by Anthology
She takes me to a bar area where a topless, toned, man waits to make drinks. I look at Fran in question. “This is new,” Fran says with a smile. “Our signature drink tonight is the Kaleidoscope Spritz.” I watch as he measures vodka, lemon juice, elderflower liqueur, and simple syrup into a large wine glass. Then he pops in vibrant red, yellow and green candied squares, “Raspberry, mango, and lime puree cubes and to finish, a splash of Prosecco.” As the carbonated sweet wine hits the glass, the bubbles fizz up creating a colorful work of art. The reaction of the Prosecco causes the cubes to crumble and mix the drink right before my eyes.
I can’t look away from this marvelous creation, but Fran picks it up presenting it to me. “To you my precious Macy.” With a clink of the glasses, I raise the wondrous concoction to my lips. Little splashes of popping bubbles tickle my nose. It’s delightfully sweet, tangy and refreshing.
I hug and chat with so many people. Then I see him, Vaugh. He was the only serious relationship I had in the last five years. We were together just short of a year. I think I broke our hearts. I loved him, and I know he loved me, but there was something missing. Maybe I was too busy building my career or the timing was just off. For the longest time, I couldn’t put my finger on it so, in all my infinite wisdom, I decided to call it off. I really couldn’t be bothered at the time with trying to figure out what was going on with us. It just sounded like so much work, and we had only been together for a short time. If it was this much work in the beginning, I couldn’t imagine what the future held for us. But here I stood, staring and reminiscing over him. I felt that attraction, that pull, as soon as I laid eyes on him. I didn’t have a moment to fight the longing I have for him. He’s a great guy, loyal, loving, attractive, attentive and employed.
Every person here was a reason not to go through with this. Seeing Vaugh was rattling my thoughts. I know practically no one in LA, and the few I do know are acquaintances. It’s scary. No matter how confident I appear to be, leaving behind so many loved ones is difficult. I never know if I’m making a mistake or bad decision, but I have gone over this a million times in my mind. I don’t have a happy future here. It’s too big, too busy, too much. I really want a more laid back and less expensive lifestyle. I won’t be able to be in front of the camera forever, and I don’t want to be. On the other hand, I want to be able to enjoy my later years in comfort and stability. What if he is my stability? What if he is my comfort? I like my lifestyle, and my luxuries. Maybe I’m self–centered and even a little indulgent. I’m not sure what to say to him after all these jumbled thoughts come crashing down on me, so I smile acknowledging his presence, and I keep myself busy until I can come up with a good opener.
My avoidance doesn’t last too long. He ends up coming over to me. Before any words are exchanged, he comes in for a hug, and it feels so good. His smell is familiar and comforting.
“So Cali?”
“Yes, I need more sunshine and less bustle.”
“You’ll flourish there. You always seemed so antsy here.”
“Antsy?”
“Yeah, you couldn’t really find that spot, a place you were comfortable.” I let those words sink in. He’s right. I’m antsy.
“Honestly, I still haven’t found my spot.”
“You will. You just need to stop hiding behind the familiar, and actually look for your spot.”
“I guess I wasted a lot of time, our time.”
“I won’t say wasted, perhaps bided your time.”
A wolf whistle has everyone turning their heads. Fran is on a stool with her hands folded in front of her like a performer waiting for the crowd to settle and take theirs sets. “I just want to take a few minutes to embarrass our guest of horror?” Our friends chuckle at her play on words.
I sit, listening to Fran’s wonderful stories, most of them amusing, a few emotional, and then we all continue to reminisce over libations. As it grows cooler, more and more people give me my final goodbyes. There are only seven of us girls that are staying over to sleep on the rooftop.
I knew Vaugh wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye, so reluctantly, I found him. He was looking out over the city. When he turned, I half expected his face to be pained or troubled, but I was just projecting because it was how I was feeling. He looked content and relaxed. For all I knew, he had moved on and was only here as a courtesy to me.
“So this is it?”
“This is it.” We just stood there together, side by side, in silence, looking at the light of the vast city before us.
“I should get going.”
“Sure, it was so lovely to see you.”
We hugged, then he broke the hug, and turned away. At that very instance, there was this moment, this voice inside my head that told me I needed to know. “Wait.” He turned just in time for me to crash into him. I took his face in my hands and looked deep into his grey eyes. I was looking for an answer, but all I could see was a storm, so I locked lips with him. It was forced and awkward, but then we found a rythym. I pulled away feeling no different than before. It was a good kiss, but like our relationship, it wasn’t a foundation on which to lay a future.
“What was that for?”
“I needed to know.”
“Know what?”
“That I was making the right decision.”
His eyes told me he knew what my decision was, maybe he felt it too. If not, it was stamped on my lips in the form of a frown.
His warm hand traveled up my arm, “You will always have a place in my heart.”
“And you in mine. We had a good season.”
“I’ll miss you.” I’ll miss him too, but I let him have the last word. I had the confirmation and closure I needed.
CHAPTER TWO
I mentally go down the checklist: fuel, water and some energy drinks. My trunk is filled with enough clothes and travel supplies for about nine days. The trip is approximately 2,794 miles. My loose plans are to stop when I get bored, tired or hungry.
I have a playlist with 94 songs that will last just under six hours. I plan on driving about eight hours a day not including any breaks. According to my plan, it should take me six days if I drive 465 miles per day, so I’m due in L.A. in seven days. I think I need a bit of a cushion, but I really hope to be there in six days or sooner. I need some me time, but I’m not terribly good at being completely alone.
Pushing the ignition button, my stomach gets that little nervous-excited feeling, Pennsylvania, I’m on my way. I’m really doing this.
An hour, and 25 miles into my new journey, I finally reach I-80 West. I let cruise control take over, and turn on the music. I needed it quiet so I could navigate myself safely out of the city. The car practically drives itself. I’m just not that trusting of a computer system. My hands are a little stiff from the intense grip I have on the steering wheel. Now that I’m in a flow of traffic for a good three hundred miles, I feel a little more at ease.
I’m three days into my trek and leaving Iowa, headed for Kansas. I’ve enjoyed the little off the beaten path sort of boutiques. I had forgotten how much fun, and how therapeutic it is, to drive. Living in New York didn’t allow for much driving.
Mid-day, I needed to stop and stretch, but I wanted to remain close to the interstate, so I found a decent looking location. I grabbed some organic jerky, baked chips, peanut butter M&M’s, protein bars, gum and filled a cup with ice. Hydration during travel is the best tip I learned over the last few years. It can combat fatigue, swelling, jet lag, and helps keep my skin clear.
I check my route, as usual, but find there are heavy delays just outside of Iowa, and my navigation suggests cutting down through Missouri, into Kansas, then tomorrow on to Colorado. I recheck the delay times not wanting to deviate from my original plan. There are four stops and the delays are anywhere from forty-five to ninety minutes. I’d rather take a detour and keep moving than follow the course and just sit in traffic. I recalculate the route confident in my decision.
Just inside the K
ansas border, I felt like I didn’t want to push myself too far today. The scenery was lovely, very lush green grass over rolling hills, but it became so repetitive. I felt like I was going nowhere fast, and after changing my route, I was feeling a little fatigued. I touched the screen to switch from navigation to locate a nearby hotel, but instead of a new screen popping up, an incessant dinging began blaring at me, and my dash board lit up. I pulled over on the gravel shoulder, cringing as the rocks hit the underside of my car, and I’m guessing fenders by the awful sound I could hear of popping and scraping. I tried to figure out what was going on. The flying fish light was blinking and the temperature gauge needle was in the red and bouncing up and down frantically.
I hit the button for assistance, and the beep of a call being placed is cutting in and out. Right away I know this is not a good sign. My phone is linked to my car, so I will have no better luck with my phone. I wait eagerly for someone or something to happen.
“Than- …for call- …kdown and accident man-… Are you-…anger or hurt?” Taking a minute to try to figure out the question, I relay to what I think I heard from the other side of a shaky line.
“No, I’m not hurt or in danger.”
“Can-………state in?” I shift in my seat with the long pause between words, my agitation is rising.
“Just inside Kansas.”
I wait and then lean toward the screen and shout this time “JUST INSIDE KANSAS!” Still nothing, I hit the call button and still nothing.
I grab my phone asking for the closest service station. I wait and watch my loading blue circle go around and around. Jesus! This is fucking America. I should be able to reach anyone and everyone with all this technology!
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 l
ike 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.”