It's my Friday and I'm ready to get home to Maggie Rose. Dinner is calling the two of us.
I click the locks on my car, tail lights flash — good sign — my battery has a charge of some sort. Starting the car, I throw it in reverse, nothing, we aren't going anywhere. Christmas tree dashboard flashes, all lights, BAM, car gives up the ghost. Click click click, you know the sound. I'm stuck. I know the drill: whip out cell phone, call AAA, wait an eternity. Logistics come into play, how to get home once towing picks up The Little Engine That Couldn't. No Uber or Lyft in their right mind want to drive south of town.
My phone rings. On the other end I hear, "Hey this is Victor. I'm on my way."
I gush like a 50's Hollywood starlet, "Ohhhh Victor!!!"
In retrospect I gushed, not intentionally, but upon hearing Victor's voice, familiarity and all, yeah, I gushed. I'd been waiting over an hour for AAA to arrange a tow. The name of my driver is familiar to me, this isn't our first rodeo. I was relieved to hear Victor's name, he and I are like family. Or maybe we are like comfortable lovers minus the love stuff. We get each other's wacky humor, sarcastic wit, and we always meet after a long day.
Fancy smancy place I work and Victor pulls up to valet in a big honking, brand spanking new tow truck, one that could haul a heck of a lot more than my little Honda. I'm mortified and grateful all at the same time. We walk down to the parking garage.
Taking his portable charger he's able to quickly charge my battery. We have high hopes of making it to wide-open spaces. My car starts, we hug, security, Victor and me, we are all excited for me and my little car. Victor removes the charger, immediately things go south. Alternator. He hops in my car and whips it out to his truck.
Victor tells me he can take me to the designated auto repair, but no further. Fine. I'll walk the last five or so miles if necessary, I'll be that much closer to home.
I'm a short-stack, this truck is huge, I climb it like I own it, hiking myself up to the way-high first step in three inch heels and slacks. The seat is high, really high, kinda bouncy, and I couldn't be more happy to ride in his shiny new truck.
"When I saw you and your car, I remembered who you were and I understood the, Oh Victor." We full belly laughed.
"Yeah baby, I was glad to hear a familiar voice."
We talk, a lot. We always do.
He's entertaining and sharp.
"Say Victor, I know a few individuals, I'm curious about you. I think you're smarter than the average bear."
"Maybe too smart for my own good."
Yeah, I already knew. Without asking specifics I dance around questions I ask often when learning about others. Adept, he dances well.
"You learn a lot in your line of work."
"What, do you need an underground bunker?"
"Maybe."
I smile typing this. We have too much clean fun making up stories. I tell him I wrote about him last time he came to my rescue, and when my books are published and Sandra makes the movies, he will have a recurring role. We get creative discussing plot twists and life, tattoos and highway patrol.
A horrible, exhausting evening turned on a dime because of consistently awesome Victor.
We weren't two miles out when he asked me where I live, told me he would take me home, there was no way he was letting me walk on the highway. We arrive at my place, I'm smiling and laughing, the guys, one of whom is known to sleep in his truck, scatter. There are NO PARKING signs everywhere and this huge white wrecker was pulling up to them, never mind it was just me and I was about to lower myself to firm ground, smiling and laughing, which should be against the law when towing has occurred. They weren't in trouble, their nutty neighbor scored an odd ride home, and she appeared to be happy about it, weird chick.
You know the rest of the story.
(I wish I'd thought to get pictures. My brain and battery were low, both needing charged.)
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