Applying the Lesson

I didn't know whether this was going to be the fulfillment of a wet dream, or my worst nightmare. Every woman, and maybe a few of the men in the graduate business program had a crush on Mike McNeil. He had shut me down when I first tried to approach him, but now, out of the blue he surprised me by inviting himself to accompany me on a week-long trip to Texas. "As friends," he added, increasing my confusion. Would I be able to keep myself from drooling when with him? More importantly, would I still want to keep my virginity if he wanted to take it? it? What did he have in mind "as friends?" I certainly didn't know what I had in mind when I thought about him.

Every straight woman, every gay man who saw Mike was instantly infatuated; he was that handsome. I would love to make him mine, but someone like him could do much better than an ordinary looking girl like me. I didn't want to get involved in a one-night, or even one-week stand with him. I didn't want to date for its own sake. If I was to have a relation with someone, it was for the sake of it leading to marriage. Despite my attempt to approach him when we were in a seminar together, I knew it could never be.

This trip was my classmate Dale Anderson's fault. Or gift. I had already made plans to visit her and Thomas in Dallas, and she pushed Mike to join me on the trip. I suppose that's why he suddenly showed up at the Kroger store where I was working, pretending not to recognize me, and then making the offer.

The drive down would take about a day and a half. Would we share a motel room when we stopped for the night? A bed? Would I be strong enough to refuse? Would he get mad if I succeeded in refusing? What did Dale Anderson have planned for us?

I guess I'm a bit of a worry-wart. Mike picked me up in an old-looking Chevy Malibu and promptly told me Dale had arranged two complimentary rooms at a Colton hotel about half-way to Dallas. His car was loud, perhaps from a rusty exhaust, maybe from the power of the motor. Mike downshifted and floored it when we merged onto the expressway, and the way I was pushed back into my seat told me the sound was horsepower, not rust.

Conversation became more feasible as we passed the city limits, as we traveled beyond the need for slowing down and accelerating for traffic. The car was certainly capable of the latter.

"Your car drives more like a Camaro than an old Malibu."

"Yeah, I had some custom work put into it."

"Wouldn't it have been simpler to get a muscle car, rather than create one? Manual transmission Malibus must be rare."

Mike flashed his million-dollar smile at me. "You should understand it better than other people."

"I don't. Explain."

"Muscle cars are chick magnets. I'm a chick magnet. I have enough women hitting on me without owning a Camaro or Mustang. I like to drive fast, so this is the solution." Mike patted the dashboard.

"Okay, I get that, you're handsome, but why should I understand it better than other people?"

"You and I are tens. You are the idealized form of a gorgeous woman. I'm the perfect gorgeous man. We both have to beat off suitors with a stick, always have to struggle to be left alone."

"Beat with a stick?"

"Well, a metaphorical stick. Doesn't always work though, like when you saw right through my gay disguise. You only picked up on it because you probably use similar strategies to keep the guys away; you know the routines."

I'm a ten? The idealized form of a gorgeous woman? What the hell was he talking about? I'm a six at best. I've never had a problem trying to keep suitors away. If anything, it's been the opposite. Was he mocking me? I sat back in the seat, looking at the mileage markers as we zoomed past. We were already too far out to ask Mike to let me off, so I could grab a bus back home. Besides which, this was

my

trip to see Dale and Thomas. Mike just sort of invited himself along. I could deal with this.

"You're the perfect gorgeous man, you say. How did that happen?"

He grinned. "You and I won the genetic lottery. Say we were lucky, or say God gave us a gift, or maybe a curse. It was done when we were conceived. Unless you believe in reincarnation, it can't be anything we did to deserve the gift of physical beauty."

Mike was laying it on a little thick. I might have believed him if he said I was beautiful, had a pleasant face, or something like that. Win the genetic lottery? I've been told that I'm brilliant, but that's about it.

"How can winning the genetic lottery possibly be a curse?"

His expression turned serious. "Let's look at the metaphor. There was a study of people who won big prizes in lotteries. It turns out that a year or so later, most of them were no happier than before winning. Many suffered family breakdowns, loss of friends, of trust. Many of them blew their winnings and ended up in the same economic situation as before."

"I don't see the comparison."

"I don't have many friends. I deliberately keep people at a distance. I don't trust them when they're friendly, because I expect they're just interested in the physical me. I'm more than just a hot body with a gorgeous face but I assume that's all that people make of me. Don't you experience the same thing? It must be much worse for a woman."

I've had my share of suitors, I've been harassed, occasionally groped. I don't think it's been any more than the average girl. "Yeah, I suppose."

"I spurn women on reflex," Mike continued. "I was kicking myself after I brushed you off but was too embarrassed to call you. By the time you asked me to check out your sultry look, I was already dating someone else."

"Are you still dating her?"

"I believe in one relationship at a time. My boss set me up with his friend's daughter, but it's over."

"Am I your rebound woman?"

"Believe it or not, I was planning to call you when he asked me to go out with Carrie. John Seldon is a good man, and I felt obliged to go out with her."

"I'd say I'm sorry it didn't work out, but that would be a lie."

Mike laughed. "I'm on break from women now."

"Wow, what a nice compliment. You're on a break from women, so you're spending a week with me." Okay, I didn't have to worry about being seduced.

Mike turned beet red. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all. You're gorgeous, smart, and fun to be with. It's just after the turmoil with Carrie, I can't deal with getting emotionally involved with someone. Maybe it's our curse, causing me to push people away."

"Usually when a woman talks about the curse, she's talking about her menstrual cycle."

"No, I don't have that curse. But I do have to be careful about arrogance and narcissism. I'm not doing well on avoiding arrogance, as you can tell. I care about other people's happiness, so I think I'm okay on narcissism, which is more arrogance on my part."

"You really have given a lot of thought to this."

"I had no choice about my beauty. It's up to me whether I'm an asshole or not."

I pointed to the sign for the upcoming service area. "Do you mind making a pit stop?"

"Not at all."

"Can I share the driving? I also want to split the cost of gas." Mike frowned at me. "I used to drive my father's delivery truck. I can do manual transmission." The frown disappeared.

"Yes to the driving; no to splitting the gas. I put in a Northstar V-8 engine; it's a real gas guzzler. I did it for my enjoyment, so I can't ask you to pay."

He parked in a spot near the gas pumps. "You can drive after I fill up."

"What happens if I enjoy driving it? Then can we share the cost?" He came around the car and opened the door for me, offering a hand as I stepped out.

I snuck off and pre-paid forty dollars of fuel while Mike pumped the gas. I cleaned the dead bugs off the windshield while he checked the oil. When we finished I adjusted the driver's seat and mirrors, started the engine, tested the feel of the stick shift, and looked around. I waited a few seconds till I was sure the path was clear, popped the clutch, and burned rubber. We were both pushed back in our seats as I redlined the engine, quickly going through the synchromesh transmission, merging onto the highway at seventy-five mph. I was soon cruising at ninety. I glanced at Mike, whose jaw was hanging open. He was ghost driving from the passenger seat, his leg hovering as if he was going to jam on the brakes, his eyes fixed forward.

"What kind of truck did your father have?"

"An ordinary cube van."

"How did you learn to drive like that?"

"I learned stick shift on the truck. Then a neighbor broke his leg. I drove him to and from work and was allowed to use his '67 Corvette the rest of the day. I had it for about three weeks."

"He let you drive like that?"

"He encouraged me to. He also tried to get into my pants as part of the exchange, but I wasn't willing to include that in the deal."

The interstate was two lanes at this point. A slow semi was in the right lane. A slow semi was in the left lane beside it. I couldn't tell which one was passing the other.

"That's really—"

"Mike, I want to give these trucks my full attention."

I hung back as the highway mounted a gentle rise. The truck on the right gradually fell back.

"Open your window. When I pull even with the cab I'm going to lean on the horn. Look at the driver and point insistently to the back of the truck."

"What's—"

The left lane truck moved ahead, and I pulled even with the cab on the right. I gave Mike a few seconds to wave frantically at the driver, and then left both trucks in my dust.

"What was that about?"

"One of his tires looked wobbly. I hope he pulls over and checks it." I glanced in my mirror. "His right signal light's on. You convinced him."

"I'm impressed, Rita."

Mike must have decided to trust my driving. He relaxed instead of staring straight ahead. He stretched his legs, no longer ready to slam the non-existent brakes. He looked out the window, he folded his arms, he looked at me- with interest, it seemed.

We got to the hotel around seven o'clock in the evening. Driving at ninety to one hundred mph brings you to your destination ahead of schedule if you don't get caught. Our adjoining rooms were spacious, with a touch of modern chic. In them we found invitations for complementary meals at the hotel's dining room.

I wasn't prepared for such elegance: the white tablecloths, linen napkins, candles and flowers on each table. I was glad I had changed into a dress; not a fancy one, but better than the jeans and t-shirt I had on previously. Mike was in canvas-colored slacks, an open-neck button down white shirt, and a beige jacket. He really was gorgeous, a ten.

"Wow, Rita, you are stunning."

"Mike, you're a ten."

He laughed.

Dinner was filled with meaningless chit-chat, about school, about other students, professors. Mike told me a little about his work at the law firm- the harassment research, and its connection to Thomas Anderson's divorce. It was a sad story, and although Mike just gave me a bare-bones outline, my respect for Dale shot up. I had wondered how she managed to end up married to Thomas Anderson.

We had both ordered the grilled salmon with leeks and potatoes. I pointed to my empty plate. "I would rate it a "9"."

Mike shook his head lightly. "I'd give the food an "8," the service a "7" and my dinner companion a "12."

"Am I getting rated out of twenty now?"

"No, still out of ten."

"How did you do in math?"

He grinned and took my hand in his. "Rita, you are beautiful, smart and fun to be with. You deserve better than to be a rebound woman."

We were interrupted by the waiter bring our desert. I had amaretto cheesecake, Mike the German chocolate cake. We didn't continue our discussion as we sipped our teas. What was I supposed to say to a comment like that?

Mike put down his fork. "Shall we?" He stood and offered me his hand. I took fifteen dollars from my purse and left it on the table.

He raised his eyebrows. "The meal was complementary."

"Had we been paying, it would have cost around ninety dollars. Our waiter still had to do the work."

Mike's eyes lit up. He gave me a peck on the cheek when I rose. More than a peck, actually. "There's a bar with live music off the lobby. I think it has a little dance floor. Can I buy the lovely lady a drink, maybe enjoy a dance together?"

The bar was between the elevators and the restaurant. I looked at it, imagining the pleasure. The obvious response would have been "I'd love to." But the obvious outcome of that response would be us sleeping together. Maybe not the only possible outcome, but the most likely. I knew how much I was attracted to Mike, and it seemed he also was attracted to me. I looked at his beautiful face, his full lips. "I'd rather get an early start tomorrow and save the socializing for Texas. I also have some research I have to review."

Mike took my fingers, not my hand in his. He looked at me, not smiling, not frowning. He just looked at me. His charm, his charisma was like a hurricane, blasting my senses, tearing at my resistance. I don't know how long I stood absorbed in his gaze, until I told him "One drink, once dance would be nice."

I ordered a cocktail, he asked for whatever beer was on tap. We were both on the dregs of our drinks when the band started playing "When a Man Loves a Woman." He pulled me up into his arms, his hands politely positioned on my back, his arousal pressing the opposite message into my thigh. I prayed for the song to end quickly, because I knew soon I would be too worked up to resist any romantic advances. I could smell his excitement; I felt like our hormones were flying through the air attacking each other. Shit. I didn't want to be a virgin anymore.

I was panting by the time the song ended. I took a few deep breaths to compose myself as Mike stepped back. I must have been drooling, or maybe I was dripping wet as we took the elevator up, as he walked me to my door. He pulled my hand to his lips, kissed them and said "That was really nice. What time should we meet for breakfast? Do you want to get an early start or sleep in a bit?"

I was flustered. I had to shift my mood from pure horniness to the efficient travel partner. I took a few silent breaths to calm myself. "Eight? Then we can come back to the rooms, pack and check out."

He gave me another of those million-dollar smiles, only now it seemed to be worth much more than that. "You're on." He bent and kissed my lips. No tongue, but he lingered for a few seconds. Delicious.

***

Thoughts of Rita were a hurricane blasting through my mind, keeping me from sleep. Never mind that she was gorgeous, with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair, a strong but gentle face, and a perfectly proportioned body. Never mind that she was brilliant, being on full scholarship, and having already published several highly rated academic papers. Her insistence on leaving a tip for a complimentary meal demonstrated a character that was on the same level as her mind and body. I knew she was attracted to me, but she resisted my obvious come-ons. It had taken all my strength not to follow her into her room after we left the bar. She already seemed uncomfortable from our close dancing, and I wasn't going to push myself on her.

The upshot was that I yawned sleepily through breakfast, barely paying attention to the jeans and white t-shirt she was wearing. When Rita offered to drive I immediately accepted. "Point the car south" was all I said. We were on the road by nine-fifteen, and I was half asleep by nine-thirty. I dreamt that Rita was driving a tractor-trailer while I was a stowaway hiding in the sleeper compartment. I thought we were under attack from the sky because of an incessant drumming sound on the top of the cabin. Fear startled me awake and as I opened my eyes I saw that the attack was rain, heavy rain, rather than bullets or anything like that. There was a rumble off to the left, as the bright yellow tractor of a road train pulled even, and then ahead of our car. We were going slowly, maybe thirty miles an hour, with the flashers on and the wipers at full speed. The wind was gusting, the rain was thick, and even though we were on a slight incline the water was coming down faster than it could drain off. Rita had pulled us to the extreme right of our lane.

"He's an idiot. He's driving as if the weight of two trailers will give him more control. The second one is starting to fishtail." She took her foot completely off the gas to let him get past us. "He's an accident waiting to happen."

"Should I put on the radio?"

"Finding a station we both like will be too distracting. I'm good."

We drove in silence except for the hypnotic slap of the windshield wipers. As we reached the crest of the gentle hill we'd been climbing, we saw the road train that had passed us a few moments ago. The rear trailer was swinging wildly across the highway. It pulled the front trailer along with it. Their combined weight took control completely away from the driver, and soon the road train was folding in on itself in a loose vee, stopping only when it completely blocked the highway and shoulders.

We were on a gentle downhill slope, with enough water on the road to keep our tires from touching asphalt. The ABS of the brakes made a machine-gun sound as they kept the wheels from locking up, as they kept Rita from losing control. She clenched the steering wheel as the car started to drift sideways, as we headed towards the center median and the now-still trailer jutting into it. I took a deep breath, expecting my life to flash before my eyes; there was no way Rita could avoid a serious, probably fatal crash.

Rita avoided a crash. We stopped at the edge of the flooded grassy median, a few yards from the trailer. I was stunned and very appreciative. I didn't know if I would have been able to maintain control like that. I was shaking, she was smiling.

I gently put my hand over hers on the steering wheel as she glanced at the rear-view mirror. "I would probably have ended up hitting the truck or getting stuck in the median Rita, that was an impressive—"

Rita yanked a hand off the steering wheel, shoved the gear shift into reverse, backed up a bit, then turned around and drove us into the flooded median. "Get out," she screamed, opening her door.

I followed suit, more to yell at her than anything else. "What the hell was—"

"Run, this direction!"

I was going to put my foot down, to demand an explanation when I saw it out of the corner of my eye, coming fast. I took off after Rita, in the opposite direction we'd been driving. It wasn't a high-speed impact, it wasn't a very destructive crash, but it was enough to tear open the tanker that jackknifed into the back of the road train. Had Rita not quickly driven onto the median, we would have been crushed in that sandwich.

And immolated. Whatever it was in the tanker, it ignited. It spread quickly on the ground, burning the road train. It spread quickly into the flooded median, floating on top of the water and burning everything, including my car. Rita had run uphill, figuring that was the best bet to escape. She didn't know what was in the tanker but had seen it out of control, bearing down upon us. She didn't risk it being benign, treating it rather as a missile coming our way.

Three hours later the wreckers were making good progress in cleaning up the burnt-out trucks blocking the highway. My burnt-out Malibu was still bumper deep in the muddy median. A quick check of the trunk showed there was nothing of our possessions worth retrieving. We had spent a good part of that time huddled inside a patrol car with the heater on high, but it wasn't enough to dry us off. We couldn't change because all our clothes had been destroyed. The rain had stopped, and we sat together looking at the disaster that had caught us, smiling that we had managed to escape. At this point I couldn't help but notice Rita's t-shirt that had escaped my attention before; the water had made it translucent.