“By the time I was sixteen I could build a car better than he could and he stopped wanting to do it anymore.” Adrian sipped at his watered down drink. “By that time I didn’t mind. My brothers and sister had all gone to college. Dad was talking about retiring and Mom was already deciding what kind of mobile home they were going to buy.”
“What do you mean?”
“After Dad retired, he and Mom took off. They traveled around the country for a couple of years, ‘seeing the country.’ They took cruises. I think they’ve been halfway around the world by now.”
“Dad says he wants to travel.” said Toby. “Is that like something parents want to do, when they retire? I mean, after they work all those years, you’d think they’d want to do something fun.”
“It is something fun,” said Adrian. “At least it’s what my parents wanted. They’re happier now than they ever were when I was growing up. I think being a parent is a lot harder than we know. There’s no manual to say what you’re doing. so it always seems like you’re doing it wrong. I think all kids get short-changed by all parents, or think they do, but later they realize their parents did a pretty good job.
“That’s pretty deep, Mr. B.”
“Yeah, well. that’s what I’m here for. I think your father’s doing the best he can. Why don’t you give him a chance?”
“I guess.” Toby sighed. “I miss him though. It was cool when we built the half pipe.”
“I’ll bet.”
They sat in the cool shade for several minutes, lost in thought about parents and their effect. Finally, Toby said softly, “I suppose I better finish the carburetor, huh?”
“I suppose. You want some help?”
Toby looked at him for several moments.
“Yeah,” he said. “I would.”
“What’s that?” Wally pointed to a brown book on Adrian’s desk, a copy of Hemmings Motor news... Adrian had been looking for parts for the Lark.
“Are you doing a car?”
“Yes,” Adrian admitted. He felt like a kid caught with a copy of Playboy.
“What kind?” Wally seemed interested, even animated.
“A Studebaker.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, a Lark VIII.”
“Nice car. Straight eight, right? Little sedan? Not a big powerhouse like the Hawk.”
Adrian drew back, amazed. “You know about cars? “
Wally paused as if sizing Adrian up. “Why don’t you come and take a walk with me.” He turned out the door.
Adrian hurried to keep up. Wally was already through the big doors into the shop, not even pausing to put on safety glasses or a hard hat, the presumed privileges of ownership, Adrian had to grab a pair, fumble with the hat and try to catch up. Despite his leg being healed, and his cast now only a memory, he still walked with a limp.
Though the large shop, around the huge gray or black machines, down the yellow painted lines of the walkways, Adrian was ten feet behind. Wally showed no sign of noticing. He strolled as if he owned the place, acknowledging the nods from workers with head bobs of his own.
They passed through a huge opening covered with thin strips of heavy plastic that acted as a door. Adrian had to swing his arm to shove open a passage.
It was like entering an auto museum. Adrian stopped and stared.
Immediately in front of him was a 1960’s Jaguar XKE, it’s round sleek lines and long hood reminding him of British spy movies. Beyond that was a huge boxlike car painted metallic blue. Against the back wall was an old Pontiac, hood up, engine hoisted.
Wally waited as Adrian came over. He looked bright eyed and enthused, like a kid showing off a good Christmas haul. “That one’s my favorite,” he said. pointing. “The Rolls.”
The favorite was an enormous vehicle, all straight lines and sharp angles. It had a tire on the side and strap s around the hood. Painted maroon and brown, it looked old.
“It’s old,” said Wally. “1937. A Bentley. Only made a few of them. I got this one at an auction in San Francisco last month. They just shipped it here.”
“It’s...” what could he say? “It’s beautiful.” It’s huge. he thought. He compared it to his little Studebaker.
How could Wally afford this, Adrian wondered. The Rolls alone had to cost a couple of hundred thousand dollars. Was the company really doing that well?
A mechanic worked on a car in the corner and Wally watched for a moment before speaking. “You’re looking better. Got rid of the crutch and the casts. That’s good.”
“Is it?” Adrian asked.
“Sure.” He turned to stare. “Can’t they do something with that?” He gestured at Adrian’s face.
“The scar? No. I’ve been to a doctor and she says plastic surgery might help. Right now it’s still healing.”
“Makes you look like a pirate,” Wally said bluntly, “Or a circus freak.”
“I don’t think so.” Adrian touched his cheek, felt the thick ridge of hard skin.
“Well, can’t be helped. You did okay in Arizona and Illinois turned out, eventually.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re going to. Utah.”
“I’m going to where?”
Wally wasn’t looking at him any longer. “Utah...Kelly Ridge. You and Pieburn have been working on it for the last couple of months, it’s time to go out in the field again. You leave next week for orientation.”
Before Adrian could say anything else Wally pointed to a mammoth Chrysler and said, “That one’s my favorite.”
27 – How About a Couple’s Special
“How about the couple’s special?”
Maggie looked at the menu. “Sweet and Sour Chicken, Cashew Chicken or Moo Goo Gai Pan. Sure.” She sipped tea and looked at Adrian over the rim of the cup. Steam wafted gently around her eyes.
“Are we a couple?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s our fourth date, the couple’s special?” she grinned wickedly, partially hidden by the cup. Adrian was so much fun to tease.
“I don’t... don’t know...we’re—” Adrian stammered. He looked away quickly, his eyes darting around the tiny oriental restaurant. He saw blood red tables with lavender chairs, heavy white napkins and tiny women in kimonos, ornately carved room dividers of ebony, delicate tea cups, anything but Maggie. She let the silence last, watching him with a Cheshire cat grin. Finally, just before she was about to rescue him, he said, “Yes.” His voice seemed a little strangled.
“Yes,” he said again with more assurance.
“Oh, my,” said Maggie. She lowered the cup slowly, surprised by his seriousness. Why should she be surprised, she wondered, he was always so serious. “Adrian, I was kidding.”
“I’m not,” he told her firmly.” I like you...a lot.” Adrian thought about their last date, that magical concert and the uncomfortable intimacy in the car. He’d thought of it constantly in the weeks following. The moment he should have kissed her. With surprising boldness, right out loud and in public, he said. “I should have kissed you last time,”
“In the car?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Yes, you should have,” she agreed absently. Everything she knew about men shouted that Adrian Beck, so recently recovered from devastating injuries, was vulnerable. The earnest look on his face said this was a challenge for him, and a risk. But how big a risk, she wondered. Was Adrian the type of man who would break down when she told him what she had to say? She sighed.
“I have to tell you something,” she said and he widened his eyes in apparent interest. “When I called you,” she said. “When I called you—”
The waiter appeared suddenly, like a genie at her side and she grabbed the delay. “I’ll have the Lemon Chicken, with fried rice. Adrian, what will you have?” There, she thought, that put an end to the couple’s special. She wondered if he’d get the hint.
The waiter left.
“You wanted to say?”
“This will be difficult.” Full sp
eed ahead and damn the torpedoes. “When I called you I wanted to get a lead into your company.”
“I know,” he said, calmly.
“I know you know. And when I kept calling and getting the runaround, it became a sort of game...like I was going to keep calling until I got you.”
“Okay, you got me.” He smiled at his double meaning and she felt a sense of exasperation.
“No, you don’t understand, Adrian. Even after I got through to you, and we went to the baseball game, I was still more interested in your company than in you.”
“Okay,” he said again. His calmness was beginning to annoy her, since her main concern was her own sense of guilt.
“Adrian, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t attracted to you—at first. I was just trying to get a business lead into a company that used to buy from us.”
“I understand that,” Adrian agreed. “Would you like some more tea?”
Maggie was confused. Had she completely misread him? Was he the scared withdrawn engineer or this far more secure man facing her. She looked at the scar slicing his right cheek and was reminded again how it made him appear dangerous. She’d always thought it was a misleading illusion. Was she wrong?
“Do you still feel that way?” Adrian asked.
“No. I’ve gotten to like you.” Although at the moment, she couldn’t imagine why.
“That’s good. Because I like you too. Let me say something,” he said. “When you met me I was wreck. I’d been beaten, I was broken—the wrist, my leg, ribs—” he traced his cheek with a surprisingly tender touch of one finger. “This. And when we met that first time, I was trying to get technical support, not someone to go out with. Later, when my boss came down on me so hard, I was still so screwed up that I went along without any question at all and dumped you, remember?”
“Yes,” she did, although it had only spurred her into a greater resolve. Most setbacks only spurred her into greater resolve, she realized. The combination of Adrian as a nerd engineer rebuffing her and a mystery the size and scope of Control-logics had been irresistible. “So what happened?”
“You kept calling and I kept not taking the calls because I was afraid. My boss said I couldn’t see you so I just went along with it. It seemed easier and I was actually too afraid to do anything else.”
“Afraid of what?” Maggie asked. fascinated. The idea of being afraid of a boss was alien to her. If she had a boss like that she’d quit.
“Maggie. you have no idea what I went through.” His voice was soft and matter of fact, not indicating the depth of his feelings.
“The gang on the bus?” she asked.
He nodded. “And the broken bones. And the move to a new place. Did you know that when I came here I was running so hard that I didn’t take anything with me? Anything at all. I didn’t pack. I had no clothes, no furniture. I even left my cell phone on the desk at my old apartment.”
“My God, Adrian. Why?” Maggie had lived with her parents and siblings for so long her roots went deep. She was totally unable to imagine what would make a man run away from his entire life.
“I’d been beaten, I lost my job.” Seeing her look he explained, “My boss—a man I thought of as a friend—fired me. The newspapers and TV called me the ‘Baby Killer.’ I was getting crank calls and the girl I thought I was rescuing threatened to sue me.” He shrugged, an amazingly inadequate gesture considering his story, “Anyway, I left, just ran away. After that I was just trying to rebuild a life, so when I was told not to see you, I wasn’t about to make waves. I wasn’t in very good shape. I don’t blame you for having ulterior motives. I wasn’t someone to date.”
“I’m sorry.” Maggie said. She reached across the table and touched his hand. He flexed it, tightening, then opening the fingers wide.
“There’s a deep ache in my wrist when it’s going to rain.” He flexed his left hand. “Dr. Pei says it might go away someday, but not to hold my breath.”
“Wait a minute,” Maggie said. “You weren’t able to disobey your boss. You were afraid of everything. What happened? You seem pretty able to handle things now.”
“Do I?” Adrian asked, genuinely surprised. “I don’t know. I started climbing things, mountains and stuff. That helped physically. And I went on that job to Arizona. That did me a lot of good. It was better than hiding behind a desk with a computer. Working on the car with Toby...you. I guess I’ve had time to heal. I think I’m becoming someone other than the Adrian Beck I used to be.”
He stopped and breathed deeply. He sipped his tea while Maggie watched him, feeling a little uncomfortable with how much he’d said.
“Well, I have to say this,” Maggie said. “I’m surprised. I knew you’d been injured—you joked about it when we first met, remember? But I didn’t realize how badly you were hurt. If I had I never would have chased you. No, you’re not the same person I met, even these short months ago.” She traced little lines on the back of his hand and Adrian felt his concentration slip.
She smiled. ruefully. “And you’re right. nobody would have wanted to date you back then. You were a mess.”
“I was.” he agreed.
“But you have changed and I’ve noticed it. I started this by saying I was only after you because of where you worked. But I want to finish by telling you that I’ve grown to like you, a lot. I’m sorry for how this started. Adrian. but I hope it can become something else.”
The moment was broken as the waiter appeared silently. He began loading plates between them. opening a rice bucket. Did they need anything? Water? More tea? Soy sauce?
“Go away,” Maggie said firmly. Her eyes never left Adrian’s. her hand was still gently touching his. Startled, the waiter disappeared.
“Next time.” she said seriously. “Let’s order the couple’s special.”
The Lark
The big day arrived with warm sun and a clear blue sky. The temperature was nearly eighty and only the browning of the grass and fallen leaves of the tress suggested the month of September.
“It is time,” said Adrian formally.
“It is time,” agreed Toby. He stood ramrod straight as befit the occasion, saluted Adrian, and grinned at his mother and father who had traveled across the street to witness the event. They smiled with great amusement as Toby went to the passenger side of Adrian’s Ranger. He opened the door and eased himself in.
“Well, we’re off,” Adrian said to Juan. The two men stood in the driveway and watched Toby, who sat regally in the seat, waiting for the moment of departure. “They said the car would be ready at eleven.”
Juan looked at his watch. “You’d better get going before Toby makes this an even more melodramatic occasion than it is.”
“Well, it is a big day,” said Adrian. “We’ve done a lot of work on the car. This is when it actually looks like something. I still can’t believe I let him paint it yellow.” He shook hands with Toby’s father and started to turn away but Juan held him for a moment.
‘‘I want to thank you,” he said. “This car you two have been building, it’s been a great thing for the boy. He’s grown so much since he started this.”
Embarrassed, Adrian said, “He’s a good kid. You should be proud. I enjoy working with him, he makes it fun.”
“How about dinner tonight at our house. Mariel’s making Tostados.”
“I’d love to.”
“Great.” Juan let go of Adrian’s hand. “About seven?”
“That’s good.”
“Is there anything special you’d like?” asked Mariel.
“No, thanks. Can I bring anything?”
“No we’re—”
“Can we please get going?” shouted Toby. His sense of the dramatic had become exhausted, now he was merely an impatient teenager again.
“We’re going already.”
“About time! Jeez.”
They drove across town listening to Rap music, parked by the painter’s office and wandered back to the shop area. And there it was, the remai
ns of a Studebaker Lark. In the middle of the nearly spotless paint room was the body of the car. It was missing the bumpers and all the windows and doors. The hood and doors were hanging by wires around it, hovering like huge moths over a very yellow flame.
So yellow. Adrian stopped and stared, horrified. The paint samples he approved had been garish, but they were small. Seeing the painted results on something the size of a sedan—even a small sedan—was staggering. He recalled a saying: a mouse and an elephant equally are miracles. But you don’t want an elephant in the kitchen.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. He would never have chosen a color like this. Black, maybe, a nice tan or beige...
“Awesome!” Toby rushed forward and began running his hands over the surface of the car. “It’s so smooth,” he said in approved amazement. “Mr. B! Check it out! It is so cool!” He ducked down to look inside the shell of the vehicle, came back up grinning.
“This is the best! The absolutely best thing ever.”
Slowly, sharing none of the boy’s enthusiasm, Adrian approached the car. Closer it resembled an enormous dead insect. But the paint job was perfect. Adrian also ran his fingers over the frame, feeling smooth metal, no rough edges. He bobbed his head in grudging admiration when a short man dressed in white plastic came up behind them.
“Sure is something,” he declared. “What do you think?”
“It’s fantastic,” cheered Toby.
“It’s yellow,” admitted Adrian.
The man heard his tone. “You don’t approve? It’s the right color. I took it straight off the charts you gave me.” His voice held the beginning of worry.
“No, it’s right,” Adrian said quickly. “You did a beautiful job. It’s just...” he gestured to the car. “It’s just...”
“It’s great! That’s what it is.” Toby interrupted and his enthusiasm was contagious. Both men smiled as the boy danced around the car in rapturous glee.
But. “It is yellow,” Adrian said.
Back at Adrian’s, Toby still hadn’t come down off a natural high. The body of the Studebaker had been delivered and was now scattered around the garage like pieces of abandoned sunshine. The hood leaned against the workbench like a warrior’s shield, catching every stray bit of light, reflecting it back in a gloriously rich shine. The frame, painted a deep black filled the rest of the room. The engine remained on a hoist near the back.
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