"Fuck! Just my goddamned luck!" Though no stranger to cursing, Pam's outburst had a rare fury as her brand new MINI coasted, engine silent, to the side of the country road.
"Fuck, fuck, FUCK, fuck, fuck-fuck!" The car settled to a stop. It wasn't just that her still-got-that-new-car-smell MINI had died. It had died, as her next vitriol proclaimed, "In the middle of FUCKING NOWHERE!"
Pam pounded her fists on the steering wheel: the universal, futile signal to an automobile that its owner is less than happy. Her cell phone was no more helpful: twelve noon, no signal. The fine city of Fucking Nowhere didn't have cell coverage.
"Fuck," she said, this time not more than a sigh. Pam collapsed back into her seat. "Might as well sit and wait. Eventually someone is going to go by... I hope" thought Pam. The road stretched straight ahead and behind. She could see far enough to have plenty of advance warning to flag down a passing motorist.
No denying the undeniable. Barring a miracle she was going to miss her flight. Time had already been running tight; that's why she had taken this god-forsaken shortcut through nowhere in the first place. Now she had all the time in the world and nowhere to be. Which was probably a good thing, because Nowhere was exactly where she was. For all she knew she might not have a job anymore.
In the three years since this young female advertising apprentice first walked through the doors of Ward Worldwide, Pam had been on the fast track. With her non-threatening girl-next-door looks she was able to work well in the male world of automotive advertising. Her shapely figure and unassuming demeanor got her foot in the door, and her marketing ideas landed the account.
It didn't take long to go from shock absorbers to performance tires; bigger and better accounts. Pam had made a name for herself. This trip was the big break. Her boss had agreed to give her a shot at a major account: a big-name Japanese auto manufacturer. And now it looked like she had royally blown it.
An hour later there had been no passing motorists and all hope of catching her flight had long since passed. The people of FN, as she had begun to call her temporary home in the sun, must not have much to do. A half hour ago the car had gotten too hot to leave the windows up. At least the radio worked, though in FN the only station was an oldies station. The sounds of "America" drifted out the open window.
I been through the desert on a horse with no name,
It felt good to be out of the rain,
In the desert you can't remember your name,
Cos there ain't no-one for to give you no pain,
"Fitting." she thought. A grumble from her stomach reminded her that in her rush to get to the airport she had skipped breakfast. And now having the windows down wasn't enough. The car was getting hot and her back was sweating against the seat.
"Not much chance of AAA happening by, is there?" she said to the MINI. Getting out of the car she peeled off the jacket of her skirt suit. God only knew how long she could sit here without a passer-by: time to hoof it. At least she was wearing walkable sandals and not heels. She always wore sandals when flying; airport security had done her that favor.
Not thrilled to be wandering alone in the middle of FN, Pam winced with the realization that her airport security unfriendly pepper spray was back home sitting uselessly on the counter.
She grabbed her purse, locked the door, and began her trek continuing in the direction she had been driving. No sense backtracking as she couldn't remember passing anything for quite some time.
An hour's hike later, still no traffic and nothing in sight. "Horse With No Name" continued to echo in her head:
After two days in the desert sun,
My skin began to turn red,
After three days in the desert fun,
I was looking at a river bed,
Pam was beginning to worry. She wished she hadn't left her jacket in the MINI. It would be nice to have something to shield the sun from her hot neck and shoulders, which she feared had already turned pink. She didn't need three days in the desert sun. For that matter, three hours on the road to FN was more than enough. Checking her cell phone for at least the thirtieth time, her heart quickened. Connection! Only one short bar, but a connection! She dialed 911. It rang twice and she heard the line being picked up. Then nothing. The one little bar was gone.
Maybe she was just out of range. Pam ran back down the road, she trudged across weeded fields, she held her phone high in the air. Nothing. By now it had been over two hours since the MINI's engine had sputtered to silence.
And the story it told of a river that flowed,
Made me sad to think it was dead.
Pam was beginning to get nervous. This could be bad. Though she dearly wanted to, she resisted crying. Fundamental thoughts like conserving water crossed her mind, and though she was unsure if it would make any difference, tears are water.
Hoping to do something about her dry mouth, Pam was engrossed searching her purse in hope of a stick of gum or a Tic-tac and didn't notice the approaching cloud of dust. The truck was nearly to her when the rumble caused her to abandon her search.
The truck was ancient, a tow truck, the sort that were really nothing more than a hoist mounted in the back of a pickup. This particular pickup looked like something from TV's Mayberry, maybe older. Pam was amazed that the rumbling heap could even stay together. But who was she to be choosy. After all, it was her brand-spanking-new MINI sitting dead a few miles down. The truck skidded to a stop and a dust cloud thrown up by the tires grew, temporarily enveloping the truck.
"Di'ja cawl nien unnunn?" she heard through the grumbling engine and settling dust cloud.
"What?" she yelled trying to be heard over the rumble of the old truck.
The truck's engine went silent. "Did ya call nine-one-one?" came the reply. The dust had settled and Pam could now see the driver. He sat in the GMC straddling the open window with his free arm resting on the door, his fingertips drumming.
"Yes, that was me" Pam replied.
"Are ya in any kinda trouble?"
"Well other than my car crapping out and being stranded in the middle of Fuh..." Pam caught herself. Nothing to be gained by taking it out on this fellow, "No, I guess I'm OK."
"OK, well you're lucky I'm around. State police are at least an hour away. They got a 911 hang up and asked me to take a peek. Jus' a sec while I call 'em and tell 'em know everything's OK."
"OK. Thank you Ted."
"Howd' you know my name was Ted?"
"Just a lucky guess." Pam said pointing at the side of the truck on which was hand-painted "Teds Towing" in what looked to be white house paint. At least it looked like it had once been white.
"Oh. Yeah." Ted grimaced an embarrassed smile. "OK, well I gotta call this in." Ted pulled his arm into the truck; the arm of someone not unaccustomed to hard work. While Ted placed his call Pam did her best to measure him up. Nice face, though a shave might help. Hard to tell about his dark brown hair as the truck's open window had tussled it pretty bad. But it was that tanned arm that Pam really noticed. That arm that had went from the impatient fingers, up the sinew of muscles, and disappearing into a white sleeveless T.
"Not too bad looking" Pam thought to herself. "Shame. I can't imagine they hire the best and brightest to drive truck in FN". She laughed. Funny how mere minutes ago she was concerned about saving water; basic survival. Now her biggest worry was that the tow truck driver might be Jethro Bodine.
Ted got out of the truck and came over to her. "OK, all set. What do you say we go get that car of yours?" Pam nodded. Ted really didn't sound bad at all. His low voice sort of reminded her of the deep rumble of the truck.
She reviewed her own condition: Filthy feet, knee length suit skirt, a sweat-soaked white blouse. With social graces again more relevant than survival, Pam blushed to note that with all her sweating the blouse would work well in a wet t-shirt contest.
"OK, jump in the truck and lets go get your car" said Ted. Picking her blouse out away from her skin, Pam got into the driver side. As Ted wrestled the truck's transmission into first, Pam noted the truck was every bit as nice on the inside as the out. The seats were torn and had been patched with duct tape innumerable times, but obviously not innumerable enough. She felt her bottom sink into one of the rips. Despite the welcome breeze through the window, the cab smelled of grease, stale beer, gutted fish, and something she couldn't identify.
"Aren't you going to ask where my car is?
Ted laughed. "Well, seeing as I came from the north and didn't see it, and since you were coming from the south, I gotta figure south. Right?"
Pam nodded.
"Guess we're even" said Ted. Pam gave him a perplexed glance. "That name on the door thing." he said. "Boy did I feel dumb. But we're even now." he laughed again.
What had seemed an eternity to walk took no time to retrace in the pickup. Approaching the MINI Ted asked "Um, so where's the other half of your car?" Though Pam had probably head that "joke" a dozen times a month she refrained from wincing and laughed politely.
Pam stayed in the cab and watched as Ted hitched and hoisted the MINI. First impressions weren't too far off. As far as she could tell Ted was lean and strong from his head to his toes. His jeans rode beltless on a narrow waist which rose into a well-muscled chest. Then there were those shoulder muscles wrapping their way down his arms and up his tanned neck. But the show didn't last long; in minutes they were again heading north.
As the pickup gathered speed, the breeze filling the cab was a welcome relief. Pam pulled her blouse here and there to let the wind fill it, cooling and taking at least some of the damp out. Ted seemed to keep his eyes on the road, but she thought she saw a quick dart of his eyes when the front of her blouse billowed in the wind. Not that she hadn't taken a few darting looks of her own.
