Come and Rescue Me
The best part of her roadside breakdown.
*
Author's Note
Look out, it's another short and sweet slice of life romance.
*
Come and Rescue Me
I recently found out that I get a little weak in the knees for a dark-haired butch in a tight tank top. The eagle tattoo on her right arm I could do without, but the rippling bicep underneath made me think maybe I could overlook the ink. This all came to me in a single flash of cognition, as my rescuer casually slipped out of her leather jacket and tossed it onto the front seat of her truck.
Looking at the emblem on the door, J & R Towing, I briefly wondered if the striking woman I was drooling over was J or if she was R, but she beat me to it.
"Hey," she said, putting on a smile and extending her hand, "I'm Roz. Looks like you're having a bit of a bad day."
I looked at the cloud of steam still flowing from the front grill of my little Kia and nodded.
"Wanna pop the hood for me and I'll take a look?"
I walked to the driver's side and felt around until I found the latch. Roz pulled a tattered, red shop rag from the back pocket of her bluejeans, and wrapped it around her hand before reaching in to lift the hood.
"I'd say your radiator's shot," she pronounced. "If we're lucky it's only a cracked hose, but judging from where the steam seems to be coming from, I'm guessing it's the core."
"Is that bad?" I asked. It sounded bad.
"Maybe, maybe not. If the tanks are in good shape, I can swap the core out pretty easily. The question is whether the local NAPA dealer has it in stock. This looks like a what? A two-thousand fourteen model?"
"Eleven," I said.
Roz's so far chipper expression twisted into a frown for a moment. This did not give me confidence.
"I'll give them a call once I get it back to the shop. I assume you need a ride?"
"Please."
After pulling my still hissing car up onto the flatbed, Roz walked around to the passenger side of her truck and opened the door for me. I quickly scribbled the word chivalrous next to the list of things that make me go weak in the knees.
*
Roz's mouth turned down at the corners as she set the battered and yellowing cordless handset back on its charger. We were sitting in the cramped office of her shop. I hadn't known Roz but an hour, and I already knew that frown meant bad news. The springs in her desk chair gave a tired squeak as she leaned forward to deliver it.
"The closest place that has your core is a dealership in South Bend. They're overnighting it for me. Gonna cost a little extra, but I figure if you're like most people, you don't want to stick around this little podunk town any longer than you have to."
"Thanks. I appreciate that."
Roz wheeled her chair back and stood up. She looked me over from head to toe and back again. Her expression remained completely neutral.
At least it wasn't a frown,
I told myself.
"There's two motels. The one in town, I wouldn't let a dog sleep there. That leaves the one on the outskirts. I'm assuming you'll need a ride."
"I can call a taxi or an Uber." I mentally pictured my bank account. It was in the form of a bathtub with dollar bills floating on top. There was radiator steam rising from the water and someone had just punched a hole in the drain.
"There's no taxi in town, and the only Uber driver I know of is my cousin Randy." Roz shot a glance at the at the wall clock. "It's after four, so he's probably halfway in the bag by now. I'll give you a ride."
"Thank you," I said, "I just need to get my bag out of the trunk."
"How about a bite to eat first? You hungry?"
I nodded.
"I know a place in town. Good food, reasonable prices."
My stomach began to rumble now that the subject of food had been brought up. I had been mostly snacking since pounding a donut for breakfast, wanting to put as much distance between me and that psycho bitch I was driving away from before I stopped for food. "That sounds perfect," I said, and followed Roz out the door.
Outside, she paused. "Oh, one other thing. Besides the tow truck, my only other transportation is a motorcycle. You okay with that? It's about six blocks if you'd rather walk."
"Sure." I smiled as she lead me to where her bike was parked. A vintage Harley Davidson Softail, almost exactly like the one my grandfather was restoring in his garage, except Roz's was completely assembled. It was a classic bike grandpa could never stop talking about—the same one my grandmother could never stop complaining about.
As I picked up the extra helmet, I amended my list of things that make me go weak in the knees. I was up to a chivalrous, dark-haired butch, in a tight tank top, who's taking me to dinner on the back of her vintage Harley. Probably Dutch treat, but still.
After Roz checked the strap on my helmet, I hopped up on the back and settled in to enjoy the smell of her leather jacket hitting my nostrils. Of course, there was the characteristic vibration of the Harley Davidson engine assaulting my crotch to contend with too. I was definitely going to need help climbing down after this ride was over. I had zero trust in my knees at this point.
*
We were sitting at a booth in a bar that was dark inside despite the fact that the sun still had a few more hours until it touched the horizon. Eddie Vedder was lamenting his broken glass of everything, from a jukebox over in the corner.
"So what's good here?" I asked.
I peered over the top of my beer and watched Roz formulating her response. I was trying my best not to stare. My panties were still a little clingy from the ride over, but I was managing.
"Their burgers are the best around. Just like your daddy used to grill 'em in the backyard."
"My dad left before my first birthday. I was still on soft foods."
"They have pizza too," she said, laying her hand on my forearm and giving me a gentle squeeze.
"You couldn't have known."
An awkward silence hung over us for a while after that. I kept trying to think of things to say. Fortunately, none of them came out of my mouth, because most sounded pretty dumb in retrospect. Like, 'Is the bartender your cousin too, or just the Uber driver?' or 'What do people do for fun after they roll up the sidewalks when the sun goes down?"
I finally settled on, "Who's the J in J & R towing? I'm guessing the R is you."
"Yep. The J is for John, my father."
"He grill a good burger in the backyard?"
"As a matter of fact, yes he did."
"He doesn't grill for you anymore?"
"He died about a year back."
"I'm sorry." Now it was my turn to offer comfort, reaching out for Roz's arm and giving her a gently rub. I tried my best not to gain too much pleasure in the touch, but it was a struggle.
"You couldn't have known." She gave me a wan smile after repeating my own words back to me.
Roz didn't offer any more about her father and I didn't pry. I also didn't make any effort to move my hand away from her arm. Neither did she. It wasn't until my stomach growled that she informed me that there was no wait staff and she had to go to the bar to order. I begrudgingly let her go, but kept one eye on her firm behind as she walked away.
My mental list of things that make me weak in the knees was now up to a chivalrous, dark-haired butch, in a tight tank top, who took me to dinner on the back of her vintage Harley, doesn't mind my hand on her arm, loves her daddy, and looks quite nice in her faded Levis. I sighed and waited for her return with my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand.
Between bites of the best burger I've had in a long time, I found out a little more about Roz. She told me how she was in the Air Force Reserve, and that no, she didn't fly planes, didn't even really get near them. She was a mechanic in the motor pool. I said something lame about how it fit well with what she did for a living, and then she started asking about me.
"You on your way to visit family?" she asked innocently.
I blew out a sigh. Roz raised an eyebrow just a little that I interpreted as her unspoken, 'uh oh, what did I step in?' A lot of people get that look when I start in on stories about my ex.
"Actually," I said, "I'm transferring schools. To get away from my psycho ex-girlfriend."
Surprisingly, Roz took it in stride. "She must really be something if you're leaving town."
"Yeah," I said, and took a sip of beer before continuing. "I got involved with one of my professors. Stupid, I know. She's kind of a big deal in my area of study, so there's really no avoiding her if I'd stayed."
"Which is?" Roz asked. "Your major, I mean."
"Aerospace engineering."
To my surprise, Roz's reaction was a brief chuckle and a quick sip of beer to hide behind.
"What? A girl can't be an engineer?"
"It's not that," Roz said with her eyebrows all knit together. "It's just that... Well, I'm sitting here having dinner with a very attractive young woman, who I just found out plays for the same team as me, and... And all I can come up with to say is, 'What's your major?'"
Roz was doing her best to keep a straight face, but she was quickly losing the battle.
"I mean, how lame is that?" she said, reaching for her glass again. Deepening her voice she said, "Hey, baby, what's your major. You probably hear that all the time."
"Usually from the wrong people."
