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I sat back down, wiped the drop of sweat away with a napkin and lit my first smoke of the day, thankful my life wasn’t as soul-crushing and shitty as that guy and his dumb-ass family. For me, right then behind the rental counter on a sunny Virginia day—payday no less—life was looking pretty good.
3
CLYDE
Despite being late, despite the forgotten cigarettes and the ten minute wait at the Gas ’N Gulp to pick them up, despite Madeline’s tears, I smiled when I pulled into the lot. It was a scorcher of a day already. Jets were screaming a half mile away at the airport, and my lot was ready for renters.
The lot had it all: compacts, sub-compacts, convertibles, SUVs, luxury sedans, mid-size sedans and coupes, luxury coupes, mini vans, and full size vans. I had been considering adding RV rentals as well, but it was likely to be a couple of years before I was feeling ambitious enough for that. I needed to do more homework on the demand, and with the kid soon to be born, I wasn’t eager to undertake any additional responsibility. Besides, I was spread a little too thin as it was.
I didn’t look for the Tahoe under the maple. It was early and Brent would have parked it where I told him. He might be a grumbler, but he could be counted on to do what he was told. When I walked in, he stood at the twin filing cabinets in the front of the office, stuffing a rental agreement into a drawer.
“Remember your alphabet,” I said. “A, B, C.”
“Yeah. I got it.” He gave a half smile. He acted pissed, but he was really shitty when it came to filing stuff. I kept him around because, in addition to doing what he was told, he didn’t ask many questions and he didn’t seem too interested in what I did when I wasn’t standing right next to him. In fact, he seemed to try really hard to avoid me sometimes, which was just fine these days. The less we saw of one another, the better.
“Anyone come in?”
He gave me a gesture that was half shrug, half nod. “Family from Detroit. Gave’em a minivan.”
I smiled. “Historic triangle, Busch Gardens, or Civil War memorials?”
He shrugged and picked up a copy of Sports Illustrated he kept under the counter. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
I wanted to tell him to do something besides stand there, but the truth was we were a tight ship. We filed everything right away, kept things well-ordered, had a cleaning lady come in every night to spruce things up and keep the tiles their whitest.
An airport shuttle pulled up and a couple stepped off, a woman in an Ally McBeal knock off suit and stiletto heels. The guy wore a dark suit and designer sunglasses and gave me one of those chin jerks that is supposed to be a nod. I head jerked back at him. “Good morning,” I said.
“Need a sports car.” He smiled. The woman acted bored and drummed her fingers on the counter. I pegged them as business associates and bed partners. She wore a wedding ring. He didn’t. Not my business, but I always liked to speculate anyway.
My cell phone pinged, so I gestured for Brent to take over and I stepped to the back to answer.
“Hello?”
“It’s time. I told you it was going to be soon. I need you to come and get me.” Madeline was puffing out short breaths, the breathy huffs were loud in my ears.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“I don’t know. Seven minutes? Five? Just get here.”
I hung up and gestured for Brent to step away from the couple.
“Madeline is in labor,” I said.
“Cool. Congrats, man. Go on. I got it here.”
“Yeah. Look. I need you to get that Tahoe to the right guy today. He’s a VIP and he wants that car.”
“The one under the maple?”
“Yeah. Look. Make sure he gets it.” I laid the Winstons on the counter. “Put these in the glove box.”
“Fine.” He turned back to the couple.
I grabbed his arm. “Brent, listen. It is very important that car goes to the right customer. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Geez. I got it. Tahoe. Tree shit. Right guy. Go. Have a baby. I’ve got work to do.”
I stood there for a minute, wondering how angry Madeline would be if I waited until the Tahoe was off the lot before picking her up. Brent was back at the counter with the couple, his head bent over the paper forms I still hadn’t gotten around to computerizing yet. The Tahoe was where it was supposed to be, Brent would make sure the smokes were in the glove box, and Madeline was in labor. Shit.
