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Since when did I turn into such a bitch?
Chapter Three?
“Ah, she’s here.” I say to myself when Crazy Kate pulls into my driveway at five o’clock in the afternoon, on the dot. Michelle gets off work at four and asked me to come after five. We are going to start on her declutter today. I hope she’s as excited as I am. Most clients are very excited in the beginning, but soon deteriorate into tears when it comes to actually giving up their stuff. Even though the declutter involves things they haven’t touched or used in over a year, or two, or sometimes a decade. People like to hold on to their things. I get that.
That’s why my job is easy and hard. I have no emotional attachment to other people’s stuff, but I am empathetic to their heartache in letting the things go. Especially now. I still feel the pain in my gut for walking away from a condo full of furniture, small kitchen appliances (except for the cappuccino machine I took without Jason’s knowledge), cookware, wall decor, and so many other things that I bought with the money I made. When I decided that relationship was going nowhere, Jason would never marry me, we were never going to have children, and I was enabling him to be a couch potato, I told him I was leaving.
Suddenly he became possessive of everything “we” owned. He somehow hired a ruthless lawyer, threatened palimony, also, if I didn’t settle for the proposed separation plan he and his attorney wrote up. Because I had the potential to quickly recover financially with one underground game, and I grew tired of fighting to split-the-sheets more evenly, I agreed to sign.
I always say to my clients everybody can do fine with less stuff. I was taken to the cleaners but I had my pride intact. I walked away completely broke, with nothing but my clothes and a toothbrush. What Jason’s lawyer called, “My personal affects,” but I was free of that stagnant, dead end, relationship.
Uhhh! I still can’t think about it without clenching my teeth and fists. Shoving those awful thoughts aside, I wave at Kate as I reach the bottom of my torturous stairs.
“Thank you.” I pant as I climb into the backseat of her moss-green Bronco. Her bangs are now blue. Had the purple faded to blue or did she re-dye it?
She grins at me oddly, lifting a taxi placard, and sticking it to her windshield after licking the suction cup. “I heard you are one hellofa singer, girlfriend.”
“Oh.” I hand her cash. “You heard about that?” I wonder who told her. Was she there that night? Surely I would have noticed her come in after she dropped me off at the front of the restaurant? Did Blaze and Frank’s presence make me blind to anyone else I might know in the audience.
Even though I know beyond a shadow of a doubt Kate is illegally giving me rides around town as if she were a legit taxi driver, I still text her when I need a lift. Blaze warned me about her, calling her Crazy Kate. But she comes lickity-split, every time. I’ve learned that I can depend on her at any hour. I really appreciate that.
I didn’t start out hailing an illegitimate taxi. I googled for a taxi, put in a request, but somehow she intercepted the ethernet and came instead. Blaze had said Kate ran an illegal taxi service. It wasn’t until a police officer downtown asked her if she was giving paid rides that it all came together for me. Blaze was telling the truth. Kate really does give rides under the radar of the law. But who am I to judge such a thing, and I really have grown to like Kate.
I think of it as a friend is giving me a ride and I’m reimbursing her for her gas and wear-n-tear on her vehicle. She’s known as Crazy Kate to the locals, but I suspect she is a genius. How else could she hack into a taxi app and intercept potential customers?
I always pay her cash and know to deny everything if anyone asks. She takes her time entering whatever she enters into her phone when I pay her and turns another giant smile toward me. She’s wearing a lot of blue eyeshadow, and no other make up. No mascara, or blush, no lipstick. Her lips are thin and her teeth are too big for her mouth, but her smile expresses pure mischief.
“Know what?”
“What?” I reply.
“I have three favorite songs.” She holds up three bony fingers. “When given the chance, they are my top choices to sing.”
I smile because I know she’s fishing for me to ask her what her songs are. This happens every time a person finds out I sing karaoke. “Really?”
She turns around and puts the Bronco in reverse. “Uh hum.” She nods. A pleading look in her eyes radiates through the Bronco.
I wait, intentionally making her hold it in. Once she’s driving forward, I say, “What are your three favorite songs?”
“Delta Dawn. Top favorite!” She grins in her rearview mirror, making eye contact with me, then, as expected, she starts to sing it. “Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on.”
She looks at me as if to see that I am loving her singing. I smile and join in with her. She might be a little off key once in a while, but I have grown to love this eccentric gal known as Crazy Kate. What’s a little off-key singing among friends?
We sing the entire song. Then, with barely a breath in between, she starts in to the next of her favorites, “Shine on me Sunshine,” she sings. “Walk with me world, it’s a skipity do dah day…”
Again, I grin and sing with her, swaying in my spot to the acapella tune. As before, we sing it to the last syllable and then she surprises me without so much as a segue—
“Rudolf the red nosed reindeer. Had a very shiny nose.”
I sing, “and if you ever saw it…” But I laugh while I sing. I never saw that coming. I even sing the echoing parts, “Like a lightbulb!”
We pull into the address Michelle gave me at lunch Saturday just as we sing, “Hisssstooooryyyy! Like Columbus!” We laugh. I really like Crazy Kate. She is so much fun to be around.
“Thank you, Kate.” I tell her as I get out. “I’ll let you know when we are done.”
“I’ll be here.” She states matter-of-factly.
I hesitate. Did she mean she was going to wait here in the driveway, or that she’d be back. “Uh, okay. It’ll be several hours, I’m sure.”
