'What do I want you to do? Why I want you to go find this payingcustomer’s car keys and get her out of the showroom to make room for the next prospect. You know the one you might sell something to.'
Rich sighed and maneuvered around Mr. Munroe. His own shoes clickety-clacked off the showroom floor. He rounded a Trailblazer and there stood the paying customer who needed hustling along.
As he approached the well-dressed young blond woman, he forced a phony smile. Her sweet but strong perfume pushed aside the lingering acrid scent of Mr. Munroe’s cigar.
'Where’s Bobby Weston? I’m waiting for Bobby Weston.'
Rich recognized this particular paying customer. His grin, fueled by familiarity, grew genuine. The woman, however, wore a frown. An impatient frown.
'Sheila? Sheila Evans?'
His knowing her name threw the impatient paying customer off balance.
'Yes…?'
Rich thrust a thumb into his chest.
'Richard Stone-Rich…I mean, Dick Stone. We graduated from Lehman High together. You were a cheerleader…I was a on the football team.'
Third string free safety he did not add.
'Oh.'
'So,' he pushed forward, 'howya doing?'
'Very good, thank you. And you?'
'Not bad, getting married next month and-'
'Bobby sold me a red Corvette. He told me it would be ready.'
'Corvette? Oh yes, nice car in fact-'
'Is my car ready? I’ve got to meet my boyfriend at Milano’s in twenty minutes.'
Everyone knew Milano’s restaurant plated fifty-dollar entrees and offered the best wine list in northeastern Pennsylvania.
Rich realized the conversation had been doomed before his first words.
'I’ll call the detailing shop.'
'It’s the red one with the premium audio system.'
'Yes, I’m sure it is.'
– A silver Malibu with a ‘dealer’ license plate bolted from the Edgar Chevrolet auto mall and stopped at a traffic light where a sign warned in authoritative letters, NO TURN ON RED.
Tractor-trailers, passenger cars, and motorcycles raced by on their way to unknown destinations, all while Rich idled. That, he figured, told the story of his life.
For years he held the uncanny feeling of waiting for some event, some twist of fate. During high school, he thought he waited for graduation. Commencement came and went without any revelations, no unlocked hidden purpose.
Maybe he waited for college? Sure, his business degree would open the world of entrepreneurism and take him on a new adventure to wealth and happiness.
The diploma came. So did a job selling cars.
What did he wait for this time?
Richard’s impending marriage to Ashley promised drastic change but he could not convince himself great revelations would soon follow.
However, as he obeyed the red light it was not his waiting that concerned him. Instead, he worried about Ashley waiting at her house for him; waiting to discuss seating arrangements and centerpieces; waiting for Rich to 'show the least bit of interest' in the most important day in her life.
He did not want to think about that. He turned on the car radio.
'…this poor central African nation lacks the resources to launch an investigation in such a remote area. However, there is no denying the similarity between the disappearance of an entire village of nearly fifty people here and disappearances in both Thailand and Norway over the last two days. In each case, the only clues left behind were piles of shed clothing, as if the people had been vaporized into thin air.
'Coverage of these unexplained events has made the jump from the tabloids to newspaper headlines in the European and Asian media. Thus far, U.S. officials have refused comment on the incidents. However, pressure is growing for the President to address-'
Rich switched to a classic rock station, swapping news of the weird for the Rolling Stones. He did not need news of the weird from a radio. He heard weirdness enough from a panicked and over-worked fiancee as she micro-managed every morsel of minutia in planning for the most perfect of wedding days.
The light remained red.
Rich looked left. Rich looked right. The tractor-trailers, passenger cars, SUVs and motorcycles had moved on.
In a daring act, he pressed gently on the accelerator. The car inched forward. He cranked the steering wheel to the right…he spotted the Wilkes-Barre Police car in the hotel parking lot across the street. The cop eyed the dealer-plated Chevrolet, anticipating the imminent violation.
Rich eased off the gas and resigned himself to waiting a while longer.
– A knot tightened in Richard’s stomach as he closed the car door, a knot born from the sight of Ashley’s father on the porch glider.
Some called him Benjamin. Rich called him 'Mr. Trump' or sometimes 'Sir.'
Richard walked the half-circle driveway in front of the modular home and climbed the unpainted wooden stairs. An early bat swooped overhead, cutting through the June twilight above the duplex-laden suburb.
'Hi, Mr. Trump.'
Benjamin Trump, holding a beer in one hand, glanced at the silver watch bound to his thin left arm.
'Runnin’ a bit late, Dick?'
As with everyone else on the planet, Mr. Trump made Rich’s nickname sound more an insult.
'Had to finish up with a customer.'
Richard’s explanation carried as much weight as a humbled third grader weaving a tale of dogs and devoured homework.
'Is Ashley ‘round?'
A dumb question. Rich knew better, but in the presence of dad-in-law his speech, tones, and delivery of punch lines were shaky at best. In fairness, not all the fault lay with Benjamin Trump. Whenever alone with Ashley’s dad, Rich kept waiting for the old man to lay it on the line: 'I know you’ve been having sex with my daughter.'
So, yes, Ashley was around and both Richard and Benjamin Trump knew this to be the case. However, Mr. Trump’s response surprised Dick: 'She’s up stairs throwing up.'
Trump drank from his Coors Original and stared out at the falling sun.
'Oh.'
'Why don’t you sit down, Dick,' the statement lacked a question mark.
Richard threw his eyes toward the front door, 'Um…'
'It’s okay. She’ll be down when she’s feeling better. Just nerves, you know.'
'Yeah,' Rich confessed as he cautiously shuffled closer to a wicker chair near the glider. 'I get them, too. I mean, not that I’ve thrown up. But there are times when-'
'I like you, Dick. I really do. I don’t say it a lot cause, well, I don’t say that to anybody a lot. I figure you know I like you. No need to go ‘round hugging or anything, right?'
Richard folded his hands on his lap.
'I, um, suppose-'
'But more important my daughter likes you and I want her to be nothing but happy.'
Richard tried to return the expected volley, 'I love you too. I mean, I love Ashley too and I like you, too. Well, I guess you’re going to be family so-'
'Right. Anyway, I want you to know that if you ever need anything I’ll be right here for you. Me and my wife, we’ll be right here.'
He relaxed and replied to his soon-to-be dad-in-law, 'I appreciate that.'
