Mr. Right Goes Wrong

by Pamela Morsi

  The young woman accepted her consolation with a nod.

  “Everybody says that you’re here to get back at us,” Nina said. “But I didn’t do nothing to you. I’m like you. Please don’t...don’t do whatever you’re going to do.”

  “I’m not here to get back at anyone,” Mazy assured her. “I’m only trying to collect the bank’s money.”

  “The payments are almost five hundred a month. How am I going to pay that? I don’t really have no job,” Nina said. “Well, I do, sort of. I work at Brandt Burger when I can get hours. Mostly the Rands have their daughter for extra help. They use me when they can. But I rarely get more than eight or ten shifts a month. That can barely pay our rent.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “I’ve tried not to think about it,” she said. “But it weighs down on me till...till I can’t sleep at night. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Sometimes,” Mazy said quietly. “Sometimes it’s simply better to let the car go. I know it was your husband’s, but perhaps someone else will enjoy driving it and you won’t have to worry about the payments.”

  “There’s no car.”

  “What?”

  “It was totaled,” she answered. “That’s how he died. He was drunk and ran it up along the guardrail. Cut the Mustang clean in half and him with it.”

  The words, spoken so matter-of-fact, belied the bleakness in her expression and magnified the horror of the mental image.

  “I am so sorry,” Mazy said before she could stop herself from repeating it. Deliberately, she forced herself into business mode. “Have you not heard from the insurance carrier? That’s why we pay for that, so that money is available in case of a tragedy.”

  “He didn’t have no insurance on the car.”

  Mazy frowned. “You’re required to carry insurance on vehicles that have auto loans.”

  “And he did, when he bought it,” she answered. “But he got a DUI last winter. And when the policy came up for renewal, they’d raised the rate on him way high. He got real stubborn and wouldn’t pay. It lapsed two months before the accident.”

  Mazy almost groaned aloud. When the insurance lapsed, the carrier was required to notify the lien holder. The bank should have immediately repossessed the car until the situation was rectified. Why that hadn’t happened was anybody’s guess. But for Nina, it didn’t matter anymore. The loan still had to be paid.

  “Have you to spoken to anyone at the bank about this?”

  Nina nodded. “I talked to Mr. Driscoll a few times. He...he showed up at my house the day of the funeral. Folks in town took up a collection to pay for Wesley’s burial. He told me that instead of putting money in the kitty, he was giving me two months grace period on the loan payments. Two months came and went and I didn’t win the lottery or marry a millionaire. I can’t imagine any other way that I’d be able to pay five hundred a month for a car I don’t have.”

  Mazy closed her eyes and took a deep breath so she wouldn’t say I’m sorry again. This was truly what was terrible about this job. She was not a social worker. She was an accounting clerk. All her training was about numbers and cash strategy. There was never any course work on dealing with the plight of desperate people.

  “I’ve been scared to go to the bank,” she said. “My mama says you all will send the loan to collection and we’ll be ruined. I’ll never get credit or rent a place or even pass a job screening.”

  “Never is a very long time,” Mazy told her. “It takes patience and hard work to get out of a tough spot, but it can be done.”

  The woman looked up at her, clear blue eyes with hardly a glimmer of hope. “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Mazy told her as she dug a business card out of her purse. “Call me at the bank tomorrow and we’ll set up a time for you to come in.”

  The woman took the card and pressed it against her heart as if it were a talisman. “I will. I promise,” she said. “And thank you for talking to me and not yelling at me and I’m so glad that it’s you handling my loan and...and nobody else.”

  “Bankers don’t yell,” Mazy told her, and then wondered if yelling was something that Tad had done.

  She caught up with Beth Ann and Tru at the car. Her mother was seated in the passenger’s seat, apparently resigned to letting Mazy do the driving. Tru was lounging longwise in the backseat with his earbuds in.

  Mazy backed out of their parking place and turned onto Maple Street.

  “Bank business?” Beth Ann asked.

  Mazy nodded.

  “I was afraid of that,” Beth Ann said with a sigh. “Shame on Vergene Pryor for not being more of a help to her girl. I have my share of faults, but I’d never turn my back on my flesh and blood.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Mazy said. “And I want you to know I’m grateful.”

  Beth Ann waved off the thanks. “I’ve got no regrets,” she said. “It’s part of being a parent. You teach your child to be kind to others by being kind to them.”

  Mazy thought there might be some truth to that.

  “And what’s the value of continuing to punish the girl long after there is any possibility of changing the situation?” Beth Ann continued. “Nina was only sixteen and he was a grown man. Vergene should have had him arrested. Instead, she pushed Nina to marry the fellow. And then she never failed to point out what a lousy husband he turned out to be.”

  Beth Ann tutted disapprovingly. “Vergene was always too prideful by half. Nina was a sweet, hardworking teenager who stumped her toe on some sweet-talking galoot. Her family should step up and help her instead of wasting time judging her.”

  Mazy appreciated her mother’s point. But sometimes, in some things, nobody could stand up for you except yourself.

  “I’m sorry that the guy is dead,” she told Beth Ann. “But he doesn’t seem like a prize husband.”

  “Wes Garvey? Good Lord, he was completely worthless. And a no-account, bad-tempered drunk to boot. Nobody in their right mind would have gotten tangled up with Wesley Garvey. Even you would have known better than that.”

  A little snicker from the backseat alerted them that their conversation wasn’t completely private.

  In the afternoon, she and Tru were raking leaves in the front yard when Eli pulled his truck into his driveway next door. He stopped and Mazy felt a thrill of expectation. He was undoubtedly going to get out and talk to her. Maybe help them rake. She imagined the three of them doing yard work as a team, sort of like a family, and she really liked the idea of that.

  The Silverado’s horn beeped twice.

  She looked over and the driver’s side window eased down.

  “Come here,” he called out to her.

  Mazy walked across the space toward him. As she got close enough to see him plainly, she noticed some wariness in his eyes. She smiled at him and it immediately vanished.

  “Hi,” she said, hearing a bit of breathlessness in her own voice.

  “You know you’ll have to rake again when all the rest of the leaves drop.”

  She nodded. “I know, but there will be fewer and it will be colder. I thought this might be a good day to get started with it.”

  “Maybe so,” he agreed. “Look, how about we have dinner together tonight. Would you like that?”

  She liked it a lot. Finally a real date. They’d been having sex for two weeks already. It was past time for them to make a public debut as a couple.

  “It sounds wonderful, Eli. What time do you want to pick me up?”

  “Oh, come on over to my place about seven.”

  “Okay. What should I wear?”

  He smiled at her. “You always look good, babe. My favorite is naked, of course. But a short skirt could be very appealing.”

  S
he laughed.

  “See you at seven.”

  He put the truck into gear and pulled away, leaving her standing there.

  Mazy started after him for a moment. She was happy, but something felt not quite right.

  She began raking again. Mentally she was inventorying the contents of her closet. It was still two more weeks before her first paycheck. But even if it had been yesterday, not a dime of that could go for clothes. She would wear what she had, and she’d be grateful that she had it. Eli didn’t give a hint of the restaurant. But in Brandt Mountain, a skirt was about as fancy as it got. The pink chiffon blouse she’d bought her mother a couple of years ago still hung on a hanger and looked barely worn. If she borrowed it and wore it with the skirt to her black suit, that would dress it up, a lot. It was too bad the black suit was so knee-length professional. If she could shorten it by, say, two inches, it would really show off her legs.

  You always look good, babe.

  It was a lovely compliment. Still, why was he always calling her babe? It didn’t sound like Eli at all. It sounded like some jerk who couldn’t remember her name.

  She pushed away the useless negativity. She was going on a real date with a genuinely nice guy. In a town as small as this one, that was tantamount to a commitment.

  Mazy decided to tell Tru before he heard it from somebody else.

  24

  Eli was edgy. More than he’d expected to be. It all seemed pretty straightforward when he’d planned it, but now, ten minutes before seven, he was losing his nerve.

  “Buck up, wimp!” he admonished himself. “If you start treating her like a queen, she’ll have as much interest in you as last week’s fish.”

  He had gotten her hooked. He could see that in her eyes, hear it in her voice, her every gesture. That hadn’t happened because he declared undying love. It had happened because he acted like he could take her or leave her.

  He was reminded of his father’s advice when Eli had gone to negotiate his first deal.

  “You can only have one mind-set. I care, but not that much.”

  For the past few days, he’d really warmed up to the role-playing. He was getting all the sex he wanted, the way he wanted and when he wanted. Fortunately, he really liked it when she liked it, so she was enjoying it, too. And they did talk and laugh and share stories and insights. Mazy had always had a quick mind and a kind of fearlessness in following through when others might have cut their losses. And she was empathetic, which contributed both to her generosity and her romanticism. Both of which made her easy prey for the wrong kind of guy.

  The kind that Eli was currently portraying.

  Outside the sack, he was doing absolutely nothing—zip, zero, nada—to show any consideration for her.

  He’d not given her even one tiny gift. Not even so much as a beer or a pizza to share. That wasn’t easy.

  When he’d caught sight of her raking leaves with Tru, he didn’t simply think he should help. He’d wanted to help. They had done that job together as kids. They’d figured out early that since both yards had to be raked, it was faster and more fun to do it together. And if, occasionally, one or the other went crashing and bouncing into a pile of leaves, so much the better. He’d wanted to do that with her again. He’d wanted to share the gloves and giggling and red noses. Instead, he had not deigned to get out of the truck. That was no fun at all, for either of them.

  And he hated sending her out to walk home alone in the middle of the night. But he rudely and insistently did it, anyway—and she would never know that as soon as she was out the door, he crept out of bed and secretly watched from the narrow window in the living room to make sure she got home safe.

  He let her bring him dinner and clean up without the slightest hint of thanks. And she continued to be sweet, biddable and available. Also grateful and respectful.

  None of these things had been at all in evidence during their teenage wasteland romance. And he recalled no great improvement in those virtues in what he thought of as their Second Coming nine years ago.

  But now, now she was being nice. Maybe it was that she’d finally grown up. Finally matured enough to appreciate him. Or maybe she was being nice because he wasn’t. Knowing her history, the latter made more sense.

  He heard the sound of her footsteps approaching the door. Eli grabbed the remote, turned on the TV and ripped open the bag of chips that sat in his lap.

  The crisp sound of a familiar knock could barely be heard over televised play-by-play.

  “It’s open!”

  Deliberately he kept his eyes glued to the set in front of him and stuffed a handful of empty calories in his mouth.

  In his peripheral vision he saw her walk up to the end of the couch.

  “Hi. What—”

  Without looking he held up his hand in her direction. “Fourth and five,” he announced with his mouth full.

  The defense held and he made a sound as if he cared.

  He turned to look at her then. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from dropping. The pretty pink top was a filmy thin material that wasn’t exactly see-through but kind of gave the impression that it might be, so you couldn’t stop looking at it. The simple black skirt covered her only down to midthigh, leaving a long expanse of shapely bare flesh to draw the eye in either direction. Down to distinctly doable high heels or up to soft secrets that he already knew he liked.

  God, Mazy, you’re gorgeous! came to his lips, but he caught himself before he spoke it.

  “Damn, Mazy, not bad. I could totally hump that.”

  She laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “But maybe we should postpone the humping until after dinner.”

  “Sure,” he answered. “And I’m hoping to cash in my rain check tonight.”

  She blushed a little, but also raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. “I’m a woman who keeps her promises and honors her obligations,” she told him.

  He gave her a wink. “Then I’d be honored to oblige you.”

  Eli could have wrapped her in his arms that very moment. He deliberately did not. Instead, he turned back to the screen.

  “Oh, no, they’re going to kick a field goal. Block it, you numbskulls!”

  They didn’t, of course. And Eli cursed vividly, using the type of words that his dad would have washed his mouth out for. Men did not need to swear in order to make a point, he’d been taught. And under no circumstances did a decent man use rough language in the company of women.

  Eli knew that caliber of politeness was passé, although he still held himself to it. But the kind of men that Mazy admired would never show such compunction.

  “Is this an important game?” she asked.

  “Babe, they’re all important.”

  She was still standing there by the coffee table, apparently waiting to be asked to sit down. He could do that.

  Eli patted the place beside him on the couch. “Plant your big butt right here, honey, and I’ll put you to work at halftime.”

  “Halftime?” she asked, surprised for a second before the rest of his statement sunk in. “I don’t have a big butt.”

  Eli laughed as if she were making a joke. “I have to admit, it doesn’t look quite as gigantic in that black skirt.” He gave her bottom a friendly pat. “Still, it’s a good-size target. Sit down, babe. You’re distracting me and it’s third down.”

  She sat.

  He focused his eyes on the TV and didn’t even glance in her direction. From the corner of his eye he could detect a furrow in her brow. He hated that. He hated hurting her feelings. But it was like taking a bitter medicine. It didn’t matter how it tasted if it worked.

  As far as Eli was concerned, Mazy was incredibly sexy. Her body was better than it had been at nineteen, and he was pretty sure he was in a very small group able to make that comparison. But
the internet had made it crystal clear. Bad boyfriends weren’t into compliments, they were into critique. Not that they could be mean all the time. There had to be enough sweetness to keep the seesaw going. It was the constant waffling between naughty and nice that kept the women off balance and vulnerable. Never knowing what to expect added tension that often was mistaken for excitement.

  Eli turned to her, offering the open bag of chips. She shook her head.

  “Come on, you’re not going to sulk up into a snit about it, are you?”

  “Of course not,” she answered. “But my bottom is not big. I wear size eight jeans!”

  “In your dreams! And mine, too, come to think of it. Look, babe, it’s fine,” he told her. “You’ve had a kid and that jump-sizes a woman every time. It’s for sure not as big as it could be. Anyway, I didn’t expect anything else. When you date an older woman, you get an older body.”

  He stuffed another handful of chips in his mouth and turned back to the game.

  They sat there together, mostly silent for the next several minutes as the huge men in pads and helmets pushed up the field and back down again. Miami scored. Eli moaned dramatically. In truth, he really couldn’t have cared less. He did watch football from time to time, but mostly college. He didn’t follow any professional team. And more often than not, the first NFL game of the season that he’d watch would be the Super Bowl.

  Time-out was called as the Ravens had an injured player on the field.

  “So when are we leaving?” Mazy asked.

  “Leaving? Leaving for what?”

  “Aren’t we going out to dinner?”

  “Going out to dinner?” He feigned surprise and pointed toward the TV. “It’s the Ravens versus Miami. I can’t miss that.”

  Her expression was incredulous. “You invited me for dinner.”

  “Right,” he said. “There’s some barbecue wings in the freezer. They heat up in the oven. And grab me another beer, would ya, hon? Get one for yourself, too.”

  25

  Any disappointment that Mazy felt about her Sunday night nondate had been rationalized away by Monday morning. She had misunderstood Eli when he’d asked her over. Of course he’d want to stay home and watch the game if he was a Ravens fan. And then there was the whole big deal about going out in public. The minute people saw them together, they would start to speculate. She was pretty sure that Eli hadn’t kept his reputation clean all these years by encouraging speculation. Added to that was, of course, the expense of an evening out. She recalled how generous he had been to her in their past relationships. Nearly every day he’d surprised her with some little gift. Sometimes it was candy or flowers, but more often it was a more practical choice for her or her mother or the baby.