way in the back. I waited for a minute before closing the trunk.
“…Take advantage of the situation to air it out a little,” I said.
I got back in the ear. I went to turn the ignition key, but he leaned over and grabbed the door.
“Hey, hold on there a minute!” he said. “What about this…?”
I stuck my head out the window. He was running his hand on my tire.
“Feels like a banana peel,” he said. “I wouldn’t even use it to put flowers in.”
I cooled down immediately. I sensed trouble.
“Right, I know,” I said. “I noticed it this morning before I left. I was going to take care of it right away.”
He stood up without taking his eyes off me. I tried to send him love messages.
“I can’t let you go like that,” he said. “You’re a public menace.”
“Look, I’m not going very far. I’ll go slow. I’ll change the tire as soon as I get home. Rest assured. I have no idea how such a thing could have happened.”
He stepped away from the car, fatigued.
“All right, I’ll let it go. But in the meantime, put on the spare tire.”
I felt the hair bristle on my arms and legs. My spare tire was not in any condition to be seen by a police officer. It had about twenty-five thousand miles on it. The tire he wanted me to change looked practically new next to it. I suddenly got a frog in my throat. I offered him a cigarette.
“Rhuh… care for a smoke?… Rhuh, rhuh… hey, that bank thing must really keep you guys hopping… rhuh… wouldn’t want to be in the culprits’ shoes, rhuh…”
“Right, now let’s get moving. I haven’t got all day.”
I took out a cigarette. The jig was up. I lit it, watching the road unroll through the windshield. The cop squinted.
“Maybe you’d like me to help you…” he said.
“No,” I sighed. “It’s not worth it. It’d be a waste of time. The other tire’s also a mess. I’ll have to change it, too.”
He grabbed my door with his hands. A wild lock of hair fell down on his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“In principle, I’m supposed to immobilize your vehicle. I could even make you go the rest of the way on foot. Now we’re going to turn around here, and you’re going to stop at the first garage we come to and change that tire. I’ll follow you.”
The bottom line was that I was going to be late. But a baby grand is not something you sell every day. I felt like telling him that keeping people from working does not sign his paycheck, but the sun seemed to be getting to his brain.
“Look,” I said. “I have an appointment two minutes from here. I’m not out for a joyride, I’m on my way to sell a piano, and you know very well that small, businessmen can’t afford to miss appointments. It’s hard times for everyone these days. I give you my word that I’ll take care of the tires when I get home. I swear it.
“No,” he snapped. “Now.”
I grabbed the wheel, trying not to squeeze it too hard in my fists, but my arms were already stiff as wood.
“Okay,” I said. “Since you’re determined to give me a ticket, just go ahead and do it. At least I’ll know why I have to work today-I don’t seem to have any choice in the matter…”
“I didn’t say anything about a ticket. I said you have to change your tire!… IMMEDIATELY!!”
“Right, I got that. But if it means missing out on a sale, I’d rather have a ticket.”
He stood there silently for ten seconds staring at me. Then he took one step back and slowly drew his gun. There was no one around for miles.
“Either we do as I say,” he growled. “Or you get a bullet in your tire, for starters…!”
There was no doubt in my mind that he’d do it. Two minutes later found us rolling back toward town. I checked the morning off my list.
There was a wreck sitting in the driveway, so I signaled and pulled around into the courtyard. A dog, black with motor oil, was barking at the end of his chain. A guy was sorting bolts in a shed. He watched us pull in. It was one of those lovely spring days, just warm, no wind. There were piles of car carcasses all over the place. I got out. The junkman gave the dog a kick as he wiped his hands. He smiled at the young cop.
“Hey, Richard, what brings you here?” he said.
“My job, man. Always working.”
“I came for the tires, myself,” I said.
The dude scratched his head. He allowed as how he had three or four Mercedes in the junkpile, but the problem was to find them.
“Allow me,” I said. “I got nothing else to do today.”
They went off together to drink a beer in the shed, and I strolled through the debris. I was almost half an hour late. The carcasses were warm to the touch. The ball was in the enemy’s court. I climbed up on two or three hoods before I spotted a Mercedes.
The left front tire was good, but I’d forgotten to bring my jack-I had to go back for it. There was an aroma of old engine grease in the air. I got the tools out of my car. The two of them were sitting on wood cases, talking. I took my sweater off. I gestured to them as I walked by.
It turned out that the Mercedes in question had a camper attached to the roof. I had a real ball with the jack. By the time I finally got the damn wheel off, I was covered with sweat-my T-shirt had changed color. The sun was almost directly overhead. Now I had to do the same thing all over again. It was like rolling a boulder.
Back in the shed, it was party time; the cop was talking and the junkman was slapping his thighs, laughing. I smoked a cigarette, then got back down to work. The bolts were a little stuck. I wiped my brow with my forearm. I kept an ear tuned, in ease they called me to come have a beer. Obviously my place was there among the cinders. I listened to them yucking it up as I took off my tire.
I paid the guy. The cash disappeared into his pocket. The young cop looked at me, smugly. I turned to him:
“If you ever need a favor or anything, don’t hesitate to call…”
“Maybe I will,” he said.
I went back to my car without another word. Words are blank bullets. I pulled up a little, then circled back, then took off forward. In all of three seconds I was back on the road. Three seconds was all it took for me to realize that shit just leads to more shit.
My hands were completely black, not to mention my T-shirt, and I had a veil of oil on my forehead. I knew instinctively that piano salesmen should avoid presenting themselves this way, like the plague. I was an hour late. Still, I had no choice but to stop back at the house. I had to drive with a Kleenex in each hand.
I ripped my T-shirt off going up the stairway and made a beeline for the bathroom. Betty was in her underpants, admiring her profile in the mirror. She jumped.
“Jesus, you scared me!”
“Boy oh boy, am I late!”
By the time I got my pants off, I’d given her the whole story in brief. I jumped into the shower. I started on the dirtiest parts, using paint thinner. The room filled up with steam. Betty was still looking at herself.
“Hey,” she said. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”
“You must be kidding. I think you’re perfect/”
“I think I’m getting a stomach…”
“What are you talking about…?”
I stuck my head through the curtain.
“Hey, be a sweetheart… Call the woman and tell her I’m on my way. Make something up.”
She came and pressed herself against the curtain. I backed up into the faucet.
“Come on,” I said. “Not now…”
She stuck her tongue out at me, then left. I soaped up for the twentieth time. I heard her pick up the telephone. I told myself that if I blew this sale I’d have shot the whole day.
She was just hanging up when I got out, hair still wet, but clean, and my shirt immaculately white. I stood behind her and cupped her breasts in my hands, apologetically. I kissed her neck.
