"Shit!" Clay Borden muttered when the mechanic gave him the bad news, and the middle-aged manufacturer's representative didn't know what part of the verdict was worse, the price of the replacement fuel pump or the fact that it would take all day for it to be replaced.
The owner of this service station in the middle of nowhere on Route 28, someplace called Newport, New York, was unmoved by the stranger's frustrated attitude, and when Clay Borden realized that he was a little short with the guy he apologized.
"It's alright," the man wearing the greasy shirt bearing the name Mac on a patch replied. "Heat will do that to you, but you gotta decide what you want to do because if I don't have NAPA truck that fuel pump out to me from Utica pretty quick I won't have time to install it before the end of the day."
"You don't have one in stock here?" Clay asked and then laughed at the thought while suggesting sarcastically, "Figured there would be a lot of demand for fuel pumps for a five year old piece of shit Toyota. Yeah, go ahead and order it. Any ideas on how to kill a day in this town?"
"Library," the mechanic told him but then looked at his watch. "Only open until noon today though. If you like fishing the West Canada Creek is good. I got a pole here you can use but you need a fishing license."
"Guess I'll hit the local gin mill," Clay mused but the man shook his head.
"Folded up last year. If you want to come back here a little later you can watch me replace your fuel pump for shits and giggles."
"How about if I just come back before you close up? Is there a store around here?"
"Quarter mile down the road," the mechanic told him before going to the phone to order the part, and with that the salesman started walking, the sun relentless even though it wasn't noon yet.
"What a way to spend a hot day," Clay announced to no one as he saw his destination around the corner, figuring that he could grab a newspaper, buy something to drink and find a place in the shade.
Outside the store was a chunky girl leaning on her bike, and as Clay got closer he grinned at the young lady.
"You look as bored as I do honey," Clay suggested. "At least you have transportation though. My car is down at the shop. Is there anything fun to do in this town?"
"Newport? You kidding? No. Too hot anyway," the girl answered.
"Nice day for a swim," Clay mused. "How's that creek for swimming?"
"Too shallow, except for when they release water from the dam upstream, but that water surge will sweep your ass away if you're in the way," the cherubic gal explained. "People swim back at Dead Man's Pond sometimes."
"Maybe I'll just grab a six pack and watch to see if any goobers float by in the creek," Clay mused. "If you were older I'd invite you to join me."
"I'm not a kid. I'm 18, and I've had beer plenty of times."
"That so? What's your name honey?"
"It ain't honey. It's Virginia. People call me Ginny sometimes. They call me Rooter too."
"Rooter? I like the name Virginia. They even named a state after you," the salesman quipped. "My name's Clay."
"Like dirt?" Virginia asked.
"I can be dirty at times but you would have to know me better to find that out," Clay warned. "I'm going in to get some beer."
The salesman went into the store and got a six pack of Sam Adams Cherry Wheat, something that he knew would go good on a hot day, but when he came back out his chunky friend was gone.
"Psst," came a voice from the side of the building, and when Clay looked up he saw Virginia hiding over there.
"Thought you deserted me Virginia," Clay said.
"If Ernie saw me with you he would think you bought the beer for me," Virginia explained. "Where you going to?"
"I was thinking about crossing the street and sitting by the creek."
"If you want to go back to Dead Man's Pond, I'll join you," Virginia told him. "Can't go over there across the street with a man."
"Not allowed to cross the street?" Clay kidded.
"No, it's not that, but people would see me and - guess you don't live in a small town mister," Virginia explained. "Around here if you burp everybody knows it, plus what you ate for lunch."
"I'm from Albany. It's the state capital."
"No shit. I'm not stupid."
"Sorry. Well, if one of us is stupid it must be me. I was driving to Syracuse..."
"Why didn't you take the Thruway?" Virginia asked. "Hell of a lot faster."
"Because I work for a cheap ass company so I have to save money when I can," Clay said. "Besides, I-90 is boring. I was enjoying the drive until my fuel pump blew up. The only good thing was that I was able to make it to this repair shop that's down the road, although they'll probably screw me good."
"No, they're pretty good about that sort of thing, even with city folks stuck up the creek without a paddle," Virginia said and wondered aloud, "That beer getting colder?"
"No, it isn't. Where is this Dead Man's Pond? Let's get going."
"You go first. People see us heading back there..."
"I know. Small town," Clay replied, and after getting directions he made his way to the pond which was back towards where his car was being repaired although well back in the woods.
Clay found the modest sized pond which was nothing to write home about but not as ominous as its name implied, and as he sat on a rock by the shore he watched his new friend walking her bike towards him.
Virginia was cute in her way, sort of a black haired version of the girl that used to be on the cans of Campbell's soup. Her bowl haircut did her no favors and made her look chubbier than she was. Her legs were chunky but shapely and while the baggy t-shirt was not complimentary it didn't hide what seemed to be a pretty big bust underneath it.
"Why the name Dead Man's Pond?" Clay asked after popping off a cap and giving the girl a brew.
"Who knows? Hey! Cool. Sam Adams. I thought you were cheap?"
"My company is cheap, I'm not. Besides, life is too short to drink shitty beer," Clay asked as they clinked bottles. "What do you usually drink?"
"Utica Club, on account of it's cheap, but it's usually taking whatever you can get somebody to buy for you," Virginia told him.
"Buy for you? Oh shit, that's right. They changed the drinking age to 21 a while back," Clay said with a slap on his forehead. "I'm corrupting you."
"You're a few years too late for that."
"Oh, well you look innocent to me," Clay opined.
"You and my Dad are probably the only ones who think that," Virginia said as she looked out to the pond. "You going swimming?"
"No suit," Clay replied.
"So what? I won't look. Besides, nobody usually wears a suit back here when we swim."
