I was way out in the country when my GPS went on the fritz. One moment I had explicit directions and the next thing all I knew was that I had to head in that general direction. I didn't worry about it. I figured that all I had to do was reach the town I was heading towards and then ask a resident which way to Sam's place. Problem solved.
Problem not solved it turned out. I reached the town and found myself through the town almost before I realised it. A single blink and I'd have missed the entire place. What I did miss was seeing any residents. I was slowing down, intending to back up and see if I could find a shop or someplace to get directions, when I spotted a kid strolling along the road ahead. I continued to slow down and pulled up next to the kid.
"Hey, kid," I called. "Can you tell me how to get to Sam Wetherbee's place?"
The kid turned to look at me and I revised the age of said kid upwards quite sharply.
"I'm not a goat and don't answer to the name kid," the girl snapped. "I do know the way to old man Wetherbee's place, though."
Old man? Sam was like me, barely into his thirties. Still from the young lady's point of view I suppose we could be considered old. I doubted that she was over sixteen, but I could be wrong.
"Sorry, miss," I said quickly. "No offence intended. Could you direct me to Sam's place?"
She glowered at me, apparently still annoyed, but then she shrugged.
"Yeah, I suppose so. You continue straight down this road until you reach the spot where Murphy's cow tends to get out. You gotta watch for him as he could be wandering on the road. Anyway, you turn left there. . ."
I broke in at this stage.
"Excuse me, but I don't know here Murphy's cow tends to get out."
"Oh, right. Well in that case just keep going and turn left before you reach the spot where the Pendleton's barn used to be before the fire. ."
"Excuse me again," I put in, "but I don't know that spot either."
She gave me a look that indicated just how ignorant she thought I was.
"You're making this hard," she told me. "You don't seem to know enough to understand my directions."
"Perhaps if you told me in miles how far it is before I turn left?"
She considered this and then nodded.
"Fair enough. That would be about a mile to the left turn. You then go down that road for another couple of miles and take the third road on your right. Make sure you only count the roads. The tracks to the farms don't count as roads, and the road to the Henderson's is hidden on a bend so you'll have to look sharp."
By now I was silently swearing and wondering if I should go back to the town, what there was of it, and try to find a map. Maybe another way?
"Listen, miss, would you consent to hopping in and guiding me? I'm willing to pay you five for your time and I'll bring you back to town after I've seen Sam."
"What, get in a stranger's car? Are you kidding me? I'm not a fool."
Maybe not but I suspected that she was an idiot. Either that or she just enjoyed giving impossible directions.
"Don't worry. I'm not a paedophile. Take a photo of me and my license plate and message them to a friend as security."
"It would be better if you were a paedophile as I'm legally an adult and you wouldn't be interested. Still, I'll take the photos and then direct you."
Another minute and we were driving down the road. After about a mile I started looking for a road on the left and she suddenly piped up.
"Slow down. You'll miss the turn."
I slowed down, still not seeing the turn.
"What are you waiting for? Permission? Take the turn."
I glanced at her to see her pointing to a road on my right. I slowed rather more quickly and made the turn. I also pulled up for a moment.
"My name's Grey," I told her. "And yours is?"
"Debbie."
"Okay, Debbie. You said I had to turn left after about a mile. This was a right hand turn."
"Oh. Was it? I do get them muddled at times. The trouble is that our teacher insisted that we remember left and right by saying right is the hand we write with, but I write left handed."
"Understandable confusion," I agreed. "Where now?"
I found I was also looking her over a lot more closely. Now that I knew she was eighteen certain facts were impressing themselves on my mind and imagination. Just little things like the tiny pair of shorts she was wearing, shorts that exposed a lot of very shapely leg. Little things like a pair of breasts that were not overlarge but did wobble around under her top in a very sweet fashion. Little things like the gaps between the buttons on her shirt that allowed me to catch glimpses of some lovely curves without a bra blocking the view. I forced my attention back to what I should be doing.
I drove on, Debbie giving me directions as we went. She had to learn to tell me to turn before we reached a road rather than after but apart from that all was good.
"Why don't the roads have names?" I asked at one stage.
"They have names," she promptly informed me. "This one is Millers Lane."
"Really? I didn't see any signposts."
"That's the question you should have asked. Why don't we have signposts? Mainly because we know the names of the roads and don't need signs to tell us."
"But what about strangers such as myself? We don't know the names."
"And we don't care," Debbie pointed out. "The town save a lot of money not putting out signposts."
A reasonable but selfish attitude, I guess.
We reached Sam's place and I grabbed my briefcase, told Debbie I wouldn't be long, and went and pounded on Sam's door. He answered and smirked at me.
"Have fun getting here?" he asked.
"A ball," I grumbled. "My GPS packed up and I had to get one of the locals to guide me."
Sam just laughed and put his hand out for the contract. He read it carefully to ensure that no changes had been sneaked in and then he signed and I witnessed his signature. I also produced the cheque for his down payment based on expected royalties. I declined a drink as I had to take my passenger back to town.
"Short visit," Debbie observed. "What does old man Wetherbee do, anyway?"
"He's an author. I was just paying him an advance on his latest book."
"Really? Would I have read any? Probably not," she added, answering her own question. "I'd have remembered if I'd seen his name as an author."
"He writes under another name. His last book was Pirate of Passion and it did quite well."
"Ok, I heard of that one," Debbie said happily. "The Women's Library Club tried to get it banned from the local library but the Librarian told them to pull their heads in. She wasn't going to have them censor her library. I must borrow it."