Driving in Neutral

by Sandra Antonelli

  “What is it with you and this need to type me?”

  Emerson’s mouth pursed and twisted. He exhaled and replaced the CD before looking at the photos she had on the desk. “Are these,” he said, pointing to a silver frame, “your grandparents?”

  “No, my parents.”

  “And this guy?”

  “My brother, Hector.”

  “He looks like he could be your father. So I guess this,” he lifted a framed playbill from the Chicago Lyric Opera, “is your sister?”

  “Yes.”

  “They both look a lot older than you.”

  “They are.” Olivia lifted her glasses and jiggled them impatiently. She had to get Maxwell out of her office before she did something stupid…like find out what sort of toothpaste he used this morning by sticking her tongue in his mouth. “Is there anything else, Maxwell? I’m in the middle of something. Your boys are tops in computer animation, but no one here seems to know a whole hell of a lot about cars. I’ve got to explain horsepower, aerodynamics, and the reasons race cars are designed with low centers of gravity, so these concept sketches can be turned into computer graphics that are accurate and theoretically possible.”

  Emerson slid his rump off the desk. “Lots of things are theoretically possible,” he said. The scent of her, that spring rain and lavender fragrance, had started to throttle his good sense. Yeah, lots of things were theoretically possible. He saw himself theoretically reaching for her, theoretically pulling her out of the chair she was in and up into his arms. He headed for the door before he swept the CDs and family photos off the desk and theoretically lowered her to the cleaned-off top with his hands tearing the buttons from her tailored pink blouse, while his mouth theoretically gorged on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Lot’s of things are theoretical here, but what do you expect when half the guys’ closest experience with sports cars is restricted to Xbox, Wii, and online gaming?”

  Chapter 5

  “Put this in perspective? What the hell do you know about perspective, Pete? This is my damn wedding and I am callin’ the shots! Do you hear me?”

  “Everyone can hear you Ella. Trust me, everyone can hear you!”

  Olivia put down her highlighter, rose from her chair and headed out of her office. Pete was correct. Every word Ella shouted at her older brother traveled from the elevators clear to the other end of the floor.

  Employees peeked over the tops of their cubicles, poked their heads through doorways and peered around the corner of the staffroom to see what was going on, some sidling out into the hall to watch. Olivia pushed her way past Josh, Palmer, Timmons, and the kid with orange high tops. She hurried past Maxwell, who stood in the doorway of his office. He caught her eye as she passed by and shrugged, his index finger making a spinning motion at his temple.

  Unfortunately, Ella saw the little gesture. Like an angry, clucking hen, she bustled around at the end of the hallway, griping in a squawking voice, “Perspective? How could you do that to me, Pete? Mommy said you reminded her. What were you thinkin’?”

  “Calm down,” Pete groaned. He didn’t yell like his sister, but annoyance was clear in his deepened voice. “He’s family and it’s not a big deal if he’s there.”

  “Not a big deal? Not a big deal? It’s mah weddin’, not yours and it’s supposed to be an elegant day. Ah haven’t waited all this time, put aside all this money, and planned this so carefully so someone can screw up mah dream! That man’s goin’ tah make a scene!”

  “Like the one you’re making now?” Pete glanced at the spectators at either end of the hall. “Here’s a reminder: you’re from Chicago, not one of the Carolinas!”

  “Shut up!”

  “He’s your uncle, Ella. You can’t leave him out just because you hate his glass eye. That’s inelegant.”

  “What do yew know about elegance? What do yew know about style, yew dreadlocked douche? Yew nevah let your wife have a big moment because you got married at city hall!”

  Pete’s face darkened with a frown. “You know what? This whole thing has turned you into a braying, self-centered ass, and I’m sorry Emerson ever introduced you to Craig. He deserves somebody normal.”

  Ella sucked in an outraged gasp. “Yew bastard!”

  Pete took a step forward and got right in her face and smiled. “Takes one to know one, sis!”

  Olivia saw Timmons laugh and elbow the kid in the high tops.

  Ella’s long lashes came together, narrowing her eyes. “That’s it, yew dung-breathed boor,” she fizzed with spite, shouting, “yew ah out of mah weddin’! Out of mah weddin’!”

  Olivia took a few steps forward and placed a hand on Ella’s arm. “Ella,” she said simply.

  Ella looked at her and burst into tears.

  “All right, Timmons,” Maxwell said as Olivia led Ella down the hall, “Show’s over. Move your ass, Graham. Back to work. Everybody back to work.”

  Six minutes and five tissues later, Olivia had ushered Ella to Chuck’s Diner in The Loop, far away from the prying eyes of E&P employees. Ella plopped into the booth, sniffling as the waitress delivered menus and glasses of ice water.

  “All right. What happened?” Olivia handed over a paper napkin.

  Bobbing her head, sucking in air through her stuffy nose, Ella crumpled the napkin in her fist. “We went back through the response cards this morning, to finish off the seating arrangements, and I discovered my darling brother reminded my mother to invite my great uncle Kev.”

  “Okay.”

  “No. It’s not okay. He’s an ill-mannered thug with a glass eye!”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No.” Ella set her mouth firm. “He used to take it out and scare me with it. He’d chase me around the yard. What if he does that at the wedding?”

  “Do you really believe your great uncle is going to take out his eye and chase the bride around the grounds of Hutton House?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe?”

  “Okay, no.”

  “How’d he get it anyway?”

  “Mommy sent it to him. Oh, we had a big fight about the guest list and addressing the invitations. She was going—oh.” Ella un-crumpled the napkin and blew her nose. “Ohhh. I’m horrible. I was horrible to my Mommy. Ohhh. I was horrible to my brother. Ohhh.”

  Olivia chuckled. “I meant, how did your uncle get the glass eye?”

  Ella folded the napkin and began to dab the wetness and mascara from under her eyes. “Shrapnel from the Korean W-w-war.” She crumbled again, fresh tears fighting to spill over her hastily sandbagged emotion. “What’s wrong with me? Oh, that poor one-eyed man!” she moaned.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  Ella flounced in her seat. The ice in the water glasses rattled as she knocked against the table. “That property manager-housekeeper told me we have to share the Hutton Estate with another wedding party!” Suddenly, she waved her hands about wildly, making her look Italian, except she had gone all Foghorn Leghorn. “Oh, my, Ah’m going to sue. We paid our deposit and yew said we were assured we had the estate for ourselves and now that woman calls me ten days, ten days, before my day! What am Ah gonna do? She said some couple from New Mexico is gonna honeymoon at the gatehouse! They’ll gatecrash mah weddin’! This here is planned to the lettah—”

  “Hold on there, Miz Ella! The housekeeper at Hutton House simply made a mistake by calling you instead of me.” Olivia reached across to take her hand. “What did Vivian tell you?”

  Ella gulped down half a glass of water. “Newlyweds were arriving to spend two days and three nights in the gatehouse! Gatehouse gatecrashers!”

  “This is not a big deal, Ella.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Did you give them permission to… Do you mean you said it was all right?”

  “Yes. I knew this was a possibility and I said it was fine.”

  Ella looked ready to dissolve into tears again and let go of Olivia’s hand. “
Olivia…no! How…what…oh, no!”

  “The estate is over fifty acres and the gatehouse is nowhere near the main house.” Olivia set her water glass in front of Ella. “Here, drink the rest of this.”

  The liquid disappeared as Ella gulped it down. A moment later, she sank back in her chair, empty glass in hand. “I’m losing it. I’m really losing it. I’m sorry if it seems like I didn’t trust you. What’s wrong with me? How did I get like this? I’m going to have to call that woman back and apologize. I’m going to have to send her a muffin basket, or a plant, or an outrageously huge sum of money.” She lurched forward, plopped her elbows on the table and buried her face in her palms. “Jesus, what’s next, I get my period? Craig gets called for jury duty?” She dropped her hands and stared at Olivia for a long moment. “What the hell do I think I’m doing?”

  “The best you can.”

  Ella shook her head. “How can you be so calm about this? How can you be so calm all the time?”

  Olivia shrugged. “Why get upset? It doesn’t help. So what’s the point?”

  “What’s the point? Please.” Ella shook her head again. “Right. Okay. Let’s talk about something else. Let’s forget I’m spinning like a wind chime, while you don’t move at all, and talk about something that isn’t related to the wedding. Do they have wine here at Chucks?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Damn.” Ella cleared her throat. “You know, you are ice cold, nothing bothers you, like nothing gets under your skin and it’s not fair. I’m such a mess and you’re… Breathe, right? I need to breathe.”

  “That’s right. Just breathe.”

  “I’m breathing. See? In for four…out for four. Are you watching me?”

  “Yes. You’re doing fine.”

  “Fine…” Ella inhaled for four seconds and exhaled for four, saying, “Have you decided to bring anyone for the weekend?” She inhaled again, and followed through with, “That invitation says and guest, you know. You’ll have that big bed and even bigger bathtub built for two.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about the wedding.”

  “I’m not talking about the wedding. I’m talking about you having a date.”

  The soft-heeled white shoes of the waitress squeaked beside the table and she pulled a pad from the pocket of her pinafore-style apron. Her smile was wide as she took a pencil she’d tucked inside her short blonde hair. “Hi there, I’m Patty. What can I get you gals?”

  They ordered club sandwiches and chocolate milkshakes and the moment Patty went away to take care of the order, Ella repeated the question. “Are you bringing somebody along or do you hope to meet someone there? You can’t be alone at a wedding. Who will you dance with at the reception? You have to dance! How about I fix you up with someone? I know just the man for you!”

  “We’re not talking about the wedding, remember?”

  “Right, right. So how’s that work with Pete going?”

  Olivia’s lips pursed for a moment. “Are you aware your brother’s business partner is an incurable gossip?”

  Twisting a long length of hair around one finger restlessly, Ella drummed her manicured nails on the tabletop. “Emerson’s a gossip? All I ever notice is that great ass.”

  “Okay. He’s a loud-mouthed scandalmonger with a nice ass.”

  “Hey, why don’t you ask your old friend Ian? He was dishy.”

  “I’m not interested in bringing anyone. I don’t want to jump back on that particular bicycle yet, and the weekend isn’t about me. Whether or not I have a date isn’t significant. What is significant is how you’ve always been there for me. Always. From Adam to Karl, you’ve been there. Having this wedding be everything you’ve dreamed about since we were kids is so important. I’m going to get you there. I’m going to make it happen. I’m finally the one doing something for you, and I kind of like that you need me this time.”

  That statement was enough to make tears balloon up. “I know.” Ella’s hand went to her mouth to cover the sob. “You really are the best friend I’ve ever had,” she wailed.

  Olivia pushed another napkin across the table. “Here, blow. You’ve got stuff sticking out of the right barrel.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Ella dabbed her nose.

  “Yes, I sent the World’s Greatest Singer plaque to Shaun Cassidy.”

  Ella laughed and then began blubbering again. “How can you stand me?” she sniffled. “I’m horrible these days. How can Craig stand me? How can anyone stand me? I’m bitchier than Justine!”

  Cool and steady, Olivia nodded and pointed at the napkin in Ella’s hand. “Yeah. Justine’s bitchy, but you’re snotty. Wipe your nose.”

  Emerson believed this was osmosis. Olivia had passed into his system, diffused into his bloodstream until all he seemed to think about was the scar on her face and the shape of her top lip. Without a word, Emerson hobbled into Pete’s Jeep, his mind fixed on how she smelled, trying to access that part of his brain that handled scent, which then led him to thinking how her skin felt, which then had him pinching his bottom lip and asking what had been sitting far down at the very bottom of his mind. “Did you know about this home sex video Olivia made with her ex-husband?”

  Pete slapped a hand against the steering wheel. “Oh, I can just see you mentioning that at today’s morning meeting. Did you watch it? What am I saying? Of course you did.”

  “Hey. You don’t say much that makes me take offense, but I did not watch anything.”

  “Sorry.” Pete reached for the volume knob to turn down the traffic report playing on the radio. “Look, her ex, Karl, made the movie and Olivia’s not in it. It’s just how she found out he was screwing around.”

  “No shit?”

  “I crap you negative. The European tabloids had a field day with that and the fact he’s a bit younger than her, nine years or something. Ella told me there were front-page photos of Olivia on Austrian and German newspapers. What a thing to be thrust into the spotlight for.” Pete shook his head. “That video did wonders for Karl’s profile, but Olivia… You know, she gave up racing and test driving and used all her contacts in the industry to find that piece of shit a place on some German racing team. She managed his career, like she’s managing Ella’s wedding. He was doing okay as a driver, but once he made that video…well, image is everything. It put his name out there and it didn’t matter if he finished sixth or fifteenth, he had a public persona, his team got a lot of publicity, and he made a lot of money. I guess he decided he didn’t need Olivia anymore.”

  The rest of the ride to the office was quiet, partly because Emerson mulled over what Pete had told him, and partly because Pete didn’t like to chat much before his second cup of morning coffee.

  By the time that second cup rolled around, Emerson stopped Pete in the hallway, just outside his office. “When did she come back here?”

  The short dreads on Pete’s dark brown head bounced as he looked down into his coffee mug. “A few months ago. Look, if you want to make nice with the lady, why don’t you ask her those basic get-to-know-you kinds of questions? Ask her. She’s in the kitchen now.” His head came up, his gaze level with Emerson. “Or are you afraid you can’t do that without checking to see if the flavor has changed for the foot that’s always in your mouth? Five bucks.”

  Emerson squinted and shrugged. “Five bucks?”

  “Five bucks says you can’t do it.”

  “Ten.”

  “Ten’s fine.”

  “You’re on. But no listening at the door.”

  “Then how will I know if you cra—”

  “You’re going to have to do this on the honor system.” Emerson turned and headed for the company kitchen. Sure enough Olivia was there.

  She’s your employee. Stick to those small-talk, cocktail party questions.

  “Hi,” he said, as innocuously as he could.

  She nodded. “Good morning.”

  “Pete tells me you’ve only been back in the states a few mont
hs. Where were you in Germany?” Emerson took a mug from a rack over the sink.

  He watched Olivia put two teaspoons of sugar in the cup of black coffee she’d set on the table beside the packets of hot cocoa mix and a purple box of children’s cereal. “Stuttgart.” The spoon clinked against her cup while she stirred.

  “How long did you live there?”

  “Almost ten years.”

  “Is that how you learned German?”

  “No. My father was German. I grew up bilingual.”

  “Did you like Germany?”

  “Most of the time. It rained a lot.”

  “I would have hated it.”

  “You get used to it.” She had a sip of coffee. “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Morgan Park-Beverly, not too far from a Frank Lloyd Wright house.” Emerson poured coffee into his mug. “I know you once lived in Wilmette, basically in Pete’s backyard, but where are you living now?” He took a sip and watched her over the rim of his mug, realizing he was hoping his coffee would taste something like he remembered she did.

  “Bryn Mawr. How about you?”

  “Wrigleyville.”

  She dropped the dirty spoon into a plastic basket that would later be stuffed into a dishwasher. “You a Cubs fan?”

  “Heavens no. White Sox. Company has a corporate box.”

  “However do you survive in it?”

  “What?”

  “With your…condition, how do you manage to sit through the game in a box?

  “Ha ha. It has very large windows.”

  “I see.”

  “You would if we went to a game sometime.”

  “That’s your third time up at bat, Maxwell. Listen to the umpire’s call.”

  It took Emerson a second before he grasped what she meant. He hadn’t intended the baseball game comment to be a come-on, but subconsciously, in that very Freud kind of way, maybe it was. He was turning into a sleaze who winked and soon he’d be into wearing gold chains and exposing his chest hair like Barry Gibb on the album cover of Saturday Night Fever. Would he be able to stuff himself into a pair of Bee Gees-tight pants?