His Firm Hand

by Shelly Douglas

  “Love you, too,” she responded quickly with a smile before gazing up at Paul. “I’m so glad we were here for her when she needed us.”

  “That’s what family is for, kiddo.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Why did you buy this for me? I love my car,” she whined as Paul led her by the hand outside. The used, bright red convertible Mazda Miata was a beautiful sports car, but as Michele peered into the open window, she noticed it was a manual and not an automatic transmission. She didn’t know how to drive a stick shift and was nervous about the purchase.

  “Okay, this was a bit of an extravagance, but I couldn’t help myself. I saw the ad on cars.com the other day and out of curiosity went to look at it in person. I must admit, it was definitely out of character for me to buy this car on the spot, but I’ve always wanted one of these beauties.”

  Michele looked at him, dumbfounded. “It sounds more like a gift for you than me. Do I get to swat your backside for going over budget?” she asked with an impish smile, crossing her arms. “I happen to know where you store that damn paddle.”

  “Watch your language, young lady. I was just in the mood to be impulsive and thought my girl would be excited to have something new.” He thought for a minute and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t like it, I can always sell it.”

  “No, it is a beauty, but why don’t you keep it for yourself?” she asked as they entered the car and got comfortable in the leather seats.

  “Because I think everyone should know how to operate a stick shift. You never know when it might come in handy.”

  Michele’s knuckles turned white as she tightly gripped the steering wheel. “My dad tried to teach me once. As you can imagine, it wasn’t exactly a happy ending.”

  “Well, we’re going to try to correct that. Maybe when we’re finished, you’ll understand why your dad encouraged you.”

  “But I already have a car,” Michele whined and thought for a moment.” “Oh, my God, have you listed my car to sell already?”

  “No, not yet. But just because you had a bad experience learning how to drive a stick shift, doesn’t mean history has to repeat itself. I’m sorry your dad made such a big commotion about you blowing out his clutch.”

  “Really? He told you that story?”

  He shrugged. “I think it was the first time we met.”

  “Yep, it’s definitely part of his collection of stories to show how uncoordinated I am. Hey, don’t they still have driving schools that offer this kind of behind-the-wheel instruction?”

  “Now you’re just being silly. It’s really easy once you get the hang of it. Okay, this pep talk is now officially over, so put your seatbelt on and start the engine.”

  She scanned the houses on the street through anxious eyes while securing her belt. “Why are all the neighbors looking out their windows?”

  “Obviously, I’m not the only one who thinks this red convertible is a beauty. Now will you please start the car?”

  Michele slowly rolled her eyes before complying, and the engine came to life.

  “Do you remember anything your dad taught you?” Paul asked in an even-keeled tone.

  “Yes. His extremely loud instruction to drift over to the side of the road so the tow truck could pick us up was memorable,” she deadpanned.

  “Aside from that,” Paul said, looking upward for divine help and inspiration.

  “I need to push down on the clutch to put the car in gear. But my leg is still weak from the fall,” she whimpered.

  “Besides your sprain happening a week ago and being minor, it didn’t involve the foot you need for the clutch. Come on, Michele, take a look at the knob. All the gear positions are on it. This car has five gears—and a reverse feature.”

  “Puhleeze, do we have to do this now, daddy? I’m hot and my tummy doesn’t feel so good.” Michele placed a shaky hand on the car handle, poised to open the door.

  Paul squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s go around the block a couple of times and then see how you feel. If you’re still uncomfortable when we get home, I can take your temperature, baby doll… or maybe you need an enema,” he teased, putting his hand to her belly.

  Michele glared at him before pressing down heavily on the clutch and putting the car in reverse.

  “Slowly release the clutch and gently accelerate the car at the same time,” Paul encouraged.

  “Look, my hands are all sweaty.” Michele dramatically flipped her hands upward.

  “I see that, my little drama princess. Wipe them on your jeans and continue, please.” Paul crossed his arms and smiled.

  Shaking her head with a snort, she put one hand back on the wheel and the other on the gear shift before accelerating. The engine roared like a lion, but the car didn’t move.

  “Uh, you need to let up on the clutch now, baby doll,” Paul reminded in a soft voice.

  Michele did as she was told, only too quickly, and the car lurched backward before stalling.

  “Shit. See, I told you I’m no good at this, and now the neighbors are clucking like a bunch of old hens!” She turned and pointed a finger at each individual window.

  “I really could do without the language, young lady,” he commented, quirking an eyebrow. “The same thing happens to most people when they first try to drive a stick shift. So turn the car on again, and this time, press the clutch down since you’re already in gear.”

  Michele grimaced, glared at Paul, and returned her attention back to the task at hand. This time she pushed down on the clutch, turned on the ignition, and eased back as she accelerated. The car slowly backed out of the driveway and onto the street.

  “Did you see that woman clapping? Jesus, I’m going to need a double martini after this.”

  Paul laughed. “Since it’s only Wednesday, we’ll change your order to a chocolate milkshake.”

  Her round face radiated with heat as she narrowed her eyes at him. “This is sooo humiliating.”

  “You’re doing great, Michele. Now just push the clutch back down, put the car in first gear, and accelerate. Then take the pressure off the clutch.”

  While following Paul’s directions she quietly muttered an obscenity under her breath, and the car slowly moved forward. “Hey, I’m doing it!” she screamed.

  “Good girl. Now just shift into second, so you can go faster.”

  “Are you kidding? Where’s second?”

  “Michele, don’t panic. Just like the diagram shows—second is straight down from first. Do what you’ve been doing, push in the clutch and pull back on the gear shift into second. It’s really easy.”

  “Easy for you,” Michele growled while making the attempt. As she did, a grinding noise emanated and Paul winced.

  “It’s okay, you just didn’t have it quite in gear, try again.”

  Stepping on the clutch, she pulled back on the shift and it slid into gear.

  “Now ease up on the clutch, and you’re good to go.”

  Michele nodded and sped up.

  “Great! Now we’re coming to a stop sign, and you have a couple of choices. You can downshift, or put the car in neutral and coast to a stop.”

  “Oh, my God, what in the hell are you talking about? I hate this!”

  “Settle down, you’re doing fine. And let us thank God right now that no one is at the intersection. Just push in the clutch, shift into neutral, and then brake. That’s the easiest for now.” Paul’s hand grabbed his chest and his right foot seemed to press onto an imaginary brake on the floor until Michele finally stopped. “See, I knew my girl could do it! Let’s keep going and take it into third gear!”

  Michele’s face was cherry red. “Does this car have air conditioning? I’m so hot.”

  “Hey, let’s put the top down. That’ll cool you off.” Paul hit the button and the top began to retract. Once it was secure, Paul told Michele to repeat what she’d just done and turn right. Now feeling a bit more confident, she effortlessly put the car into first gear and moved forward. In a few s
econds, Michele had shifted the car into third without hesitating.

  “I recalled more from my dad’s lesson than I’d thought. I only stalled the car twice!”

  “You did great!” he cheered. “See, Michele, like everything else you first learn how to do, driving a stick just takes practice.”

  As they stopped at the next stop sign, she angled her head and fluttered her eyelashes. “Did they teach you that theory in med school?”

  “As much as you complained, I could tell by the sparkle in your baby blues that you enjoyed tackling something new.”

  “Now you read eye expressions. What’s next, tea leaves?”

  “I do enjoy the spunk, but let’s keep your sass to a simmer. I’m sure the neighbors would love to get an eyeful of a grown woman receiving a spanking over my knee in her new car.”

  “I don’t think this sports car is big enough for that,” Michele muttered under her breath as they approached the corner of her street. She noticed about ten people waiting for them to return to their driveway. “What are all those nosy people doing on our front lawn?”

  “I’m not sure,” Paul responded. “But try not to hit them when you pull in, kitten.”

  “I see you’re also a comedian. How versatile of you.” Michele pulled into the driveway, put the car in neutral, and stepped on the emergency brake. She slammed her body back into the seat and let out a huge sigh of relief.

  All the neighbors on the lawn applauded as Paul reached over to give her a warm, strong hug.

  “Hey, how’d she do? We thought for sure this little ride was going to end your marriage,” their next-door neighbor called out facetiously.

  “If they only knew you were teaching your teenager to drive,” she whispered to Paul.

  “Uh huh. Daddy needs to rest now.” He patted her knee and slumped down in the seat as the crowd looked on and laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, what do you think about going to the Kurlses’ Halloween bash on Saturday as Donald and Ivanka Trump?” Paul asked with a glint in his eyes.

  “I’m okay with the famous father and daughter bit, but weren’t we only supposed to do this age-play thing during the week?” Michele countered.

  “Honestly, it won’t take much to pull off ‘The Donald.’ I have suits and ties, but will have to figure out how to imitate his distinctive hairstyle. You on the other hand might experience a bigger challenge to emulate Ivanka.”

  “Because you don’t think I’m stunning?” Michele’s lip formed an exaggerated pout.

  Paul walked across the living room and sat next to his wife on the couch. “You’re gorgeous, but—”

  “This is going to cost you,” Michele warned, looking through amused but narrowed eyes. “Tomorrow, I’ll see if Marsha is available to head over to Nordstrom with me after work. If it’s Ivanka you want, it’s Ivanka you’re going to get!”

  Paul’s eyebrows drew together as his lips stretched horizontally. “Nordstrom? Uh-oh, maybe I should have suggested Bill and Chelsea Clinton.”

  * * *

  Michele phoned Marsha the next morning before class. “I need your help, girlfriend. Are you available to shop with me after school today?”

  “And good morning to you, too,” Marsha said before exhaling a loud, audible yawn. “Let me guess. You need a costume for our party tomorrow?”

  “Paul wants us to go as Donald and Ivanka Trump.”

  “Oh, I get it, a father/daughter duo. That’s pretty clever given your current living arrangement. You should definitely hit him up for a million or two while you’re at it,” she joked, pausing for a response. “Come on, that was funny, and you’re not laughing.”

  “Sorry, my brain is on overdrive with shopping possibilities. So, can you meet me at Nordstrom around four and help me pick out some things?”

  “Not only do you have great taste, but that store has a full collection of her shoes and handbags. She even has her own fragrance line.” Marsha paused again for a moment to think. “Hey, did Paul give you a spending limit, because this little excursion could get pricey!”

  “Not really, but he knows I have my heart set on winning the best-dressed prize.”

  “Oh, this is going to be fun.” Marsha giggled. “I’ll meet you at four sharp in the shoe department.”

  * * *

  At the end of the day, Michele walked through the revolving door, pleased to see a friendly, excited face. “I was tired when I left school, but the textile aroma in this store has instantly energized me.”

  Marsha nodded. “I figured you might be exhausted after a full day of teaching, so I got here a little early to do a reconnaissance and mapped out a plan. Tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll point you in the exact direction.”

  Counting on her fingers, Michele replied, “I need a dress, high-heeled shoes, a handbag, and expensive-looking jewelry. And if it’s going to be chilly tomorrow night, I’ll probably need a cape. Let’s start with the shoes and work our way up. Black-strapped stilettos should go with anything, right?”

  An hour and a half later, Michele stood in front of a three-way mirror and examined the back of her skin-tight jersey mini dress. “What do you think of the transformation, so far?”

  “Oh, my God, Paul isn’t going to believe it. Except for your height and hair, you could pass as Ivanka’s twin. Which reminds me, we need to find you a blond wig, and I know just the place to shop for it.”

  “You don’t think I went overboard, do you? I just spent an awful lot of money for a Halloween costume.”

  “Michele, think about it. The dress, handbag, and shoes can all be used again. As far as the wig goes—you’re on your own with that one. Although it might come in handy someday for a little role play.” Marsha winked. “Our next stop should be accessories and then onward to the jewelry department. Some of Ivanka’s pieces actually look real.”

  “I want to surprise him, not be the cause of a heart attack,” Michele said, crossing her eyes.

  * * *

  “How’d it go?” Paul asked, staring down at the armload of packages Michele carried through the front door. “I’m beginning to think shopping for a costume party with Marsha might not have been such a sound fiscal idea. Were you using a credit card or did you rob a bank, princess?”

  “May I remind you that this was your idea? You wanted me look stunning like Ivanka, remember?”

  “Were those my words, or yours?” Taking the packages out of her hands, Paul raised an eyebrow, but Michele stomped her foot as he started rummaging through them.

  “Hey, I wanted to surprise you!”

  “I didn’t think a preview would hurt, but if you continue that little dance of yours, something else might be smarting,” he warned with a gleam in his eyes. “Not to change the subject, but I’ve been trying to perfect the Donald Trump comb-over hairstyle for the last hour, and I don’t seem to be making any progress.”

  Michele stood back with a finger poised under her chin. “First, we need to work on the color.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Good try, but you know exactly what I’m talking about,” she replied with hands on her hips.

  “Michele, are you suggesting we dye my hair? I have a patient scheduled for tomorrow,” he said with a look of terror on his face.

  “Oh, come on, it’s Halloween. And we can always dye it back on Sunday if you want. Of course, you’re going to lose that sexy, distinguished salt-and-pepper color that I love.”

  “Maybe I should have it professionally dyed tomorrow—”

  But before he finished his sentence, Michele grabbed Paul’s hand and led him to the upstairs bathroom. Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, Paul watched as his wife casually opened the cabinet door and searched through her haircare products. “Ahh, I have just what we’re looking for. Remember when I dyed my hair blond last summer? Well, it’s your lucky day, because it seems I bought an extra box.”

  “But that color stayed in your hair for weeks. Don�
�t they have rinses that aren’t permanent?” Paul took the package out of her hands and read the label with a suspicious expression.

  “Now you’re a color specialist, Dr. Fazio? Come on, take off your shirt, and let’s get started.”

  Pulling the T-shirt over his head, Paul sat down on the closed toilet with a worried look on his face.

  “I’m going to apply the dye first and let it set into your hair for about twenty-five minutes, then I’ll shampoo it out.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Stop worrying. I’ve done this dozens of times, and it always comes out fine,” Michele said convincingly, as she carefully applied the hair color with a plastic bottle and massaged it in.

  “There, I’m all done. Now relax for a while and read a good book. I’ll set the timer and when it rings, we’ll uncover our masterpiece. In the meantime, I’m going to go through my shopping bags and put together a sexy outfit for the party.”

  Humming cheerfully, Michele walked into their bedroom and pulled her purchases from the bags. Expecting the next noise in the house to be a buzzer, she stiffened upon hearing a shriek from the bathroom. Immediately dropping her new handbag on the bed, Michele ran down the hallway.

  “Paul, what happened? Are you okay?” She rounded the corner and saw her husband standing in front of the mirror with his mouth gaping open.

  “Gaaaah! It’s orange! My hair isn’t blond… it’s orange!” he screamed while his feet danced as though they were walking on hot burning embers. “What in the hell happened?”

  Michele approached him from behind with a hand over her mouth as she stifled a giggle. “Oh, my God, let me look at something.” Picking up the package of hair dye, she silently studied the instructions and shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it worked differently on my hair because it’s a much lighter color than yours.”

  “What am I supposed to do now?”

  Michele stood back and paused before answering. “Donald Trump’s hair has been known to carry a bit of an orange tint, so let’s rinse this out and see how it looks.”