Late the next morning, Celia opened her eyes to sunlight glaring through the blinds. An ambiance of regret surrounded her; an unsettling remorse nestled in her soul. The aftertaste of his cigarettes lingered in her mouth. Screwing Dean had been such a huge mistake, even if it did raise her body count to five.
What the hell were you thinking... or not thinking, more like it?
She grabbed her pillow and pulled it over her face to hide her shame. "You're such an idiot!" she yelled into the pillow.
Trust your gut. If you ain't feeling it, don't do it.
Even through the pangs of guilt, she took some comfort in the fact that she had at least stood up for herself. Granted, he still got off, and she didn't, but for a little while, at least, she had been in control.
Talk about looking for a silver lining.
The memory of his tongue made her stir. He wasn't half bad at that. Her butt cheeks flexed, and her stomach tingled at the thought. She had almost come with Dean until he just stopped.
I don't need a man if that's what I want.
Celia rolled over, opened the bedside table drawer, and pulled out her vibrator. The Velcro strip she had used to hide it under her and Rod's bed still clung to the side. She ripped it off with satisfaction. She didn't need to hide anything in this new life. The little machine's steady buzz soothed her, and within a minute an all-consuming orgasm cleared away whatever regret still threatened to haunt her.
The revenge orgasm! Simply the best.
Refreshed and lighthearted, Celia headed downstairs. She poured herself a cup of coffee, sat on the patio, and mapped out the rest of her day. She had several errands to run, including grocery shopping and a stop at Costco—or, as she called it, the impulse-buy store, which seemed to be a fitting theme considering the way her birthday weekend had started off.
After jumping in the shower and drying her hair, she pulled on a pair of shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. The shorts were an old pair she'd had for years. They fit a little looser now, and that pleased her more than she cared to admit.
It still amazed her that she had to wear a bra all the time. Her new breasts were perky enough to stand on their own, but her perpetually visible nipples seemed to distract the rest of the world. Buying several sports bras to help with that problem had already been added to the top of her Costco list.
The old Silverado backed out of her reserved spot, and she headed toward the grocery store.
Manor Road, one of Austin's major thoroughfares, ran through her side of town. It was lined with just about every kind of retail store imaginable: furniture stores, liquor stores, a bakery, car dealerships, and big-box chains. She spotted Lowe's and mentally checked her list to make sure she didn't need to stop there too. Apparently, moving into a new apartment required a trip to Lowe's every other day.
Without warning, a sudden tremor erupted under the front end of the truck.
"Well, that's new," she said with concern.
Stopping at the red light, she put the truck into neutral and revved the engine. Nothing unusual happened. Even if it had, she wouldn't have known what it meant. Her knowledge of automotive mechanics was limited at best; she knew where the engine was but wasn't entirely sure how to open the hood.
The light turned green, and she slipped the truck into drive and eased into the intersection. The tremors started again. A block ahead, more cautious now, she turned right onto a side street to get off the busy thoroughfare. Half a block later, a loud snapping noise exploded beneath the driver's seat. The truck bucked and twisted violently. Celia glanced in the rearview mirror, panic surging. The bed shot into the air as though the pavement itself had decided to play catch with the rear end. Sparks sprayed from beneath the cab, accompanied by an earsplitting screech. She slammed both feet on the brake, and the truck jolted to a halt, throwing her chest into the steering wheel. If trucks could throw tantrums, hers had just won gold.
She practically fell out of the driver's-side door as she bolted from the cab. Hitting the pavement, she rolled away from the truck as fast as she could. Her knees scraped across the blacktop. The palms of her hands burned as she tried to push herself up. The truck, still in gear, lurched and strained forward, jerking back and forth like a dog trying to break its chain.
"Hey, hey, hey! What the hell?" Her hands shot to her forehead in disbelief. "Oh, oh, oh, shit!"
Legs pumping up and down, moving side to side in a random, flustered motion, she ducked and covered her head, expecting the truck to explode.
The engine whined, pushing against whatever still held it in place and turning the quiet suburban street into a miniature war zone. Celia dared a quick look between her arms and saw the truck bed bucking wildly, as if trying to tear itself loose. Realizing the truck was still in gear, she summoned whatever courage she could find and ran back to the cab. She hit the brake, jammed the gearshift into park, and killed the engine, calming the unruly beast.
Peering under the chassis, she saw a big round shaft thingy hanging down. It had gouged into the road, leaving chunks of asphalt and dirt in its wake.
"That isn't good," she said with a moan.
Glancing back toward Manor Road, there were chunks of metal spread all about the quiet side street.
"Shit," she said.
Satisfied there was no immediate danger of the truck exploding or doing anything else dramatic, she grabbed her purse from the front seat, pulled out her phone, opened the AAA app, and filed a roadside assistance request.
Fifty minutes later, a white-and-blue maintenance vehicle with a tow rig on the back pulled up behind the mangled Silverado. The driver, a young man with a scruffy growth on his chin and a star tattoo over his right eye, spoke into his radio, then climbed out.
He pulled a spit cup off the dash, spit into it, and replaced it. Pudgy around the middle, with his shirt half untucked and his pants stained with grease, the driver said, "Hi there. Looks like you've got a problem." His face still bore traces of an acne-ridden youth, and the patch on his breast pocket read "Jimmy Dan."
"No shit," Celia pushed her hands onto her hips and cocked her head. "What the hell is this?" The whine in her voice accosted the poor driver as though he were responsible for her misfortune.
Jimmy Dan took a quick look at the drive shaft sticking out from under the side of the truck.
"It don't take a genius to see that your drive shaft is messed up. Musta throwed a u-joint." Sucking on the tobacco that resided in his cheek, he started to punch details into his tablet.
"And that means what?" Celia asked.
"The U-joint? The universal joint? It allows the drive shaft to spin. Looks like it broke."
Jimmy Dan glanced back toward Manor Road and shook his head.
"Yep, there it is lying back there. Where do you want me to tow this baby?"
"Tow it?" Celia couldn't believe he had said that. "No, this can't happen now. Can't you fix it?"
Jimmy Dan scoffed. "Fix it? Do I look like a magician? Darlin', this is a major repair, I'm sorry to say."
"Nooooo!"
A yell of infinite frustration burst out of her with such vehemence that it made Jimmy Dan jump.
The driver let out a sympathetic sigh and shook his head. "It sucks. I get it all the time. I always meet people at their worst. I never see anyone smile." "Now what do I do?" Her voice shot up an octave higher than usual.
Oh man, I do not need this.
An all-too-familiar helplessness engulfed her. Panicking, she paced back and forth beside the truck.
I should call Dad. He'll know what to do.
"Let me just make a call. I'm not sure what to do here." Celia stepped away from Jimmy Dan and opened her phone. She searched her dad's number and hit the call button.
The phone rang but went to voicemail. Of course it did; it was Saturday, and no doubt he was at work and probably didn't keep his phone with him. The shop had a landline for business calls.
Instinct or habitual behavior, whatever you want to call it, had her search for Rod's number next without even thinking about it. She almost hit the send button, but stopped herself.
What the fuck?
"You are pathetic!" she chastised herself. Jimmy Dan looked up from his tablet with a quizzical expression.
"Fuck Rod!" she said to the stunned AAA guy. Not understanding, he agreed, "Yeah, fuck Rod!"
"Damn it. Shit, shit, shit. Shit!" She spun in frustration and ended up facing Manor Road. Beyond the metal shards scattered across the street, a banner waved over the Nissan dealership.
If you can get it onto the lot, we'll give you $3,000 toward a down payment.
A down payment?
Her face tightened into a confused squint.
Could that be possible? A down payment?
Ding! The cartoon light bulb popped on over her head.
Taking hold of herself, she forced her breathing to slow and faced a realization. This isn't a catastrophe. This isn't the end of the world. I've got this.
Her need for someone's help, especially a man's, shattered, much the same as her u-joint.
Damn, old habits die hard.
Disgusted by her instinctual first reaction, she spun around to Jimmy Dan.
"Tow it there," she said with conviction, pointing to the Nissan dealership.
Jimmy Dan followed her finger and smiled. "Yeah, that's probably a good choice if you can swing it. This ol' rust bucket has seen its last days." He spat onto the pavement.
"Tow it on over," she said with glee to Jimmy Dan as he wiped his chin, "I'll meet you there."
Celia walked to the corner with a new sense of purpose, waited for the light, and crossed to the dealership. She had always hated driving that big old truck with the broken CD player. Deep down, she knew satellite radio, a USB charging port, and Bluetooth could make all her dreams come true.
This is a good thing. You got this.
As she approached, her gait slowed. Her resolve, so strong a moment ago, began to wither.
Should I be doing this by myself? An impulse car buy might be as outrageous as an impulse tattoo. Think this through.
In a nanosecond, self-doubt won, and every ounce of confidence drained out of her. Uncertainty twisted in her stomach. Her legs began to tremble.
Who the hell am I fooling? I can't do this.
She looked back at the Silverado as the tow truck hoisted it off the ground. She needed transportation, and that truck was done.
Fuck, I have no choice.
As terrified as if she were standing in the open doorway of an airplane about to skydive, she took several deep breaths.
Here goes. Ripcord!
She turned back toward the dealership and took three tentative steps forward. No sooner had she stepped onto the lot than an overenthusiastic salesman swooped in with a booming smile and a bigger personality. "Howdy, ma'am, I'm Wade. What can I help you with today?"
And the new car dance began; a dance she knew nothing about.
Wade stood about six feet tall, with a trim waist, broad shoulders, and an easy, inviting smile.
Masking her trepidation, using bravado mixed with frustration, she said, "You see that tow truck across the street there?"
Wade looked across the street and saw the tow truck begin to drag an old Chevy truck.
"I sure do. Looks like there's some trouble brewing."
"Yeah, they're bringing it here, and I'm trading it in. Three thousand, right?" A second wave of bravado pushed back her insecurity as she added, "So what've you got that I might like?"
I totally got this.
Wade smiled and gestured toward the showroom. "Let me show you what we have in stock, and we can start from there. Are you more of a functional type or do you want a little sport and style?"
"This is kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I was picturing a simple hatchback, and my head is telling me to be cautious, but fuck it. Let's look at the sporty stuff first. After driving that piece of junk for the last ten years, I need a little zippity-do-dah in my life."
"Right this way, ma'am." They headed inside to the main showroom. Wade seemed affable, and so far she hadn't picked up any of the pushiness she had always heard about with car salesmen. So far, so good—though, to be fair, the experience had only just begun. Still, surviving the initial contact meant a lot to her. No lightning struck. No thunder rolled. No voice from the heavens called her out. Not her father, not Rod, not anyone came rushing in to tell her she was stupid for thinking she could buy her own car.
In the main showroom, Wade took her right to the brand-new, shiny Nissan Z, displayed prominently in the center of the floor.
Goosebumps prickled along her arms as she took in the new sports car. The deep Caribbean yellow exterior gleamed beneath the showroom lights. Trimmed in black and fitted with a black leather interior, it practically beckoned to her. Its sleek lines promised speed and power. The tires were wide and commanding. She ran her hand along the hood, up the windshield, and across the roof in a slow, appreciative caress. Wade reached past her and opened the driver's-side door.
"Check it out," he said.
With a smile, Celia slid into the driver's seat and placed her hands on the steering wheel. As she did, she saw herself flying down the freeway, zooming past all of those slow, gray, boring SUVs.
The console curved around her, engulfing her in luxury.
"Hit the start button, right there," Wade said as he pointed to the right side of the steering wheel.
Celia pressed the button, and the dashboard sprang to life. A speedometer glowed at the center, flanked by dials and gauges on either side. She imagined those needles bouncing deep into the red while the engine roared. She had no idea what most of them meant, and she didn't care; they looked cool. She reached down and adjusted the seat. Controls at her fingertips let her move it up, down, forward, and back, with lumbar support for both the seat and the backrest. A button marked with a wavy-line icon told her the seats could be heated too.
"Oh, I think I'm in love," she said under her breath.
The tech features were all state-of-the-art, and it didn't bother her in the least that she understood almost none of them. Her heart did skip, however, when she spotted the USB charging port. The Bluetooth symbol at the bottom of the screen told her everything else she needed to know.
Wade explained the master gear shift, the torque something-or-other, some tripod cluster thingy, and how the steering wheel was GT-R-inspired—whatever that meant. He droned on like Hayley Smith from American Dad.
Her freshly formed wish list for a new car was simple: it needed to be yellow enough to spot from space, have a black leather interior smooth enough for a Bond villain, and come with a year of free satellite radio so she could belt out '80s hits without shame. Most important, it needed those magical little arrows in the side mirrors—because who really checked a blind spot the old-fashioned way?
The gearshift, wrapped in a leather sheath, slid through six gears with the joy of Christmas morning. Six gears! She had no idea what she'd do with all of them, but it thrilled her to be sitting in a tiny, leather-wrapped spaceship. Wade went on, "This is what they call a driver-oriented cockpit." Celia smirked; that word always made her laugh.
The COCKpit, really?
Celia touched everything she could, running her hands over the smooth dash, relishing the grip of the steering wheel, and rubbing the soft leather of the passenger seat. She breathed in that new-car smell and didn't want to settle for anything else.
Light-headed, she got out of the car and asked the most pertinent question:
"So, Wade, what's the damage?"
Wade replied, "Depending on the options you choose, between fifty-five and seventy thousand. Not bad for such beauty, right?"
Celia sighed. "Yeah, I figured. It was a nice dream while it lasted. I do love that smell." She ran her hand over the roof above the driver's-side door, patting it like an adorable rescue pet she couldn't bring home.
Wade sized her up with a glance that should have been more subtle. She found that he intrigued her. Sure, he was muscular and handsome, if you liked that kind of thing, but his eyes were gentle. A twinge ran up her inner thigh.
Maybe another impulse buy?
She shook her head to clear that thought out of it.
Who have you become?
He said, "You know what? I've got another of these that's a few years older. That brings the price down considerably. Wanna take a look?"
"What color?" she asked.
"Just like this, yellow with black trim."
"What are we waiting for? Take me to her!" Celia blurted.
Wade led her outside to the pre-owned lot.
Pre-owned!
Celia chuckled to herself.
You mean used, right?
The sun in the late morning sky beat down on them as they walked to the far side of the lot.
Wade wore a short-sleeved dress shirt with the top button undone. His forearms were smooth and well-defined. He had a tattoo on his right forearm of the Dallas Cowboys' star.
"A Cowboys fan, huh? You need help," she said, flirting.
"Yeah, I just can't seem to leave 'em. I've been through the twelve-step program twice. It just won't take."
"I'm from Houston, so I'm a Texans gal. I hope that won't be a problem."
Wade smiled. "I think I can overlook one flaw in an otherwise perfect package."
That tingle flashed across her stomach again, and she blushed. In an attempt to stay focused, she said, "So, where's my new car, Wade? I'm not seeing it." Wade directed her to the left through several rows of vehicles.
"Take a look."
Four spaces over, the Z sat glowing yellow in the sunlight. Celia sucked in a quick breath at the sight of it. She hurried toward the car, bursting with excitement.
"This is amazing." She went straight to the sticker. Twenty-two five. She could swing that.
"Want to test drive it?" Wade said.
"Oh, baby, you know I do," she replied, her excitement blaring. "Let me get it out of there, and we can go."
Wade punched five numbers into the code box and pulled out the fob. Opening the door, he climbed in. In a moment, he had the car out of the row and into the aisle. Hopping out, he said, "Here ya go. Slither in."
Celia slipped into the driver's seat. Sitting locked up in the hot sun all day, the interior sweltered. Wade had cranked the AC, and it cooled the compact space in almost total silence. The air smelled sweet and altogether different from the Silverado's air blaster. As she waited for Wade to circle around and climb into the passenger seat, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and turned it right and left, swaying with the motion.
Wade climbed in, fastened his seat belt, and they were off. She maneuvered through the rows of cars and reached the street exit.
Celia had never driven a sports car. She had no idea a vehicle could feel this responsive or precise. Instead of crashing through every pothole and divot, the car seemed to glide just above the pavement. The Silverado rode high and bounced like a giant toddler. This thing zipped through the chaos like a roadrunner.
In addition to the driving experience, Wade smelled really nice. Within the confines of the car, a forced intimacy heightened the sensuality of robust and complete control. She found her attention split between the eroticism of the vehicle and the aroma of Wade.
"Get on I-35 here. You can open it up a little easier," Wade suggested.
Celia signaled and moved into the right lane for the on-ramp. The car responded instantly, all power and precision. They headed onto the freeway, and then she let it rip. Saturday morning traffic was light; they had the road mostly to themselves. When she pressed the gas pedal, the staggering force of acceleration intensified. They hit ninety miles per hour before she realized it. Weaving in and out of traffic, the car handled like a dream.
She let out a yell! "Whoaaa!"
Wade laughed. "There's nothing quite like the way this machine handles. Makes you feel like queen of the road, doesn't it?"
"Oh, yeah, baby!" Celia let out a laugh and zoomed down the road.
"All right, take the next exit, and we'll use side streets to get back," Wade said.
Celia signaled, moved into the right lane, and exited the freeway. As she wound through the city streets, she reached to turn on the radio. It occurred to her that even on the freeway, the interior had remained quiet—library quiet. By comparison, the Silverado sounded like sitting inside a spin dryer at the corner laundromat.
Turning on the radio, because that's what really mattered to her, the system's surround sound burst from the speakers. It blared with the immersion of a movie theatre. Sound reverberated through the confined space and vibrated through her rib cage. She could already hear her phone, connected through Bluetooth, blasting her playlist as she headed to work.
"This car has Bluetooth, right?" She double-checked.
"You know it does," Wade replied with a smile.
"And a USB port?"
"Two of them, inside the center console," Wade assured her.
Grinning from ear to ear, she navigated back to the dealership, enjoying every twist and turn.
Parking the car in front of the showroom, still euphoric from the drive, she laid a hand on Wade's forearm and said, "Let's see if we can make this work."
He patted the back of her hand and replied, "If we both want it to happen, I see no reason we can't work something out." He smiled as they maintained contact for a second or two longer than they should have.
Then Wade shattered the moment. "Are you handling this alone, or do we need to contact your husband?"
Celia's elation deflated, and she whispered, "Fuck." Looking straight at him, now pissed, she said, "No, Wade. Just me. No husband."
The look on Wade's face told her he knew he'd screwed up. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that most gals come in with someone. But you're doing it yourself. I like that."
"Yeah, I'm glad you approve." Celia knew exactly what people tended to assume: clueless woman, easy mark.
Not this time, buckeroos. You've just pissed off the wrong gal.
The time to negotiate had arrived. She had been dreading this part, but Wade's assumption that she needed a husband's approval had changed her attitude completely. Buying the car might have been forced on her, but that didn't matter. She was in control now. Having taken charge in her new job, much of the intimidation she once felt in the world had evaporated.
Not many things scared her anymore, and she intended to get the deal she wanted.
They moved from the car to his cubicle office just off the showroom.
The Silverado had been delivered to the service area and checked in. Celia got the $3,000 credit toward her down payment, and she had another $3,000 in her car savings. She consolidated funds from another account and put $7,000 down.
"With this much down, I expect we can lower the sticker price to $18,000, right?" she said to Wade. She was making it up as she went, but numbers were numbers. It was exhilarating to challenge him at his own game.
He blanched. Celia didn't think he'd expected a true negotiation to happen.
"I'll need to talk with my manager. I'll be right back."
Wade disappeared for about ten minutes. Celia used the time to run to the restroom, then wandered the showroom, studying the new vehicles on display. While she waited, she worked out her plan of attack.
Sticker price is $22.5. I know I won't get them to $18, but I'm not going over $19.5. They can keep it if that's the case.
Wade asked Celia, "What will it take to get you into that car?"
She responded, "It's simple. Sell it to me for $18,000."
Wade made three trips to the manager before they were able to close a deal. An hour later, they settled on $19,250. Celia had taken advantage of the lulls and contacted her insurance company to get the new car covered.
I bet Dad would have thought I'd forget to do that.
When the paperwork was complete, Wade dropped the key fob into her hand and gave it a little shake. "Congratulations. You're the proud owner of a Nissan Z."
Celia let out another yell. "Hell, yeah!" All pretenses gone, she bounced like a little kid who had just gotten a new bike. The joy in her eyes spilled over. Having won the negotiation, she forgave Wade for his earlier faux pas and, in a rush of exhilaration, threw her arms around him. Wade laughed and hugged her back.
As they separated, a few of the other salesmen who had been watching laughed and applauded. One of them yelled out, "Way to go, Wade! You are the closer!"
Celia took a bow, accepting the applause. Pointing to Wade, she yelled back at the gaggle of men, "You are lucky to have him; he's the best."
Wade walked Celia out and, looking at her new car, a rapturous chortle escaped from her throat. He opened the driver's-side door for her and swept his arm in a grand, madam-kindly-enter-your-new-car gesture. As she skipped around to get in, Wade stuck out his hand and stopped her.
"This was fun. I really enjoyed the negotiation. You're a tough one, for sure. Respect." He held up his fist for a fist bump, which she reciprocated with joy. He took a pause and then said, "I don't ever do this, but would you be interested in grabbing a drink later? I get off at five-thirty."
Celia smiled and gestured toward the car. "I don't ever do this either, so I guess it's a first for both of us." She considered his offer, then said, "Uh, sure. Where and when?"
"Let's keep it simple. Applebee's over on 13th? Say sixish?" Celia smiled. "I'll see you there."
She climbed into the car, started it, and with pristine caution, backed out of the parking spot.
The Z headed for the exit to Manor Road. Off to the side of the service area, the Chevy Silverado stood alone and abandoned, its drive shaft hanging limply on the ground like a spent penis. A momentary twinge of nostalgia passed through her at the sight of it, discarded and broken. But that feeling dissolved almost as fast as it presented itself. She hit the button to roll down the window. Sticking her hand out, she flipped that old bitch the finger.
"I don't have one good memory of you!" she shouted. The Z pulled out of the lot, and as she turned left, a surreal wave of recognition washed over her. Celia Barlow was driving to the store in an almost new Nissan Z. Three hours earlier, she had left home in a broken-down Silverado pickup her husband had chosen. Now she was heading back in a Caribbean yellow car she had bought entirely on her own.
The registration would come back in her name alone: Cordelia Barlow. No one else would own any part of this car. No one else could claim it. It belonged to her, and only her. And on top of all that, she had a date. Will wonders never cease?
Two hours later, she pulled the yellow symbol of her independence into her parking spot and hopped out. One thing she hadn't considered: as fantastic as the Z was, it did not have the storage capacity of a pickup. Its hatchback offered limited space, and that was something she'd have to get used to. Her groceries, sports bras, and the two director's chairs she'd impulse-bought filled the back. She had her eye on a new chaise lounge for the balcony, but that definitely wouldn't fit.
"See, this car's already saving me money. What a bargain!" she said, chuckling.
It took three trips to unload everything, and when she bumped the door closed with her hip, she turned back to the car and shook her head. Still half in disbelief, she backed away, unwilling to let her new love out of her sight.