Fender Bender Blues

by Niecey Roy

  And the advertisement had read “competitive wages,” which was more than the slave labor of eight dollars an hour she’d been offered at Copy Masters.

  “I gotta go,” Rach said, reaching for the front door. “Tally’s doing the potty dance.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rach signed her name to the bottom of the application then stood, feeling overdressed as another Dexler employee passed by in jeans and a t-shirt. She handed the app to the receptionist, confident she had this job in the bag. She doubted many employees at the call center had a Bachelor’s degree—most appeared to be college students or retirement age.

  She beamed a bright smile at the receptionist who responded with a blank stare. Rach’s smile wavered. “I’ve finished filling out my application.”

  The brunette slapped the app down on the desk and Rach jumped, startled. She turned back to the computer screen, dismissing Rach as if she were a mere fly on the wall.

  Rach counted to five. After all, she knew what it was like to have a bad day. Maybe she’d interrupted her online chat session or something. It was fine, she could wait.

  A minute went by and still nothing.

  So, being the patient person she was, Rach leaned forward and said, “Hello…” She craned her neck to read the woman’s nametag, “Jackie?”

  “Can I help you?” Jackie seethed with glaring brown eyes set under crinkled brows.

  Rach dropped the smile. It wasn’t working and her face hurt from trying. She attempted reason instead. “Um, yes, I just handed you my application and I was wondering if you could tell me if there is a supervisor here I could speak with?”

  Jackie bared her teeth in what Rach assumed was an attempt at a smile. “I am the supervisor.”

  “Uh, okay, um, great,” Rach stuttered and adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder. “So do you have time to take a quick look at my app?”

  She glanced at the clock. In under thirty minutes she’d managed to offend the receptionist, who claimed she was a supervisor, and seemed to hate Rach’s guts. Nice. They hadn’t even said one word to each other the entire time Rach sat filling out the application. She had no idea what she’d done wrong.

  Jackie lost the jackal grin. “Wow, you really have no idea who I am, do you?”

  Rach gave her face a thorough search, hoping to shake free a memory. She came up with nothing.

  “I’m sorry, do we know each other?” She was hesitant to ask. Any memory they shared couldn’t be a good one judging from the hostile eye-balling. A foreboding knot developed in the pit of her stomach and Rach swallowed hard.

  “We did,” Jackie said through tight lips. “Haven’t seen you in ten years. Funny to meet you here, looking for a…phone job.”

  Okay, so a call center wasn’t the same as, say, owning a successful business, and it wasn’t performing surgery or feeding the starving children of Africa, but Rach didn’t think an employee should degrade a job to another potential employee. In her opinion, that was bad business. Seeing as she was the one on the other side of the counter, though, Rach adopted the smile again, hoping to impress the angry receptionist with her warm personality and professionalism. It was time to try a little charm. “Yeah, funny meeting you here…”

  Jackie sneered and said, “Yeah, real funny.”

  And suddenly it dawned on her—Jackie in the Box, everybody-gets-a-crank. Not the most original of jokes but the high school football team hadn’t been very clever. Their feud had begun senior year when Leah had picked up the broken pieces of Jackie’s ex-boyfriend. She gave him a shoulder to cry on when he’d found out Jackie had slept with one of his friends—and then half the football team—and the heartbroken boy had swiftly fallen in love with the beautiful, kind, pixie-faced Leah who was the complete opposite of the bitchy, pushy, mean cheerleader Jackie with a chip on her shoulder. She hadn’t taken kindly to her ex-boyfriend moving on to something better and in retaliation she’d chosen to make Leah’s life hell. Rach, being the loyal friend she was, had made it her mission to protect Leah from Jackie’s snotty attacks. Jackie then turned all her high school torture tactics onto Rach for having the nerve to stick up to her.

  Senior year hadn’t been a walk in the park. She remembered all the name-calling, the dumped lunch trays, the nasty notes left on her locker for all the students to walk by and snicker at and the pregnancy rumors. The clearest memory was of Jackie and her cheerleader minions chanting “fire-crotch bitch” after a football game. The name stuck and Rach became “Fire Crotch” the rest of senior year. She hadn’t let it get to her…too often. Being a redhead she’d endured lots of tacky name calling. She’d been able to tune most of it out and after graduation she’d gone on her merry way, not giving Jackie another thought.

  “Well, you look great,” Rach chirped. A lie and they both knew it. Jackie the Cheerleader had turned into Jackie the Overweight Angry Receptionist. She was still pretty, but not with her face screwed up into a homicidal expression. “Well, you have a great day. I look forward to hearing from you about the job!”

  She walked out the double glass door with Jackie’s sneered, “Don’t hold your breath,” following in her wake.

  Her dad’s car gleamed under the bright, sunny sky and was easy to spot in the sea of modern vehicles. She supposed with so much time on her hands she could keep her promise and wash her dad’s car. She still needed to pick the Buster’s bag off the floor.

  Which made her think of Craig. Did he feel bad for kissing her then acting like a creep about it? Probably not. She didn’t peg him as a guy with a ton of feelings, especially not ones in which he felt remorse for anything he did. She doubted he’d lost any sleep or sold any fewer cars because of it.

  And thinking of cars...

  The next task on her To-Do list was to find out what was going on with her car. She dialed the body shop from her cell phone and it was answered on the second ring.

  “Dick’s Repair, You Crash It We Patch It.”

  She rolled her eyes—everything was a damn slogan anymore. “I’m calling to find out if the estimate’s been done on my car.”

  “Can I get your name?” the man barked through the phone. She winced and eased it away from her ear.

  “Rachel Bennett.” She turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. She longed for a nice, quiet car with a CD player. Life was dull without Prince to keep her company. Her dad had offered to let her borrow his eight track collection, but the idea of cruising the streets listening to Rush was more disturbing than the cool her dad thought it was.

  “Oh…” The ominous tone to his voice made Rach pause in her move to grab the sunglasses off the seat beside her. How was it possible for one word to sound like Doomsday?

  “What?” she asked, snatching her shades up and slipping them over her eyes. She checked the rearview mirror, looked right and left, checked her side mirrors, and backed out of the parking stall, her dad’s words of warning playing like a broken record in her mind, “You better not wreck my car!”

  “Well, Pete finished the estimate...”

  In his hesitation to elaborate, Rach asked, “And?”

  “And there’s a problem.”

  Unconsciously she gunned the engine and whipped out into traffic, cutting off a minivan. The driver swore and flipped her off, and Rach gave an apologetic wave out the window.

  “So what’s wrong with it?” she asked.

  If he didn’t get to the point soon, she would scream. Ever since the fender bender, nothing had gone in her favor. Now the guy at Dick’s Repair who sounded like he’d eaten gravel for breakfast was giving her the runaround. I’m not taking this crap today!

  “When you wrecked your car you cracked your radiator,” he stated.

  “I was hit, someone hit me,” Rach interrupted, letting the embellishment spill in the heat of the moment.

  “—and you broke the alternator bracket—’’

  “I didn’t break it, the guy who hit me broke it,” she stressed, swinging
into the Buster Burger drive-thru. She needed burger therapy. “This day is a nightmare.”

  “Yeah, uh, sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “And not to mention the entire front clip and the driver’s side fender needs replaced. Also, the motor mounts in the engine compartment were busted.”

  “Anything else?” she asked, unable to mask the sarcasm.

  “Nope, that’s it,” he said, far too cheerful for Rach’s taste.

  “Welcome to Buster Burger, may I take your order?” the intercom asked her. Rach didn’t need to consult the menu, she knew what she needed.

  “Hold on a sec,” she told the man, then told the intercom, “I need a Bacon Explosion Burger, please.”

  “Would you like a meal?” the intercom asked.

  “Large meal, large soda, large everything, please.” She rolled forward in the drive-thru and asked the man who had further ruined her day, “How much will this cost me?”

  “Oh, it won’t cost you anything,” he assured in a cheerful lilt. “I talked to your insurance company already and you got full coverage.”

  Rach took a deep breath and gripped the 70’s pimp steering wheel cover, her knuckles turning white against the blue fuzz. “So how much is this going to cost my insurance company?”

  Corrupt bastards, she seethed. Of course they’d found a million things wrong with her vehicle after calling her insurance company to verify coverage.

  “The damages add up to about four thousand bucks—and that’s if we don’t find anything else wrong with it.”

  Rach cringed. Was her car even worth that much? “Are you serious? That can’t be possible, my car’s a relic! They want to fix it?”

  If she sounded panicked, it was because she was. Why couldn’t they just total it? She’d been dreaming of a new car. Something that wouldn’t be on its last leg as hers had been right before the fender bender.

  Rach handed a ten dollar bill to the woman on the other side of the window who didn’t look up as she punched in another order on her touch screen and couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the woman in the Buster’s visor. She had a job and she was smiling. It was a safe bet the woman wasn’t driving her dad’s car or contemplating moving in with her parents. Rach wondered if Buster Burger had insurance benefits.

  She moved on to the second window of the drive-thru.

  “Oh yes, they agreed to have us fix the car,” he said, using a greasy tone he probably used with all the women customers he probably pushed around.

  The next woman in a Buster Burger visor looked surprised and offended when Rach unintentionally snatched the paper bag out of her hand. Rach gushed, “I’m sorry.” But the woman shut the window in her face. To the man on the phone, Rach said, “I’ll be calling my insurance company. Don’t touch my car.”

  She hung up on him before he could argue and dialed her dad. He would know what to do.

  ****

  Glen Bennett’s idea of taking the situation into his own capable hands was to expose Dick’s Repair for the scum they were via letter to the editor of the newspaper or by personal confrontation. Rach listened to his thirty minute tirade on the corruption of the body shops in America and the insurance scandals. Though she wasn’t sure she’d heard of any such scandal, she did understand what he meant when he said, “Those low-down, no good thieves at Dick’s Repair aren’t going to screw with my daughter. You need to get your car and take it somewhere else.”

  She was in wholehearted agreement that something needed to be done.

  After promising to call her insurance company ASAP she hung up and called Leah who didn’t care to hear about her insurance woes. She wanted to talk about Rick. Again.

  She considered putting out an ad titled Best Friend Needed and declined an invitation to dinner, dreading the idea of listening to their cuddly-wuddly, lovey-dovey talk throughout an hour-long meal. There was also the possibility Craig would “coincidentally” show up. After the shitty day she’d had—which she considered his fault by association—she was in no mood to face him. Today he was probably cruising around town in another hot car handpicked from the dealership he worked for, while she was driving a boat with dual exhaust to announce her arrival from blocks away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Craig sat at his desk reviewing a new advertising campaign when Maggie strutted inside, a wide smile on her lips and a small brown paper bag in hand. He gave her a short nod and bit back a frown.

  “Hello again,” she purred. He turned away as she bent over his desk to put down the bag. “I brought you a sandwich and some soup. Kathy mentioned you haven’t gone out yet today.”

  His stomach rumbled in response. “Thanks Maggie. You didn’t have to do that.”

  She smiled and perched on the edge of his desk and leaned in, giving him a view of cleavage under the plunging neckline of her blouse. Her hair was swept up into a twist on the top of her head and the light reflected off the flaxen locks. There was no stir of sexual interest, no excitement at the smell of her perfume—nothing. The fragrance was too bold, not like the soft floral scent of Rach’s perfume. He blinked, wondering why his thoughts had gone to her.

  “Of course I did,” she said with a perfect pout. He pictured her practicing the expression in the mirror. “I couldn’t let you starve.”

  This needs to end. He rolled his ballpoint pen between his fingers, contemplating the best way to address the issue. Sitting up straight, he motioned for her to sit in a chair in front of his desk.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Maggie. I’d like to speak to you about something.”

  She lifted her brows in question, but sat down in the chair. Craig moved the sandwich aside with the end of the pen cap. God, he was starving. Would it be heartless to stuff his face with the sandwich she’d delivered after he told her to take a hike?

  “Oh? Is it about this media mess? Craig, you know I’m here for you…any time, day or night. I knew you’d need a sympathetic ear, and you know how I love listening to you, whatever you have to say.”

  He ran his hand through his hair and tried again. “No, no, that’s not it. I thought I’d let you know…”

  Fuck, he should have rehearsed.

  “Yes?” she asked and trailed a finger across the back of his hand. He moved it out of her reach to run it through his hair.

  Had she no idea she was coming on too strong? So different than Rach who would rather throw herself in front of a bus than at him. Except for last night when he’d kissed her. The memory of the feel of her hair between his fingers and her soft, supple mouth against his caused him to suck in a breath. She’d melted with ease into his arms and settled snug against his body…

  “I really think you need to get this off your chest, talk with someone who understands. Let’s have dinner tonight. My place. I’ll cook you that pasta in the mushroom cream sauce you like. We’ll come up with a solution to this lawsuit together,” she suggested.

  He straightened in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, suspicion seeping in. Every time she came to his office, she insisted on bringing him news about the lawsuit. It was almost as if she enjoyed the mess the dealership was in.

  “I have dinner plans already,” he lied and her eyes narrowed. “I’m meeting a friend.”

  Craig didn’t plan on making the dinner he’d been invited to, but Maggie didn’t need to know that. Being the third wheel on Rick and Leah’s date wasn’t his idea of a fun night. He wondered what Rach was doing since she’d declined the dinner invitation as well. Reaching down to rub his bruised shin, he chuckled. If he hadn’t been so quick to back up she might have laid him out in the middle of the street.

  “What in God’s name is so funny?” Maggie asked with narrowed eyes.

  Craig blinked her back into focus and said, offhanded, “I was thinking about a woman.”

  Maggie’s pretty face screwed up and demanded, “What woman?”

  He lost the smile. “The woman who hit my car. It’s nothing you need to worry
about, it’s a personal matter. Remember, Maggie, we’re no longer dating so it’s not your business.”

  Angry, she stood and stalked to the door. She snapped over her shoulder, “When you’re ready to discuss the important stuff, come find me. And I’ll remind you, you broke up with me for no damn reason. I still love you. Apparently my feelings were real and yours were not.”

  He sighed at the door she’d slammed behind her and a second later his intercom buzzed. Kathy chirped, “I’m telling you, that woman is trouble.”

  “You’re right.” He sighed and snagged the paper bag Maggie had left on his desk. “Hey Kathy, the other day Maggie mentioned that Phil left a note on your desk about another media leak, something about a settlement amount. I never got that message.”

  “Phil wouldn’t leave a message on my desk for everyone to see. I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Me either,” Craig muttered, his suspicions deepening. Maggie wasn’t privy to any of the lawsuit information, there was no way for her to have seen the settlement demand letter or any other part of the lawsuit file, and yet Craig couldn’t shake the feeling Maggie was up to something.

  “She’s a nuisance. You need to get rid of her.” Kathy huffed. If she were on the phone, she would have hung up on him. Instead, she settled for releasing the intercom button and making a loud “harrumph” from the other side of the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was time for a new insurance company. Because the cost of fixing the car was a few hundred less than totaling it, they were going to fix it. Rach was assured it was in her best interest. She told the nasally jerk at Casualty Insurance “We Guarantee You’ll Be Pleased” that she knew what her best interests were and this did not count as one of them. She hung up, dejected.

  Her life was a mess. Barely making ends meet wasn’t how she’d pictured her life after her college graduation. People had always commented on her drive, her certainty, and because she’d been passionate about her career choice she’d never assumed failure a possibility.