She said, “He’s [email protected], if you want to e-mail.”
I nodded. Best just to nod. I thought that I might have reached the point she’d talked about, where you have an overwhelming desire for things to be simple.
We hugged, and I kissed her well-moisturized cheek. She came out to the front lawn to wave as I pulled away.
On the way back to the airport, there was a sudden, brief shower that forced me to the shoulder of the road, during which time I thought that there were obvious advantages in having a priest to call on. I felt that my mother needed someone halfway between a lawyer and a psychiatrist, and that a priest would be perfect. I conjured up a poker-faced Robert De Niro in clerical garb as Cyndi Lauper sang about girls who just wanted to have fun.
But I wasn’t getting away as fast as I hoped. Back at the car-rental lot, my credit card was declined. “It might be my handheld,” the young man said to me, to cover either my embarrassment or his. “Do you have another card, or would you please try inside?”
I didn’t know why there was trouble with the card. It was AmEx, which I always pay immediately, not wanting to forfeit Membership Rewards points by paying late. I was slightly worried. Only one woman was in front of me in line, and after two people behind the counter got out of their huddle, both turned to me. I chose the young man.
“There was some problem processing my credit card outside,” I said.
The man took the card and swiped it. “No problem now,” he said. “It is my pleasure to inform you that today we can offer you an upgrade to a Ford Mustang for only an additional seven dollars a day.”
“I’m returning a car,” I said. “The machine outside wouldn’t process my card.”
“Thank you for bringing that to my attention,” the young man said. He was wearing a badge that said “Trainee” above his name. His name, written smaller, was Jim Brown. He had a kind face and a bad haircut. “Your charges stay on American Express, then?”
An older man walked over to him. “What’s up?” he said.
“The lady’s card was declined, but I ran it through and it was fine,” he said.
The older man looked at me. It was cooler inside, but still, I felt as if I were melting. “She’s returning, not renting?” the man said, as if I weren’t there.
“Yes, sir,” Jim Brown said.
This was getting tedious. I reached for the receipt.
“What was that about the Mustang?” the man said.
“I mistakenly thought—”
“I mentioned to him how much I like Mustangs,” I said.
Jim Brown frowned.
“In fact, how tempted I am to rent one right now.”
Both the older man and Jim Brown looked at me suspiciously.
“Ma’am, you’re returning your Mazda, right?” Jim Brown said, examining the receipt.
“I am, but now I think I’d like to rent a Mustang.”
“Write up a Mustang, nine dollars extra,” the older man said.
“I quoted her seven,” Jim Brown said.
“Let me see.” The man punched a few keys on the keyboard. “Seven,” he said, and walked away.
Jim Brown and I both watched him go. Jim Brown leaned a little forward, and said in a low voice, “Were you trying to help me out?”
“No, not at all. Just thought having a Mustang for a day might be fun. Maybe a convertible.”
“The special only applies to the regular Mustang,” he said.
“It’s only money,” I said.
He hit a key, looked at the monitor.
“One day, returning tomorrow?” he said.
“Right,” I said. “Do I have a choice about the color?”
He had a crooked front tooth. That and the bad haircut were distracting. He had lovely eyes, and his hair was a nice color, like a fawn’s, but the tooth and the jagged bangs got your attention instead of his attributes.
“There’s a red and two white,” he said. “You don’t have a job you’ve got to get back to?”
I said, “I’ll take the red.”
He looked at me.
“I’m freelance,” I said.
He smiled. “Impulsive, too,” he said.
I nodded. “The perks of being self-employed.”
“At what?” he said. “Not that it’s any of my business.”
“Jim, any help needed?” the older man said, coming up behind him.
