Fender Bender Blues

by Niecey Roy

  Rach sat down at her kitchen table with a notebook and opened it to a clean page. She needed a game plan, and lists had never failed her before. The newly sharpened pencil hovered above the first line for a few moments and then she wrote How to Get My Life in Order. Drawing a number “1” came easy, but she drew a blank afterward. Not a single word. After tracing the number several times there was now a hole in the paper.

  Frustrated, she threw the pencil and it hit the patio door, startling Tally who woofed in response and cowered beneath her legs under the table. She sighed and bent to scratch behind Tally’s ears.

  “Sorry. I’m just bummed. Do you realize I’ve pretty much been in every line of work in town? Maybe that’s a list I can start.” She got up to retrieve the pencil from the floor. The tip was broken so she sat down and sharpened it to a fine point.

  “I can now add copier services to the List of Occupations I’m Not Cut Out For. Before that I was a filing clerk. Oh, can’t forget the stint as a receptionist for that nose-picking CPA creep. Remember him?” she asked Tally who had come out from hiding and sat beside the chair, her face tilted. Her eyes were curious, as if she were considering Rach carefully. “You have to remember him. He was the one who found ridiculous reasons to touch me.”

  Rach liked to think Tally was giving her a soulful “I feel very sorry for you” look, but it was hard to tell.

  She went on listing, “Then there was the job as the photo shop assistant. Then a museum guide. Turns out in order to give tours on prairie life in late 1800s you actually have to know the history. Then I did all those temp jobs for that placement firm, they all sucked. And last—social worker.”

  Tally was nibbling on her tail, uninterested.

  “So what have we learned from all this?” she asked, tapping her pencil eraser on the table to keep the puppy’s attention. Tally gave her a quizzical look. “It means I have no idea what the hell to do with the rest of my life, that’s what. And it also means, my dear Tally, you should be awfully concerned because…” she did a quick estimate of her checking account, including the funds in her emergency savings, “…within a month we might be feeding you the cheapest dog food available from the bargain aisle of the grocery store.”

  Tally whined, whether from understanding or the ominous tone to Rach’s voice, it didn’t matter. She stood up from the table and went out to the living room, plopping down on the couch. Tally curled up beside her. Rach settled one hand on Tally’s back and picked up the TV remote with the other. “We’ll figure it out, don’t worry, girl.” Rach flipped on the TV and Diners, Drive-ins and Dives came on, making her stomach instantly rumble. Guy Fieri took a bite out of a sloppy BBQ sandwich stuffed with some kind of coleslaw topping, and Rach’s mouth salivated. Just when she didn’t think she could take it anymore, the doorbell rang. She jerked in surprise, dropping the remote to the floor. She caught a glimpse of Tally’s tail just before it disappeared around the kitchen corner, followed by a whimper.

  “Coward,” Rach muttered after her. All she could see through the peephole was a pizza box. Her mind told her to be wary of those bearing gifts, but her stomach told her to open the door and investigate. She pondered what to do, but under current circumstances—she was starving—she opened the door to accept someone else’s pizza order.

  Rach crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at Craig who gripped the pizza box in one hand and a two liter of soda in the other. His expression was unreadable, but he looked a little sheepish. The memory of him kissing her then running for the door hovered at the forefront of her mind. In a clipped tone she asked, “Yes?”

  “Leah said you were hungry,” he stated, as if that made his appearance at her doorstep acceptable. She enjoyed watching him squirm under the intensity of the porch light glaring down on him. The blinding fluorescent light in the dark of the night kept away anything living—except for moths and Craig.

  She sniffed, expecting to get a whiff of tantalizing pizza sauce and cheese, but what she smelled instead was…

  Dog poop?

  “What is that?” she asked, searching the porch.

  “I don’t know, thought maybe it was the neighborhood,” he shrugged.

  She snapped her eyes back up to his. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying I live in a shitty neighborhood?”

  He groaned and tried to push past her, but she halted his advance by grasping the pizza box between them. “Don’t come in,” she ordered, looking down at the steps behind him. And then she saw it. Little piles of Tally poop.

  “That witch,” she fumed, craning her neck around him. Mrs. Petska’s lights were off.

  “What?” he asked, confused, staring down at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Not you,” she corrected, and nudged him back with the box.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, the pizza’s getting cold,” he argued, trying to shove his way in again.

  “No!” she screeched, startling them both in the otherwise quiet night. She lowered her voice and said, “I think you stepped in dog poop.”

  “No, I didn’t,” he denied with a shake of his head, but Rach’s pointed stare shut off the ensuing argument. He looked down, lifted the bottom of his shoe, and swore. She would have laughed but if he stormed away he’d take the pizza with him. Before he could make that decision, she took the box firmly from his hands and said, “Just take your shoes off and we’ll…put ‘em out back and spray ‘em with a hose.”

  “Damn it, these are expensive shoes,” he complained and she rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, it’s just poop,” she told him, brave now that the pizza was safe inside the house. She set the box on the coffee table and when she turned around he had his shoes in his hands, bottoms turned upward, poop wedged in the grooves. And it stunk. Rach cringed and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “My panties aren’t bunched.” The statement sounded absurd on the lips of a grown man.

  “So you’re saying you wear panties?” she teased.

  Looking doubly horrified, he said, “I wear boxer briefs.”

  Now that created an image that made her cheeks flush and she turned so he couldn’t witness her reaction. He didn’t deserve to fluster her. He was lucky he’d brought pizza or they’d be having serious words about his behavior the other night.

  “Come on, let’s get those outside before I throw up.” She led him through the kitchen to the patio door and he bent and set the shoes out on the steps. She admired his butt in the tailored gray slacks. He really had a great tush. Boxer briefs, huh…

  “Why’s there dog shit on your porch?”

  Good question. She had a great guess as to how it got there. True, she should have hit the pooper scooper when she got home, but with everything that had transpired throughout the day she’d forgotten all about it. Honest mistake.

  She sighed and grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter. “My neighbor did it. I kind of let Tally poop on her lawn and I forgot to clean it up. I got busy.” The excuse didn’t sound any better out loud. If not for the other woman’s retaliation, Rach would be a ball of guilt. She led the way back to the living room.

  “You let your dog shit in her yard?” he asked, eyes wide with amazement. Rach plopped down on the floor behind the coffee table with a heavy exhale of breath and shoved the paper towels at him.

  “Don’t judge me, I was going to clean it up.” Her reply lacked conviction and she blamed it on recent events.

  She opened the pizza box and took a big whiff, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. She loved pizza. If she didn’t have to worry about bad cholesterol and breaking her pocket book she’d eat pizza every day. Or almost every day. She’d break for her mom’s cooking.

  “But you didn’t,” he pointed out, taking a slice of pie and biting in.

  Rach couldn’t answer, she was in sensory overload. She ate two more bites then came up for air and answered, “I had a lot of phone calls to make when I got home, none of th
em ended well and it slipped my mind. Anyway, what she did was inexcusable. It’s war now.”

  He chewed slowly, watching her with amused eyes. She picked up another slice of pizza and eyed him over the top of cheese and pepperoni. How was it possible he even made eating look sexy? She tried to picture him waking in the morning—no one looked good in the morning—but the image that came to her was of Craig in a pair of boxer briefs, looking unbearably sexy with tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

  Rach gulped and tore her eyes away from his. What the hell was wrong with her? She was acting like a sex-deprived spinster.

  “What kind of war?”

  “War of the yard kind,” she answered, waving a slice of pizza at him. “She hates lawn ornaments. In fact, at the last neighborhood meeting—’’

  “You have neighborhood meetings?” he interrupted, dubious.

  “—she complained about Mrs. Jacob’s gnomes. She thinks they’re Satanic. Can you imagine? Satanic? They’re just gnomes! I think she’s a grumpy old lady who may even be a little nuts. If she was out there scooping up crap, wouldn’t it have been easier to scoop it into the trash?” Rach demanded. He opened his mouth to comment and she cut him off by waving the pizza again and he leaned back to avoid getting hit in the face. “I think this deserves a trip to Spetzer-Mart. I’m pretty sure I saw some cheap gnomes in the lawn and garden area.”

  “Wow, this sounds severe,” he mused, but she ignored him, already imagining the look on Mrs. Petska’s face when she awoke the next morning to find cheap lawn ornaments winking at her from the front of their connected lawns.

  “I think I need four of them. Half naked, preferably,” she brainstormed. Was there such a thing as half-naked gnomes? She wasn’t sure but she’d find someone at Spetzer-Mart who would know. She quickly finished off the slice of pizza and stood up, wiping her hands on a wadded up, grease soaked paper towel. “Let’s go.”

  He raised questioning eyebrows. “You’re making me go with you? My shoes have crap on them.”

  “Go rinse them off. That’ll give me time to change my clothes. There’s a hose out the back door to the left and the porch light is right next to the door,” she called out, already halfway up the stairs.

  She ran to her room, tore off her boxers and tank top then pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. The idea of buying horrendously ugly, plastic lawn ornaments pleased her so much that she almost put on two different sandals in her rush to leave. She made it downstairs in record time and groaned after realizing Craig was still spraying off his shoes.

  “Come on,” she urged, stepping around him to find out what the holdup was.

  Frustrated, he said, “It’s not that easy to get dog shit off your shoes.”

  “Well it can’t be that hard,” she muttered. He gave her a serious stare, pressing the nozzle on the hose. She jumped back a step to avoid being sprayed.

  Three agonizing minutes later, he finished and tapped the shoes on the cement in an attempt to knock off the excess water. “You got a towel?” he asked over his shoulder, tap, tap, tap.

  She screwed her nose up in indignation. “Ew.”

  He stared up at her from under furrowed brows. “Hey, I have to put them on, the least you could do is get me a towel to dry them off with.”

  “Touché. You’re so uptight, relax,” she said, knowing it would get under his skin. And it did. He gave a heavy sigh, as if holding back some choice words, and she turned to search through the towel drawer with a grin on her face. She plucked out the rattiest hand towel and tossed it at him. “Throw it in the trash when you’re done. The one outside, not the one in here.”

  Giving her a defiant look, he dropped the towel on the porch step before slipping into his shoes. She considered demanding he pick it up, but knew he’d tell her to jump off a cliff. She chuckled and locked the patio door after he stepped inside.

  “What?” he asked. Now he looked as if he were mentally strangling her.

  “Nothing, sheesh.” She held up her hands in surrender, struggling to keep the smile off her lips.

  “Good,” he replied and turned to stalk to the front door. She enjoyed the view as she followed behind. She just couldn’t get those boxer briefs out of her mind.

  When he stopped to grab his jacket and shrug it on, she danced around in place by the door, only kidding a little bit. They needed to hurry—daylight was nine hours away and she didn’t know how many stores they’d have to visit to get the right stuff to ruin her neighbor’s morning.

  “Are you ready yet?” she sighed, giving her watch a theatrical stare.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” he mimicked as they stepped around the dog poop on the front porch.

  “I’m not,” she stated, scrutinizing the sidewalk to see if Mrs. Petska had decorated it with dog pop, as well. “And it was funnier when I said it.”

  “So you’re admitting you wear panties?” he grinned.

  She shot a smile at him over her shoulder as she hurried down the sidewalk. “Sometimes they aren’t necessary.”

  Point for me. She grinned as he tripped over his own feet, stumbling to catch his balance before he ended up with his face kissing the sidewalk. So she took great pleasure in shocking him, did that make her a bad person? She didn’t think so.

  He followed her to the Toronado and she waited for him to buckle up before she revved the engine to life. A glance at him in the passenger seat told her he was still wondering if she had panties on under her jeans.

  Absurd. Of course she was wearing panties. To go bare against the rough jean material would be insane. But he was a man and she supposed the uncomfortable effect of chafing jeans on intimate private parts had no place in his fantasies.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Spetzer-Mart’s parking lot was full at quarter to nine. A damn zoo, and one of the reasons he stayed clear of the place after five in the afternoon. He preferred less crowded stores where mothers didn’t do all their shopping for the month in one shot, barraging the check-out counters with hundreds of groceries, diapers and cleaning products, making bachelors like him wait in line for an hour to pay for one TV dinner and a toothbrush.

  At the moment the coupon-toting mothers swarming around inside were the least of his worries. His concern rested upon the woman who dragged him there for what she titled Operation Yard War. He held on to the dash as she maneuvered the Toronado through the parking lot and cut off a sedan. The car was built like a tank, and safer than his ‘Vette would be under her reckless hands, so he kept his mouth shut. And she’ll rip my ass if I tell her she’s a shitty driver.

  He wasn’t sure why he came. He’d meant to keep his distance until she at least had a chance to cool off after their kiss the other night. After a firm scolding by Leah, who’d told him he’d royally screwed up by taking off as he had, he’d sworn to keep his distance. And he wasn’t sure why he cared. They didn’t get along and hadn’t since the moment they met, but for some reason he now couldn’t get her out of his mind. When Leah called later to suggest he take Rach supper, there’d been no hesitation on his part in agreeing to the task.

  She put the car in park and stuffed the keys inside the nether regions of her purse and he wondered how long it would take her to find them later. She caught him staring. “What?”

  “Sheesh, are all redheads as temperamental as you?” Wrong question. The simmering gaze was enough for him to put a lid on it. He’d never met a woman who seemed to despise his company so much, and then confused the hell out of him by demanding he accompany her on a shopping trip for a yard war. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in impressing him and she didn’t act like a woman who wanted to get him into bed.

  Craig glanced over at her as they strode through the doors of Spetzer-Mart. Her face set in determination, long legs striding in the direction of garden supplies, she looked like a woman out to make trouble. I shouldn’t be here.

  “So you’re serious about this?” he asked, not sure why he’d asked the unnecessary questi
on. He matched her stride for stride until she halted before the lawn ornaments. The soles of his shoes squeaked to a stop, still a little wet on the bottoms.

  “Mm-hm,” she mumbled, distracted as she strolled down the aisle, scrutinizing each item. He followed a few feet behind.

  Maybe she’s crazy. He’d have to ask Rick later. By now he’d have to know with as much time as he and Leah spent together.

  “You realize how juvenile this is, don’t you?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder with raised brows. “Kind of like spreading dog shit on my steps is juvenile?”

  “You have a point.” He looked down the aisle, taking in the astounding selection of plastic yard décor. “What ones are you getting?”

  Rach turned back to the shelves and stopped before a row of gnomes. They were nothing like the yard gnomes he’d seen growing up, which had been a big thing for the women on his parents’ block to collect. These looked cheap, their colors were too bright, and their grins were more on the side of disturbing than cute. Horrifying, yet she must have thought they were perfect because she picked one up and grinned. She ran a finger down the mini-shovel the gnome grasped in its tiny plastic hands and handed it to him.

  “You’re kidding me, Red. It’s hideous.” He lifted it in his hands, weighing it. “And surprisingly heavy. What the hell is it made of? Not plastic.”

  “I don’t care what it’s made of, it’s great!” She picked up another. This one pushed an empty wheelbarrow, its blue pointed hat skewed on its head. He spotted a very nice cherub statue holding a bird bath on its hip. A normal person would opt for the cherub.

  “No, it’s not great. It’s creepy,” he said, taking another gnome since she didn’t give him the option of accepting it or not. “Shouldn’t we have gotten a cart?”

  Her eyes lit up and she hurried down the aisle, leaving him behind with the ugly yard gnomes in his arms. She called out, “I’ll be right back,” just before turning the corner.

  “Shit,” he muttered, looking around. A woman wearing sweatpants and pushing a toddler in a cart paused at the end of the aisle. On a normal night she might have gazed at him with interest, but tonight she stared at him, curious, before moving on.