Tegan

I had never considered myself to be religious, but I was convinced God was no longer looking down on me with a merciless heart.

I held the phone firmly in my hand while I paced my living room floor. “Oh my God. That’s amazing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “There’s only one catch.”

“What is it. Not that I care, but--”

“You’ve got to start tomorrow at 7:00 a.m.”

“That’s the catch? It’s more like a gift.”

“It’s refreshing to think you look at it that way.”

“And it’s full time, right?”

“Seven days a week, at a fixed daily rate of $200 a day. If you want five days instead of seven, we can get someone to relieve you two days a week.”

“I’ll take the seven.”

“Sounds great. We’ll need you to stop in this afternoon and fill out the paperwork, though.”

El Cajon was only ten minutes away. I fought against my urge to let out a celebratory scream. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“I’m looking forward having you aboard, Tegan. Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. French.”

She hung up.

I tossed my phone onto the couch and ran to my bedroom. After rifling through the clothes in my closet, I chose an outfit, ironed it, and then ran all the way to my car. Within minutes, I was on highway 67 speeding toward El Cajon.

A handsome thirty-something year old passed me in a Mercedes, slowed down, and then took another long look. After an unobstructed eyeful of me, he shook his head.

Completely comfortable with my strikingly odd vehicle situation, I waved. He returned a smile, obviously amused not by me, but by my doorless ride.

Most women my age would find driving a 1985 Toyota Corolla belittling. The few who didn’t would certainly find driving the same car with one missing door to be so, and probably to a very high degree.

I looked at it as a blessing.

I got a lot of funny looks, but the summer’s heat was now bearable.

Half a dozen odd stares later, and I’d reached my destination. After parking at the curb and walking through the empty parking lot, I stepped through the door and up to the receptionist’s desk.

The bubblegum chewing blonde met me with a smile.

“Tegan Rassini to see Mrs. French,” I said.

“Oh. She left this up here for you to sign,” she said, producing a quarter-inch-thick stack of paperwork. “And, I’ll need a copy of your driver’s license and your social security card or a passport.”

I handed her the two forms of I.D. “Here.”

“I’ve marked where you need to sign, and there’s a blank copy for you to keep,” she said. “And, for what it’s worth, this guy’s big. He weighs like 220 pounds.”

“That’s not a problem.” I lowered my tone of voice to a more masculine one and flexed my right bicep. “I work out.”

She looked at my arm, and then at me. She seemed unamused. “We’ll see what you say after a few days. If we need to get a hoist in there, we will.”

“I should be okay.” I reached for the stack of paperwork. “Can you tell me what happened? So I don’t have to ask him?”

“He was in good health a month ago, I guess. He slipped on a banana peel, fell on the floor, and broke his shoulder, wrist, ankle, and knee. The shoulder’s on one side, and the knee’s on the other. It sounds like he should be in a body cast, but he’s not.”

“Oh. Wow.”

“I know, right?”

“I’m supposed to start in the morning,” I said, trying my best to hide my excitement. I tilted my head toward a magazine-filled table surrounded by three chairs. “Can I fill this out over there?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“Be right back.”

A seven day a week job that paid $200 a day would allow me to not only pay for the repairs to the man’s motorcycle, but fixing my car was certainly on the future’s horizon. This was exactly the break I had been waiting for.

Five years of college was finally going to pay off. In no time I would be able to call the big bad biker back and make some sort of believable excuse for not responding to his repeated messages.

I filled out the paperwork, signed everything, and then handed her the forms.

“All done,” I said with a smile.

“Here’s your stuff.” She slid my driver’s license and social security card across her desk. “And, for what it’s worth, this guy’s son is hot as fuck.”

“Oh really?”

“Uh huh. He came in here this morning.” She glanced over each shoulder and then leaned forward. “His feet were huge,” she whispered. She raised her hand and spread her fingers apart. “Hands, too.”

It was more information than I really needed. “Oooookay.”

Having a man in my life meant spending money unnecessarily. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford. To be honest, I wasn’t interested in men even if they were free. Men did one thing with regularity, and one thing only.

They left.

Her smile faded. “Uhhm. It was nice to meet you.”

I shot her a fake grin. “Same. Thank you.”

On my way to the car, I called the biker, fully intending to leave a message. My experience with bikers led me to believe that he spent all day on his motorcycle, and I seriously doubted he’d answer the phone. Much to my surprise, he did on the second ring.

“About fucking time,” he howled. “Why the fuck haven’t you answered?”

I took a deep breath. He made me nervous. Not a little bit, a lot. The teenage kind of nervous.

“My phone was shut off, and then I got it back on, but they cancelled my insurance--”

“You don’t have any fuckin’ insurance?” he screamed.

“I’m getting it resolved,” I said. “All I’ve got to do is--”

“You fucking better. It’s $3,500 worth of damage, and I sure as fuck ain’t paying for it.”

I fell through the opening in the side of my car and landed in the seat. “I promise you, I’ll get it taken care of. I’m dependable like that. I set my sights on something, and the next thing you know--”

“My bike’s bashed all to fuck. It better be quick.”

“It will,” I responded. “I’ve got a new job, and if I have to, I’ll pay for it out of my own pocket.”

Although I had every intention of getting my insurance up-to-date, paying for his damage out of my pocket was exactly what I was going to have to do, regardless.

“I don’t give a fuck if you’ve got to turn tricks, you better get me some fuckin’ money.”

“I will. I really will. That sounded bad, huh? I’ll pay for it. Not turn tricks. No trick Tegan, that’s what they call--”

“When?”

Apparently, he had no sense of humor. I let out a light sigh. “I’ll be in touch in a day or two.”

“You better.”

“I will, I promise, even if…”

The silence on the other end reminded me that he had much less interest in talking to me than I had in talking to him.

Not seeing him face-to-face was in both of our best interests. I found his stand-offish attitude supportive of his lack of interest in me, which made matters that much easier.

Hopefully his sense of time passing was as non-existent as his sense of humor. I’d wait until I got paid, and then give him a call when I could hand him $1,000 in cash.

With any luck, by then what little interest I had in him would fade away.