Last year, after my cell phone was stolen from my dorm room, I’d registered a calling card for emergency use. The fees were so astronomical I’d only used it once, drunk dialing Mya after a party where I accidentally dropped my new cell phone into a vat of spiked punch.
When prompted I punched in the calling card number, then Amanda Davies’s cell phone number.
My watch read 8:59. I wasn’t going to make it. A friendly voice came on the line.
“Thank you for using 1-800-COLLECT. May I discuss our new long distance plan with you?”
“No thanks, just connect me.”
“Thank you, sir, have a good…”
“Just connect me!”
The automated voice of James Earl Jones thanked me for my patronage. Then the phone began to ring.
Two rings. Three. Four. I tried to match an image to Plan C. Still nothing.
Five rings.
I was about to hang up the phone. Then, with the receiver a fraction of an inch from the hook, a female voice came over the earpiece.
“Hello?”
I brought it to my ear, and said, “Hello?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“Amanda Davies?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Amanda, thank God. I got your number from the student shuttle posting in the OSA. Are you still driving to St. Louis this morning?”
“I’m in my car right now.”
“Shit. Listen, would you still be willing to take a passenger?”
“Depends. Where are you?”
“I’m on West 4th, somewhere on LaGuardia.”
“What’s your name?”
I hesitated.
“It’s Carl. Carl Bernstein.”
“Well, Carl, I’m in a red Toyota on 9th and 3rd, in front of the Duane Reade. I’m running into Starbucks to get a cup of coffee. If you’re here by the time I get out, you’re in. Otherwise, I’m gone.”
“I’ll be there.”
“That’s up to you.” Click, then a dial tone.
I dropped the phone and sprinted east. The muscles in my side began to tighten, a cramp settling in. Pain lanced through the wound in my leg. Hopefully there would be a huge run on mochachinos. Maybe the espresso machine would explode. Anything to give me more time. I prayed, running as fast as I could, my leg feeling like an iron fork was being repeatedly jabbed into it.
I got to the Duane Reade at 9:06, doubled over to catch my breath, had to refrain from dry heaving. As I surveyed the cars parked on the street, my heart skipped a beat.
There was an empty spot directly in front of the drugstore. Big enough to fit a car.
Please, no.
I stepped into the space, frantically looking at the adjacent few cars, hoping to find Amanda’s red Toyota.
“Fuck!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, all my frustrations escaping in a single, wretched outburst, all the pain and horror and shit that had suddenly fallen on me like a ton of bricks leaving me devastated. Amanda Davies had left. I was too late.
I collapsed on the curb, head in my hands, warmth spreading through my cheeks. My self-pity needed a minute to ferment. I had no other plans, nowhere else to go, nobody to turn to. My life was over. There was no salvation. Soon I’d be arrested, and if I got lucky I’d make it to trial.
Then a car horn blared, jolting the morbid thoughts from my head. I turned to see a humongous black SUV waiting to pull into the vacant spot where I was sitting. The driver was wearing designer shades and his hair looked like it could deflect small-arms fire. He lowered his window and said, “Hey, buddy, that spot’s reserved for cars.”
Nodding silently, I stepped onto the sidewalk and started walking. My fate, it seemed, was sealed.
“Carl? Hey, Carl!”
At first it didn’t register. Then I heard it again and I remembered.
My name. The name I’d given to Amanda Davies.
I spun around, searching for the source. Then I saw it. A red Toyota idling at the intersection. A girl was hanging out the driver’s side window. And she was staring right at me.
I jogged up to the passenger side, the pain in my leg and chest receding. The girl nodded at the empty seat. I opened the door, slid in and latched my seatbelt. She had a playful grin on her face.
“Carl?”
“Amanda, oh, God, thank you.”
“Hey, it’s just a ride, I don’t think I’m worthy of deification just yet.”
Then I noticed just how gorgeous Amanda Davies was. Her brown hair spilled over her beautifully tan shoulders, draping over lovely toned arms and smooth skin. She had on a green tank top and tight blue jeans, and there was a hint of faded sunburn on her neck, and a tiny mole by her right collarbone. Her skin had a brilliant luster to it and there was a slightly mischievous tint in Amanda’s emerald eyes. If I had to be stuck in a car for hours with a complete stranger, I could have had it worse. Much worse.
“Sorry about that, Carl. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I thought it’d be funny to play a joke, you know. Make you think I’d left.” I forced out a laugh, and looked at my savior. Not only was Amanda Davies gorgeous, but she had a pretty sadistic sense of humor.
“You need to stop for anything before we get going?” she asked. “Coffee? Bathroom?”
“No,” I said. To be honest I was starving, but there was no time to waste. “I’m good for now.”
Amanda nodded, gunned the engine and merged into the northbound lane. The car smelled faintly of grease and breath mints. An empty McDonald’s wrapper lay crumpled on the floor, surrounded by a graveyard of Tic Tac containers. She saw me looking at them and smiled.
“What, girl can’t go nuts on a McChicken every now and then? We need to eat tofu and broccoli every meal?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you were thinking it.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” I said defensively. She leered at me, a hurtful look on her face.
“You think I’m bulimic, don’t you?”
My head snapped to attention. “What?”
“You think I chow down on burgers and fries all day then go puke it all up.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, I swear.”
“I know your kind,” she sniffed, slamming down the blinker and following the signs toward the Holland Tunnel. “You think you’re hot shit cause you eat protein-enriched sprouts all day then spend eight hours on the elliptical machine. Well, let me tell you something, Carl. Some of us have natural metabolisms. We don’t spend all day reading Ladies Home Journal and wishing we were Heidi or Gisele.”
“Who’s Heidi?”
“Oh, forget it,” she said. “This obviously isn’t working out. Maybe I should drop you off somewhere.” My breath caught short. I stammered.
“You can’t…you can’t do that. No, I swear, I didn’t think that at all. I just noticed the wrapper, that’s it. You can eat whatever you want. I don’t care if you have lard for breakfast. In fact I encourage it.” Amanda looked devastated, her lips contorting into an ugly grimace.
“So you’re saying I’m fat.”
“No, Jesus H. Christ, I’m not saying that at all. You probably have the fastest metabolism on earth. If you want to eat McNuggets and candy all day…”
“Carl,” Amanda said. Again, the name took a moment to process.
