So Much for That, cont. ~ an excerpt from my novel in progress by D. Savannah George
Fifteen minutes later -- a record for me, I might add -- I'd washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, doused myself liberally in perfume and put on what I hoped was a clean shirt.
I grabbed the key off the dresser, closed the door behind me and walked over.
"Morning."
"Afternoon," Sly said, tipping an imaginary hat. "You might want to put on some shoes."
Lunch was at a truck stop diner featuring innumerable Braves posters, pecan logs and shot glasses with rebel flags on the side. It was owned by yet another member of Sly's very extended family. His sister Annie owns the joint, and we were waited on by his niece Sally, and gawked at by his nephew Tommy, who is apparently the son of another brother named Mark. Various and sundry kinfolk stopped by to say hello to Sly and surreptitiously look me over while we ate.
I downed a double cheeseburger with bacon, french fries doused in ketchup and mustard, and pots of lemonade, and then chased it with a big piece of pecan pie. Sly just kinda gawked at me like he'd never seen a woman eat before.
Ben walked in as I finished the pie and ordered a milkshake and turkey sandwich.
"Hey Ben!" I said brightly. "How's my car?"
"Er, we finally got the hood open," he mumbled.
"You what?" I almost screamed.
"Yeah, we just got the hood popped. Whoever worked on it last musta dribbled something on the latch and it rusted shut and we had a devil of a time -- pardon me, ma'am, for the devil comment -- getting it loose. Still can't quite figure out what was on there, but whoever did it was either an idjut or being plain mean."
For a moment I was stunned.
"So, you haven't even found out what's wrong with it?" I finally managed to squeak.
"No, ma'am," he said, and turned to take his sandwich from Tina, Gina, Trina, or whatever, yet another relation working there.
I slouched in the booth and took a few tentative sips on more lemonade. Annie brought the check by, and I started to reach into my bra for some cash, but Sly stopped me. Annie looked puzzled.
He leaned over to her and whispered (just loud enough for me to hear, mind you), "Trust me, you don't want her cash. Just ask Patsy!" Then he started guffawing.
So, here I am, stuck in Danville, Virginia, running through my cash. After two weeks of living in Patsy's hotel and eating at Annie's diner, I'm close to broke and Ben has not gotten anywhere close to fixing my car, which seems to have innumerable problems, as well as odd bits stuck in for no apparent reason.
I think Ben's favorite was the tube sock he said he had found wrapped around the whoseewhatsit.
"Now, who did you say has been working on your car?" he asked me for like the hundredth time.
"The boys in shop class," I answered wearily.
"I need to have a talk with that there teacher," he said. After a moment, he added, "Too bad they didn't wrap the mate to this sock around something else. This is good quality!"
He just laughed as I walked out of the garage.
On my long, hot walk back to the hotel, I finally owned up to myself that I'm pretty much stuck in this town for the duration, so I decided to find a job. One not too mind-numbing, and preferably one where I wouldn't have to dress up.
When I walked up to my room, Sly's big truck sat out front, and Sly himself leaned on the hood.
"Hiya, doll," he said. "Why the long face?"
"My blasted car is never gonna be fixed, and I'm almost outta money!" I wailed, then much to my embarrassment, I burst out in tears.
Well, wouldn't you know it: Sly got me a job at Deep South Trucking, Inc., the company he drives for. And helped me find this place to live, owned by, you guessed it, yet another relative. So here I am, still stuck in a Southern country town, with my brains and figure going to waste. But at least I can wear jeans to work.
