From the Author: This is my first experience working with an editor. I am now a firm believer. Short version: if you think you are pretty literate and know what you're doing, you are a prime candidate for editorial help. BluMoonChild, a fan of my first stories, generously offered her editorial talent after reading my first efforts. I owe her a debt of gratitude, along with returning the favor, and look forward to working with her on future stories.
Charice Rosser exited the small staffing office like a cannon shot. She could feel the tears welling up but was just too damned angry to cry. She stepped off the curb to the sound of car horns, not giving a shit if someone was inconvenienced by yielding to a pedestrian. The office she came out of was nestled in a bustling retail center that had two times the traffic for half of a parking lot. She saw the "fire lane - no parking" signs as she passed, thinking,
god, if there was a fire, the place would burn to the ground before the fire department could get through the gridlock.
She finally reached her car, a tired 10 year old Corolla, and slammed the door shut. Looking in the visor mirror she sighed, mumbling to herself. "Reesey, you need to get a hold on your emotions and not let these things rule you." Looking past her dark eyes that had just narrowly avoided tears and runny makeup, she could see a line of cars forming, as the one in the lead spotted her leaving and was stalking her parking place. Shaking her head at that, she started the car and backed out. Then her heart dropped - the car engine had stalled. "AW SHIT! Just what I don't need right now!" A quick scan of the dashboard confirmed everything was dead. No gauges, no lights, no nothing. Turning the key only made a mechanical sound without the usual display of warning lights. And then the horns started up.
"Goddamn people! It ain't like I WANTED to jam up this parking lot!" Reese got back out and made a show of raising the hood, without a clue what to do next. For that matter, what could she do? She'd been out of work for two months already and her savings were starting to get thin. She'd had to quit her gym membership, not that it had done much for her. Besides, cutting back on the grocery budget had the side effect of less food. Between that and the stress of not working she'd started to loose a few pounds, more than she had with frequent workouts. Getting a tow was going to put a big dent in what was left of her cash, never mind what the shop would charge to fix it. Suddenly she felt that cry coming back and just sat back down in her broken car and shut the door.
After a minute she started looking through her glove box for the last receipt from the repair shop so she could call for help. Somehow or another she'd have to work out payments or something but she needed to get this car picked up. In the distance she could hear a motorcycle approaching and looked around to see a hulking figure behind the approaching headlight. As he threaded around the gridlock she could see it was some kind of a chopper, but not the gaudy looking things she'd seen on the custom motorcycle shows on TV. It looked old school and was clearly no show queen. A little closer and her heart sank even lower. The rider was a heavyset, older white guy and he didn't look happy. She could see his brow scrunched into a scowl between the dark glasses and the helmet that looked like WWII German army.
Perfect. Marooned in a parking lot, jamming up traffic, a dozen angry motherfuckers trying to move me with their horns, and here comes some white power harassment to top it off.
Reese just leaned forward with her face in her hands, fed up and starting to panic.
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Paul James loved the rare chance to get out in the wind on a late spring day. He had been working for weeks on a project for a demanding telecom client and finally had a few hours free to run some errands. Seizing the opportunity, he unhooked his chopper from it's battery tender and rolled it out. A couple of kicks to prime it and one more with the key on and it coughed to life. This machine was probably the least practical thing he had for running errands. But it was badass in an understated way. Not a whole lot of chrome, regular sized rear tire, and an antique powertrain that likes to mark it's territory with a few drops of oil anywhere it stops. Nothing like the billet barges that seemed to fill up half of the programming on cable TV these days, but quite the opposite. His bike was made for riding and not show, and that's what he was rolling it out for.
Nothing better than having the wind and the sun in his face. Paul sailed down the boulevard in light traffic, thinking about his next stop to check in with his staffing recruiter on some open requisitions he had with them. His account rep was fun to work with, but wasn't the best at following up with him. She always seemed flustered and overworked, and nothing short of a face to face visit would get progress out of her.
As he pulled into the parking lot, his good attitude evaporated. It was gridlocked. Ordinarily that didn't bother him. He was used to the thick urban traffic and you just had to deal with it. However, on this machine with it's antiquated hand shifter and foot clutch, thick traffic was misery and awkward to move through. If the bike was in gear, you can't put your left foot down. If you need both feet down, you had to be in neutral. In tight traffic, it was a major hassle to creep forward and stop over and over. Paul finally rounded a corner and saw the source of the problem. Way up at the front of the line was a small Toyota that was clearly not going anywhere with it's hood open.
He started getting pissed looking at all the people sitting in their cars, laying on their horns, and waiting for some miracle to happen and make the roadblock disappear. Muttering under his breath, he slipped the bike in gear and swerved to the side, passing all the useless horn jockeys. "Jesus H. Christ. twenty fucking people with thirty fucking cell phones between them and not one person lifting a finger to do anything. Forget about someone actually getting out to offer a hand."
When he rolled up to the immobile car, he could see the lone occupant inside with her face buried in her hands, her shoulder length curls sweeping down and concealing her face.
Just great. None of these assholes moving an inch and here this one sits, waiting for a miracle.
Paul rolled to a stop behind it and killed the bike, setting it over on it's sidestand. As he walked up, a guy a few cars back yelled out, "Tell that bitch to move that shit outta the way!" Paul turned a second, flashing him a mean mug and continued toward the car. The woman inside slowly looked up at him, her expression a mix of anger, frustration, and fear. His bad attitude was immediately disarmed by her appearance. She looked to be in her late 30's, seemed dressed for business, and clearly having a really bad day judging by the smeared eye liner and less than happy face. "Miss? Are you ok? Can you open your window?"
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Reese saw a shadow come over her and looked up. The biker was leaned in close waving his hand and asking if she was ok through the closed door and sealed window. A glance up at the mirror confirmed she looked like hell, and she reached for the door handle. "Are you ok? You don't look well - are you out of gas?" She turned as if to step out of the car, but when her feet reached the ground, she just sat there. She looked up and met his concerned expression with relief. "I don't know what's wrong. I just started to leave and everything just went dead. Nothing. Nada." So he wasn't Aryan Brotherhood. He was just the one guy out of the whole crowd who bothered to see what was wrong and offer help. Then her emotions cut loose. She just couldn't control the blubbering. The more she tried the more it came out. All her business. The bad interview. The unemployment. The car repair and towing bill. Everything.
When she finally wound down into a puddle of sobs, she saw his extended hand. "My name's Paul. Tell you what. If you're ok with it, stand over here and I'll push your car out of the way so these assholes can go about their business. Are the keys still in the ignition?" On her barely perceptible nod, he took her hand, guiding her aside. Then proceeded to ease the disabled car back into the space she was backing out of. When the car stopped, he pulled up the parking brake and handed her the keys. "You know, I have a AAA card in my wallet and they'll tow your car for nothing. All I have to do is tell them I was riding with you and they'll hook it right up. I also know a guy that does honest work and can get you back on the road quick. If it's ok, I can make some calls for you and we'll get this squared away quickly."
