Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight

by Ann Mauren

  “But I thought you were really into Sam. What happened? Did you two break up?”

  Like I wouldn’t know if that had happened, I corrected myself, too late.

  His smile was mischievous now as the light turned green and he refocused on traffic again. Answering my observation and not my question he said, “Oh, I am…but I’ve been thinking that there’s something about you…” he chuckled and then continued, “and I’d like to figure out what it is.”

  I didn’t like that, so now I went on the offensive.

  “It’s called being backwards and lame, Trevor, and you know it. I am soooo not your type—unless backstabbing and selfish is your type. Why are you messing with me like this?”

  Where was this angry courage coming from? I prayed it stayed with me through the next passenger stop. And then I froze with fright. What if he wasn’t getting Sam next after all? What if the next stop was school and we showed up together and somebody saw us?

  I was feeling desperate. I wondered how badly it would hurt to jump out of a moving car. I started to pay anxious attention to where we were now, hoping for another red light. It was a tremendous relief to see the familiar sight of Sam’s neighborhood coming up.

  Trevor didn’t answer my question about his motivations so I took some more offensive steps.

  “You know what, Trevor? It doesn’t matter why you’re messing with me. Just don’t mess with Sam, okay? She’s the best friend I’ve ever had and I’m not about to go behind her back. She means too much to me and….well, I thought…she meant a lot to you too.”

  I said all this while monitoring our too slow progress down the street from my window in the back.

  I gambled with a look up into the mirror and there was this satisfied look on his face that seemed wrong for the moment. I thought he should look worried…but then, I couldn’t imagine what that would look like. The car bumped unevenly from side to side as we slowly pulled up and in to her driveway.

  She was too cool to be waiting outside, but thankfully she had been close to the door and stepped right out once we had pulled in. As Sam approached I realized I was feeling all guilty and this must have clearly shown because Trevor was chuckling again as he examined me through the mirror. It’s funny how you can go from admiring someone to despising them so quickly. I felt disappointed. I really wanted to admire him. Now I was going to feel negative and stressed out all the time because he was always everywhere I wanted to be these days.

  As Sam approached the car I could see her assessing the seating arrangement with some amusement, and a touch of …smugness? She surprised me by passing up the shotgun seat in front and joining me in the back seat.

  Why should I be surprised? I asked myself.

  She was always very good to me, better than I deserved. And at least for the moment, Trevor hadn’t changed that about her. But what if she got wind of our recent conversation still floating like smog inside the car?

  “Are you satisfied, now?” she asked as she situated her things next to mine.

  There was a smile in her voice but my eyes were closed, my head turned completely away trying to will off the inappropriately nocent (guilty) expression from my face.

  Thinking she was talking to me, I was about to answer, though I don’t know what, when Trevor turned around stretching out his very thick right arm across the bench seat, fingers drumming, as he backed out of the drive and said, “Yeah, you were right…and I’m very…satisfied.”

  There was definitely a smile in his voice; it matched the one on his face, which I snapped around to look at.

  Oh no!

  “What were you right about?!?”

  My desperate overtone embarrassed me as I looked back and forth between them.

  “Trevor wanted to know want kind of friend you are to me, which, just so you know, was never in any doubt. But since he can’t seem to resist a wager, I thought we’d profit from your good qualities. He’ll be buying our lunches for the rest of the year,” she said, all smugness now as she turned and said that last part directly to him.

  “It’ll be my pleasure. Hey, it’s better than paying for an emergency room visit,” he laughed out loud and continued, “Seriously, she looked like she was going to have a heart attack.”

  I was still in despising mode.

  “Well I’m glad I amuse you. But I doubt I’ll be hungry for lunch today.”

  Or any day.

  I wanted to be mad, but mostly I just felt relieved. Sam reached over and patted my hand. I pulled it away like a baby.

  “Are you mad at me?” she asked in an incredulous but solicitous way.

  I was back to staring out my side of the car and said, “No…just…no more tests, okay?”

  Because I can dish it out with anonymous security personnel, but I’m nowhere near big enough to take it…

  Chapter 11 – Instructor

  Samantha was out of town for the weekend. It was a Saturday afternoon in October and I was feeling adventurous so I accepted my mom’s invitation to accompany her to her favorite grocery store, Kroger. With my social life on hold until Monday, it seemed like a good option.

  One of my pet peeves was to hear people refer to it as ‘Krogers’. Did these same folks also go shopping at Targets or Wal-Marts?

  I hadn’t been “Krogering” in forever. I think maybe the last time I had, the cashier presented me with a small round “I’ve been Krogering” happy-face sticker, which I’d accepted with interest and pleasure. This I would then affix to my hand, or the cart, or my mom’s butt if she wasn’t looking.

  Mom was usually a solo shopper. It was kind of her thing that she enjoyed doing all alone. Even when I went with her it was like watching her on hidden camera. She would forget that I was standing there and become deeply preoccupied with her decision-making and bargain hunting.

  Sometimes I felt really sad that I had never known either of my grandmas. But I was confident that my mom’s shopping technique must surely be reminiscent of her own mother or grandmother’s purchasing style and economic frame of reference, and so in this way I enjoyed a connection to my female ancestry after all.

  Instead of just buying the brands that were consistently good, she would switch around every week and purchase the items that were on sale. Even twenty-five cents would be a deal breaker—disqualifying Jiff Peanut Butter in favor of Skippy Peanut Butter for the week. Because even though my mom was a “Choosy Mom”, she didn’t always choose Jiff. It seemed to me that the pricing manager at corporate headquarters was doing the choosing for her, and by extension, Hoyt and me.

  Five minutes into the first aisle, with twenty more to go—aisles, not minutes—I remembered why this was something I never did with her. And that I had misinterpreted my own mood. Accepting her offer to accompany wasn’t adventurous; it was masochistic. I decided to take my leave and head for the magazine and book aisle. On my way there I passed the customer service desk which was flanked on either side by wide cork backed bulletin board material which was pricked with numerous advertisements and notifications. Beside offers for kittens and babysitters and motor homes there was a posting that caught my eye—something that had been on my mind recently.

  I pulled away at one of the few remaining conveniently perforated strips of paper on the bottom of the poster that contained the phone number and website for Green Light Driving School and put it in my pocket. Then I grabbed a ‘People’ magazine and paperback for good measure and headed to the seasonal aisle, settling into a wicker outdoor furniture display for the long haul.

  It was Wednesday afternoon, the following week, and I had just been dropped off by the Trevor Transit System. I ran upstairs to my bathroom to freshen up, all the while listening for the doorbell because the timing was very tight. The man from the driving school was supposed come any minute.

  I had just finished redoing my ponytail when the chime of the bell broke through the silence in the first floor hallway. I ran down the stairs and pulled open the door. The person standing ther
e was nothing like I expected, and this must have been plain on my face.

  The beautiful, exceedingly well dressed black-haired supermodel standing in front of me gave a reassuring smile and said, “You must be Ms. Mayne,” holding out her hand, which was apparently magnetic because my own hand drifted toward hers, with no command from me to do so, to shake it.

  “I’m Lidia, your driving instructor,” she explained.

  She seemed genuinely pleased to be there. Her accent was very slight, but possibly Italian?

  What? Since when do they send a model from the Victoria’s Secret catalog to teach kids how to drive?

  I glanced over her shoulder to examine the car in the driveway. It matched her; it was some kind of expensive looking SUV, and European, like her. She followed my eyes and understood the silent question there.

  “Regular vehicle’s in the shop. We’ll be using my car this week—unless you’d rather wait for the Hyundai?” she added, with a sardonic tone.

  I shook my head, still staring at the car. There was a brief pause. Then finally she asked, “Do you have your I.D.?”

  Wordlessly, still looking past her at the car, I held up the card where it was being stored in my left hand.

  “Okay then…let’s get going.”

  Her words were flavored with a mixture of uncertainty and amusement. She turned and I followed, shutting the door behind me. I felt a huge release when she made her way to the driver’s side. This meant that she was going to take me to some place wide open and safe, instead of making me drive myself there.

  I got in the shotgun seat and took the opportunity to study, identify and familiarize myself with the various mechanisms and buttons on the dash. I knew it would be infinitely harder to do that later while trying to drive at the same time. She seemed to realize what I was doing and smiled with approval.

  Lidia reached up to grasp her seatbelt, and I copied her motion doing the same on my side. After harnessing up, we just sat there for a minute, not looking at each other. Then she turned to me and said, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” with that subtle accent draped around her words in the most appealing way.

  With raised eyebrows and a slight up and down tilting of my chin I indicated that she should proceed. But what could she possibly want to know?

  “Do you…speak?” she asked, gravely serious.

  This jarred me back to my senses and I couldn’t help myself but to laugh out loud. Then I replied, “Yeah, when I’m not being idiotic, I speak…I’m sorry.”

  This answer seemed to please her and she gave me a huge smile. Then she ventured, “You’re probably just a little nervous?”

  “That’s an understatement. I’ve never driven before, and I’m not…I mean…I don’t play video games so I’ve never pretended to drive either…” I paused and then added, “Actually, I’m so nervous I think I might have a stroke.”

  I laughed nervously. It felt good to confess.

  She started the engine and began backing out.

  “No. You won’t have a stroke, but I think you might have some fun. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad happen. And by the time we’re finished, you’ll be the best driver you know, besides me, of course,” she assured me with a smile.

  I did start to feel instantly better. Could she teach me to be awesome like her too?

  We made our way to the old K-Mart plaza, now just empty retail space for lease, with its huge and deserted parking lot. She guided the car to the center, far away from any obstacles like curbs or buildings. Then she began with a verbal tour of the controls—explaining their names and functions—like the ignition, the gearshift, the mirrors, the turn signal and wipers, gas and brake pedals, and most importantly, the stereo. Then it was time to switch seats and get down to business.

  My maiden voyage (no pun intended) at the helm was much less frightening than I had imagined it would be. She was right, I had to admit, it was kind of fun. After I had driven back and forth across the lot so many times I lost count she asked, “How do you feel about going live, on the street?”

  “No main streets, right? Just side streets and neighborhoods to start with?” I pleaded, too much desperation in my tone.

  She smiled and said, “You’re the boss. Do you know which way to go from here?”

  In fact I did. We weren’t all that far from Samantha’s place. I decided to head in that direction. I knew a back way into her neighborhood from here. I was taking it very slow and easy, and fortunately for my nerves, the streets weren’t busy. Though I knew where I was, it was still oddly disorienting to be viewing things from behind the wheel. My normal view of the world, while traveling by car, was almost always from a side window, in the back seat.

  We were closing in on Sam’s street when I realized that there was a car on my tail, almost literally. From my side mirror, I could see that it was uncomfortably close. If I so much as tapped the breaks it would rear-end us.

  I looked in the rearview mirror for the first time and felt a spasm of embarrassment. It was Trevor. He was smiling hugely at the reflection of my frightened eyes in the mirror.

  “Now what’s up with this jerk?” Lidia clipped, as she turned full around to glare at him.

  “Uh…it’s okay. I know him from school,” I explained, trying unsuccessfully to diffuse her irritation at my favorite guy in the world. She turned and looked at me.

  “You know him?” she asked, a little incredulous.

  I nodded and sped up a bit. He backed off once he’d gotten my attention and whatever reaction he was hoping for.

  “So is he late for his job at the circus or what?” she asked, still irritated.

  I laughed. Yeah, I guess he deserved that. I’d have to tell him about it tomorrow at school…on second thought, no…I wouldn’t.

  “He’s on his way to my friend Samantha’s house, I think. Guess I was holding him up.”

  Samantha’s house was still several blocks away and apparently he’d had his fun. He sped up to pass me on the left, looking my way the entire time, still grinning. I could feel the waves of displeasure radiating from the passenger seat as he sped by. I ignored them both as best I could and concentrated on the road ahead.

  My driving lessons with Lidia continued on Thursday and Friday. I advanced from side roads to main roads, and then on to Interstate travel. When we reconvened on Monday, we worked on my downtown navigation skills including four-way stop etiquette and one-way traffic rules. Then we hit a café for an espresso while we went over the questions on the State’s written driving exam. Tuesday was devoted to vehicle maintenance and I finished our session having changed the oil and a tire on my Jeep from start to finish without any help. My final lesson was to be on Wednesday. I had mentioned the week before that she could come earlier on Wednesday, if she wanted, because it was a Teacher In Service Day and I didn’t have school. She seemed to appreciate being given that option and made plans to pick me up early.

  Wednesday morning was beautiful, cool and clear. It was about time for her to arrive and I checked outside for the third time because I wanted to step right out once she arrived so she wouldn’t have to get out of the car.

  As I was watching out for her I noticed a car coming down the street and laughed to myself. It was a Corvette! It was cherry red and sexy looking and way out of context on our street. Every one of our neighbors was retired and drove Japanese sedans in metallic finishes of one sort or another. It seemed that the driver of this muscle car was obviously lost—until it slowed in front of our yard and pulled into our driveway!

  No way!

  But sure enough, I could see that it was Lidia, looking exactly right behind the wheel. And then it occurred to me: in the not too distant future it would be me sitting behind the wheel, looking exactly wrong! It was a stroke to my ego, though, to realize that she actually trusted me enough to use a car like this to prepare for my driving test. I practically skipped over to the passenger side and hopped
in.

  I was completely jazzed, yet feeling a little perverse as well, so as I was getting in I asked as innocently as I could, “Is this the Hyundai?”

  Her reaction was priceless. I knew it was a terrible affront—that was the fun. I could tell that something deeply sarcastic must have been ready on her lips, but in a highly controlled act of suppression she smiled, shooting me a sideways glance and said, “You’re very funny.”

  Apparently my acting hadn’t fooled her. I was positive there was nothing that could.

  “So, do you have to be back by a certain time today?” she inquired.

  After making a joke like that, she was still asking about spending extra time with me?

  Miraculous!

  “No, just in time for dinner, I guess.”

  It was 8:00 a.m. I was delusional if I thought she’d spend all day with me. Surely she had a photo shoot or a lunch date with a rock star to attend to at some point in the day.

  “Okay, that should be enough time. I’ve made special arrangements for us at a unique driving course. But it’s a bit of a ride up Interstate 71. Are you okay with that?”

  How could I not be?

  “S-s-sure…I’m good.”

  Actually, I was better than good. This was unbelievable. During our time in the car over the last week, Lidia had explained quite a bit to me about cars and the differences between them. Why some cars were more desirable than others, which were her favorites and the incredibly long list of makes she had driven. She was definitely in a position to opinionate—having driven nearly every kind of car ever made. She was a car encyclopedia and historian. And as her worshipful protégé, I absorbed her enthusiasm for all things automotive like a sponge. The drive north was entirely consumed with details about the specifications, features and benefits of the Corvette ZR1.

  Lidia’s interpretation of ‘a bit up 71’ meant a drive that took us half way to Cincinnati. As we finally exited the highway an hour later and turned onto a side road, we passed a sign that said “Kentucky Speedway”, and I felt a hint of nausea lapping at my stomach when I realized what she meant by ‘unique driving course.’