. Her closet was only half full, and it was one hundred percent business clothes. Even the slacks were formal. Why on earth didn’t she own a pair of jeans? Finally, she selected a pair of linen pants — basic black. Basic boring.

  She turned to the shelves where her sweaters were stacked. Something for riding around in the sun with the top down. The sun had been shining since it had come up over the hills — unusual for summer — but the temperature wouldn’t go over sixty-five. The turquoise cashmere Lois had given her caught her eye. It was lightweight and it didn’t clash with her hair. She would just forget the source. Dressed, finally, she hurried out to her car and headed for Shay’s.

  When she got there she realized she didn’t know if she should wait or if Shay would mind her going to the door. Shay was so private about some things, like about working a second job. An old woman was helping another even older woman down the stairs from the second floor. When they reached the bottom step, the two women parted company with a wave, and one headed for the street. The other woman squinted at Anthea, then waved.