Coming to a Crossroads

by Marie Ferrarella

  “My buddies and I need rides home,” Ethan told the lyrical-sounding voice on the other end of his cell phone.

  Maybe he had had more to drink than he’d thought, because the voice that had answered his call sounded as if it belonged to an angel.

  C’mon, Ethan, get a grip. It’s a safe bet to assume that angels don’t drive around in Chariots. At least not the kind that have an engine and four tires.

  Buddies. Uh-uh, back away now, a little voice in Liz’s head warned. The word buddies meant that there was more than one passenger involved. Still, she couldn’t very well just hang up. She needed something tangible to go on before she turned the man down and referred him to someone else.

  “Buddies?” Liz repeated. “How many people is that exactly?”

  “Three. Plus me,” Ethan answered. “It would have been four plus me, but the guy we threw this bash for got a ride from a friend of his.”

  Ethan didn’t add that this friend was a new friend, nor did he think it prudent to say that the friend was one of the rather exotic waitresses at the club they’d gone to. He didn’t think that Joel, once he finally came to his senses, would really want word of this particular little adventure to get around.

  Ethan had already tried to talk Joel out of letting Cinnamon drive him home, but Joel had been rather adamant about it, saying that he knew what he was doing. So, against his better judgment, Ethan had decided to back off.

  “Four?” Liz repeated doubtfully. “I’m afraid my back seat can only hold three adults.” She hoped that the man would take the hint and let her turn him down gracefully. These days it was all too easy to get labeled as being an uncooperative driver, and she didn’t need that. But the idea of having to drive to four different destinations wasn’t exactly overly thrilling either at this hour.

  Ethan laughed. “They’re not all that adult,” he told her, then realized the woman might get the wrong impression. He definitely didn’t want to scare her off. “Don’t worry, they’re harmless. So am I,” he added quickly in case she might have thought he was attempting to put moves on her. “I—”

  “Good to know,” Liz said, cutting in and still trying to wrap this up, “but that still makes you four adults in the back seat, and you just won’t all fit there.”

  “How about if one of us—if I,” he specified, “sit in the front passenger seat? You can fit us all in then, can’t you?” he asked. “Full disclosure, the others aren’t feeling any pain, but I still can.” That didn’t come out right, he thought, searching for a way to gracefully redeem himself while untangling his tongue. “That is, I mean—”

  Maybe she should just pretend to lose the connection, Liz thought. “Well, I...”

  Ethan could hear the hesitance in her voice and the beginnings of a refusal. Suddenly he thought of a way to sweeten the deal and get the driver to say yes.

  “How about if we’d each pay separately for the ride? I mean the full fare,” he clarified. “Seeing as how you would be dropping each of us off one by one, that would only seem fair, right?”

  “Right,” she agreed, but money really wasn’t the point. “But—” she began to explain again, except she didn’t get the chance because the potential fare spoke up again.

  “Okay, then it’s settled. We’re at the corner of Culver and Alton, just past the shopping center,” he told her. “We’ll be the group of four guys standing in front of Bar None,” he added for extra clarity.

  “The nightclub,” Liz said. She was well aware of the location as well as the kind of nightclub it was.

  Ethan was afraid that might be a deal breaker for her. He suddenly wanted to meet this Chariot driver who didn’t seem all that interested in making money. After Catherine had run over his heart with a backhoe that left dollar signs in her wake, the thought of someone who wasn’t shallow or fixated on the accumulation of money intrigued him.

  “It’s more like a restaurant with poor lighting,” he corrected. “So, when can we expect you to get here?”

  Jimmy, he thought, glancing over at his friend, was sinking rather fast, and the sooner they got him home, the better.

  The word never rose to Liz’s lips, urged on by self-preservation. She didn’t want to be driving around heaven only knew where, dropping off four men who had doubtlessly been partying too hard. Especially not when her body was begging her to call it a night so she could crawl into bed and drop off into unconsciousness in less than sixty seconds.

  But although he didn’t know it, ultimately this Ethan person had said the right thing. He had appealed to her business sense by offering what amounted to almost four times the fare for what was in essence one long drive.

  It was too good to pass up, and she knew it.

  Liz did a quick calculation, taking the lack of traffic into account. “I can be there in about fifteen minutes,” she told him.

  “We’ll be right here, waiting. And Liz, thank you,” Ethan said just before he hung up.

  She couldn’t remember a fare ever having thanked her before she had arrived.

  “Well, at least he’s polite,” Liz murmured as she closed her phone and put it on the passenger seat next to her. “That’s something.”

  She reminded herself of all the long hours she had put in, keeping her stepfather company while her mother had taken the time to run a few quick errands. There were times, especially toward the end, when she had stayed up into the wee hours of the night, holding her stepfather’s hand and talking to him even after she was certain that the man couldn’t hear her anymore and had drifted off to sleep.

  “You can do this, Lizzie. Driving four slightly inebriated men home—how long can it take, right?” she asked herself.

  Liz didn’t bother answering, because deep down, she knew what the answer to that question was. The answer was “long,” not to mention that some people would say that she was being uncharacteristically naive.

  But she wasn’t. If anything went wrong, she could always call the number of the man who ran the local branch of the company. Protective of all the drivers in his branch, Alan Parker had given the emergency number to her as well as to all the other drivers. He referred to it as a 9-1-1 for Chariot drivers in case something went wrong and a fare decided to either pull a fast one by skipping out on paying the driver or, worse, tried to take advantage of one of the female drivers.

  Although to her knowledge, since Alan had instituted the 9-1-1 call number, the only driver who had used it was Herb Abernathy when the fare he was driving, a huge, overbearing bull of a man, had attempted—unsuccessfully, as it turned out—to shake him down and steal his money.

  Liz pulled over at the next light and double-checked her glove compartment to make sure she had the number handy. She did, and looking at it, she committed the number to memory so if these partying bachelors—or whatever they actually were—got too rowdy for her to handle, she could call for help immediately.

  She was about to start up her car, then stopped again. The hell with memory, she thought. Liz proceeded to program the number into her business phone just in case. She had always been a firm believer in better safe than sorry.

  Taking in a deep a breath, Liz put the phone within easy reach up on her dashboard. Now she was ready, she thought, starting up her car.

  Within minutes, she was less than half a block away from her fare, or rather, her fares. Almost unconsciously, her attention was drawn toward her pocket and the container of pepper spray her mother had insisted she carry with her.

  Apparently, her mother had read numerous articles about every single potential warning sign a female Chariot driver should take to heart. By going over a long list of every single thing that could potentially happen to her, her well-meaning mother had managed to rob her of her feeling of confidence, not to mention the feeling that she would be able to protect herself in practically any given situation.

  Liz didn’t think o
f herself as a superheroine, but neither did she think of herself as a walking victim with a neon sign flashing on her forehead saying, Please come save me.

  Rounding the corner, Liz felt that she had spotted her fares: four well-dressed, if slightly disheveled, young men who looked as if they had been partying a bit too hard.

  All except one, she amended as she drew closer. One of the men looked to be in better condition than his friends. It was the one with darker hair and really chiseled features. He looked to be slightly taller than the other men around him—although that could have been because he wasn’t slouching like the other three, she decided. She had a feeling that he was probably the one who had called her—only because he looked as if he could still make out the numbers on his keypad.

  Pulling her vehicle up to the foursome, Liz slowed it down and then came to a full stop. “Did one of you call for a Chariot?”

  At the sound of her voice, all four men turned in her direction.

  “I didn’t, but you are a sight for sore eyes!” one of the slightly fuzzy, bleary-eyed men cried in relief. “Hey, fellas, this means we don’t have to walk home,” Jimmy announced happily.

  “Hey, maybe you were going to walk, but I was going to hitch a ride if push came to shove,” Pete told his friends.

  “Not me,” Wayne announced. “I’ve got to save up my strength for the wedding.”

  Jimmy scrunched his eyebrows together as if he was trying to understand what Wayne had just said. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why would you need strength?” he asked.

  Wayne’s grin all but split his face. “In case Stephanie changes her mind about marrying Joel, of course. She’s going to need someone to console her,” he told the others, his grin turning into an almost moronic smile on his face. “Am I right, Ethan?” He looked over his shoulder at the only silent one in the group.

  “You, Wayne, are never right,” the man he had just addressed said good-naturedly. He moved his way to the front of the group. “As you can see,” he told Liz, “you came just in time.” He glanced at the inebriated group. “A few more minutes and I’m not sure if my friends could pour themselves into your Chariot.”

  She looked at the group uncertainly. Part of her was entertaining a bad feeling about this venture. “About that...”

  Anticipating her taking a pass on driving his friends and him home, Ethan quickly said, “Don’t worry, if one of them has an accident in your car, I’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

  She supposed that she couldn’t ask for more than that. After all, she didn’t want to seem unreasonable, and she had to admit that the guy who’d called her number, asking for a ride, was cute.

  Liz got out of her car and rounded the hood, then opened up the rear passenger door. “Then by all means, please get in,” Liz told the group.

  Her eyes met Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome’s vivid blue eyes just as he smiled at her. His dimples shot straight into her heart. “Thank you.”

  That was the second time he had thanked her tonight, and she still hadn’t done anything.

  Chapter Three

  The next moment, one of the would-be fares, Pete Jones, suddenly sank down and wound up sitting on the sidewalk. He looked as mystified as any of them to find himself in that position. He glared at his friends almost accusingly.

  “Hey, how come all you guys suddenly got so much taller than me?” he asked, slurring his words.

  The only sober-looking man in the group—the one Liz assumed had called her—leaned over his friend and pointed out, “We’re not taller, Pete. You’re sitting on the sidewalk.”

  “Oh.” Pete blinked, as if that helped him process the information. “Why am I doing that?” he asked. His bewildered question was punctuated with a hiccup.

  Oh dear Lord, what have I gotten myself into? Liz wondered, watching the group to see what would happen next.

  “My guess, Pete,” Ethan said as he took hold of his friend’s arm in order to help him up, “is that your legs couldn’t hold you up. Hey, Wayne, Jimmy—” he turned toward the other two men, who, in Liz’s estimation, looked just as inebriated as the man communing with the sidewalk “—a little help here?”

  “Sure,” the thinner of the duo answered, his tongue as thick as Pete’s. “What do you...do you want us...to do?” Hiccups broke up his phrasing.

  “Help me load Pete into the back of the Chariot,” Ethan told the two men.

  This man was being incredibly patient, Liz thought. More patient than she was feeling, but he was apparently doing the best he could to manage the situation, so she kept silent.

  For now.

  Rather than comply, Wayne and Jimmy turned to look at the vehicle with its wide-open rear passenger doors. Jimmy blinked again, as if he was trying to focus his eyes—or maybe his brain.

  “You mean you called this for us?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s a Chariot, and this lady is going to be driving us home,” he said as Pete’s knees buckled and he did something resembling a grand plié.

  “Her name—name’s Chariot?” Wayne questioned, displaying his first glimmer of interest in the driver.

  “No, that’s the car service,” Ethan answered. Struggling to hold Pete upright, Ethan looked apologetically at the driver. “They’re not usually like this,” he told her. “You wouldn’t know it, but they normally hold down very responsible positions in their fields.”

  “You’re right,” Liz answered. “I wouldn’t know it. Luckily, having a normal IQ is not a requirement in order to ride in a Chariot.” She looked uneasily at the man who Ethan had managed to get into an upright position. “He’s not going to throw up, is he?” Twice in one day was more than she should have to put up with.

  “Lord, I hope not.” Ethan looked at his inert friends. “Wayne, Jimmy, c’mon,” he urged, a sliver of impatience evident in his voice.

  Well, at least he’s human, Liz thought, continuing to watch the little floor show before her unfold.

  When Wayne and Jimmy looked blankly at the man who was struggling to hold their friend upright, Liz decided that this wasn’t going to go anywhere for at least another few minutes. His friends might well be intelligent, the way he claimed, but right now they were acting dumber than a bag of doorknobs.

  With a sigh, Liz circled around her vehicle and crossed toward Ethan and his uncooperative drunken friend. To Ethan’s apparent surprise, she leveraged her shoulder under Pete’s arm.

  “C’mon,” she told Ethan.

  The relief on Ethan’s face was indescribable. “This is definitely service above and beyond the call of duty. Thank you!” Ethan said, genuinely grateful.

  “No need to keep thanking me,” Liz told him. “I’m doing it so we can get going. I don’t want to be out here all night.” Her words were punctuated by muffled grunts as she helped Ethan maneuver his friend into the car.

  Pete seemed to suddenly come to life. “Oh wow...you smell...good!” He turned his head toward Liz. “Who are...are you?” he asked.

  Liz deliberately turned his face away from hers. Pete’s breath was practically suffocating her. “I’m your driver.”

  “She’s driving us home, Pete, so behave yourself,” Ethan said sternly, hoping that would be the end of it.

  Pete hiccuped, and for a second, it looked as if whatever he had just tasted was going to come back up. But then he swallowed. Elaborately.

  “You think we...we can...we can go the slow way home?” he asked, attempting what amounted to flirting with the driver.

  “Not a chance,” Liz answered, glancing at the two men who were still outside the car. They were obviously trying to prop one another up. “Are they going to need a special invitation?” she asked Ethan.

  Having gotten his friend into the vehicle, Ethan peered over his shoulder and realized who she was talking about. “Jimmy, Wayne, get into the car. Now!”

  �
�You don’t hafta sound like...like a drill sergeant. We’re comin’,” one of the men mumbled, although it was impossible to say which of them it was.

  Liz watched dubiously as the other two men piled almost comically into the back seat, each ineffectively trying to carve out a space for himself. The moment they were finally in, she closed the door and got in behind the wheel. Eager to leave and get this over with, Liz waited until Ethan was in the front passenger seat and had buckled up his seat belt.

  As she started up her car, Liz asked her only lucid fare, “You know their addresses, right? Because I don’t think any of these guys could find their way home on a bet right now.”

  Ethan laughed, grateful she hadn’t thrown up her hands and just left them in front of the bar. Given the way his friends were behaving, he really wouldn’t have blamed her if she had.

  “You’re probably right,” he agreed. “I’m sorry about them. If there’s any damage done to the vehicle, I’ll take care of it,” he assured her again.

  The beautiful driver who had come to their rescue looked at him somewhat apprehensively. “Exactly what do you mean by damage to the vehicle?”

  The question was no sooner asked than Pete began to make heaving noises.

  Liz frowned and looked back at Ethan. She had already had to clean out her car once today, and once was more than enough. “That better not be what I think it is.”

  “Pete... Pete...gets carsick when...when he’s not...sitting in the front,” Jimmy managed to get out, gulping in snatches of air.

  The idea of having the inebriated man sitting up front with her was definitely not what she had signed on for. But when she looked at the man who was sitting there now, he nodded his head, looking extremely sincere as well as apologetic.

  That meant that the guy who had spoken up in the back was probably right, Liz thought and sighed. “I suppose it’s worth a try. Put him in the front—but we’re driving him home first,” she specified.