Fender Bender Blues

by Niecey Roy

  Tim stopped beside a conveyor where four people were handling the onions. He gestured for Rach to stand beside him and she told herself it was pointless to explain she didn’t want to see or care to see first-hand how onions were separated—he seemed hell bent on showing her himself.

  He pointed to the empty spot at the end of the conveyor. Over the whine of the machine he yelled, “You stand here and try to catch the onions that the others miss. I’ll check on you after a bit.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he was quick as lightning as he strode off in the opposite direction. She gazed at his back for a minute through blurry eyes then looked down at the onions passing by quickly on the wide black belt. Without much thought, she began separating the rings as she’d been told to. Despite the fact she was new, she was going to have to tell him this was the most idiotic office training she’d ever had. What the hell was she going to learn separating onions? She should’ve been filing papers or taking phone calls or reading office procedure manuals.

  Two hours passed and still Tim had not come to check on her as promised. Bennett, you are an idiot! Her great paying salary job had clearly been compensation for the eye torture she was enduring. There was no office job. No wonder the staffing agent had been surprised she didn’t want a description of the position.

  She swore and ripped off the face mask, wiping at her nose furiously. It hadn’t stopped running since she’d walked into the room. Her entire face was numb. Her eyes no longer burned and that was a bit of a concern. She worried her eyes might never produce moisture again and the film from the freshly cut onions had somehow traveled through the air and clogged every pore on her face. She could feel the gunk oozing down deep, forming zits, and she shuddered. Her feet were aching, her back was cramped, and her patience had worn thin.

  Tim must have noticed her distress from somewhere across the room because he suddenly appeared beside her.

  “How’s it going?” He yelled over the hum of the machines. She glared through her goggles, not daring to take them off for fear her eyes might fall out of her head.

  “If you must know, it’s going like shit,” Rach snapped, shoving the gloves at him which he caught to his middle in surprise. “Also, you people are crazy for thinking you pay your employees nearly enough to stand here torturing their pores and burning their eyes out of their heads. Do you have any idea how long it will take me to exfoliate my pores? My eyes haven’t watered since you left me here three hours ago. So in case you haven’t figured it out already—I quit!”

  Rach walked away, back rigid, her legs cutting a determined line toward the steel doors and freedom. The sound of cheering followed in her wake.

  “I quit, too!” a man yelled in heavily accented English.

  Rach glanced behind her as she passed through the steel doors. Not only one man followed her, but several other workers had left their positions at the conveyor belts. They rushed the door, dropping their smocks and goggles in a pile over hers, hooting, while Tim stood by in bewildered horror as the employees vacated the factory.

  “Wait! Your relief doesn’t come in for another three hours!”

  But no one was listening. The employees cheered, sharing high fives and pats on the back. A heavyset Hispanic woman reached out and gave Rach an elated hug.

  “I’m glad you said something ‘cuz our pay sucks!” she exclaimed.

  Another man yelled, “We don’t have to put up with this crap!”

  “I’m calling my brother and his friends and telling them not to come in. Let’s go on strike, make this company pay us like we deserve!” A gangly man with a thick mustache and bloodshot eyes roared, sending the others into a frenzy.

  By the time Rach snagged her purse from the locker room, she was no longer leader of the pack and instead followed the others out a side entrance where people jumped around and chanted for better wages, dental insurance and more vacation days. Stepping out into the sunlight was blinding and her eyes were stinging again. Her tear ducts came back to action in full force and her eyes poured as if she’d just finished watching a tearjerker romance.

  She left the others to celebrate and escaped to her car. She hadn’t meant to start a strike and hoped the turn of events wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. Knowing her luck, it would. She absolutely did not want to be anywhere near when the news van showed up and shit really hit the fan. She threw her car into gear and floored the Toronado. As she left the parking lot behind, she could hear the workers chanting, “Better pay or we won’t stay!”

  A block from the facility she pulled over and waited for her eyes to stop crying. Fifteen minutes later she arrived at her townhome. Her plan was to hit the shower but was sidetracked when the first envelope in her mailbox caught her attention.

  Rach’s heart skipped a beat and she ran her finger over Craig’s name in the upper left-hand corner. Before she could stop herself, she tore at the envelope with shaky hands. Inside was not the letter of apology begging her to come back to him, but a check for seven thousand dollars. On the printed paper enclosed read, “Payment for 1999 red sedan.” The amount was much larger than retail price for her car.

  Her first instinct was to rip it into million, tiny pieces. Common sense took over and she shoved the check into her purse. He’d left her front door open and she’d almost hit her dog—if he wanted to pay for her car, she’d let him. Plus, the insurance company had already forked over a large chunk of change to fix it the first time. She doubted they’d be so generous about a second claim so soon after the first.

  She wondered if the check was his attempt at an apology, or a way to pay her off so he could walk away without a guilty conscience. A letter with the check telling her he missed her would have been better than nothing.

  With a frown, she whistled at Tally and headed back out the door minus the shower she’d been dreaming of since separating her first onion that afternoon. She threw the Toronado into gear and headed to her parents’ house.

  Chapter Forty

  When she entered the front door of her parents’ house the mouthwatering aroma of fresh baked bread filled her nostrils and she thanked God that her sense of smell hadn’t been affected. She found her mom in the kitchen humming over a chicken, her dark brown hair pulled back in a rigid bun at the nape of her neck, strands of gray intertwined throughout. She wondered when her mom had aged, the gray more prominent in her hair. Rach paused there in the doorway to watch as she worked at the stovetop, throwing in chopped celery, carrot and onion into a large stock pot, then dropping the chicken in. Seasonings followed, then the lid. Her mom always made her stock from scratch. She’d reserve the liquid and use the chicken for the pasta she was making for supper.

  She finally sensed Rach’s presence in the doorway and briskly brushed off her hands on the stained, yellow apron tied around her waist. She gave Rach a firm hug and light kiss on the cheek. She pulled away quickly, her nose crinkled at the bridge. “Why do you smell like an onion factory?”

  “Because I just left one. Do you mind if I wash my face in your bathroom?” Rach rubbed at her cheeks. They were grimy and oily beneath her fingers.

  “Please do. Maybe you should take a shower while you’re at it.” Susan dug a pair of tongs out of a drawer and pointed at the door. “Your dad’s been worried sick about you and his car. Why haven’t you been answering your phone? And Craig’s been here looking for you.”

  “Sorry, I’ve had a bad couple of days. Everything is fine.” She headed for the door. “Where’s dad? I wanted to see if he’ll go car shopping with me.”

  “That might cheer him up. He’s been a lost puppy dog without that car of his and I just don’t think I can take it anymore.”

  Rach smiled. “Hopefully, he’ll have it back today.”

  After scrubbing her face for ten minutes she emerged feeling twenty pounds lighter. Maybe the strike wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe the company would consider supplying full face masks, not just goggles. While scrubbing her cheeks, the
beginnings of at least three zits puckered under her skin.

  She found her dad in the living room parked in a recliner watching a Leave It to Beaver rerun. He looked up and gave her the “dad eye” and rocked back in his chair. “Nice to see you’re alive.”

  “Would you like to go car shopping?” She dangled the Toronado keys in front of him and he snatched them from her hand.

  “Really? When? Now?” His excitement made her smile.

  “Yes, right now.”

  He sniffed and wrinkled his nose and his forehead became lined with deep wrinkles. Plugging his nose for theatrical display, he asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

  “I took a brief tour in an onion factory today. You can drive me to my house so I can change.”

  “You definitely need to change.” He hopped out of the chair and headed for the front door. “No one will sell you a car smelling like that, that’s for sure.”

  She got into the passenger seat and when her dad slid behind the wheel he looked horrified and yelped. “My car smells like onions! I can’t believe you made my car smell like onions.”

  She rolled down her window as soon as he turned the key. “It’s not the car, it’s me.”

  Except she wasn’t sure she believed that statement, especially when the smell had clung to her clothes as easily as it had. If her dad took his car home tonight, he’d be spending the evening with a tube of Armor All.

  “There are a few conditions to today’s car shopping.” Rach strapped her seat belt over her and sat back.

  Her dad gave her a sideways glance and answered, “All right…”

  “Number one, no harassing the salesmen.”

  “What?” He sputtered. “I don’t—I never—I wouldn’t have to if they were honest people. Those used car salesmen can’t be trusted, Tiger. I only want to make sure they don’t jip you like you did buying that last one. And you know why you got a lemon, don’t you?”

  How had the conversation turned around on her? Rach shook her head. “That’s beside the point. That was years ago, this is now. And now I’d like to be a grown-up and have the last say on this car, Dad.”

  “Well, just remember what you chose the last time,” he grumped and backed out of the driveway.

  “And no suggesting cars that ‘only need minor repairs’ because you know mechanics who’ll do it for cheap.” She put her face closer to the window for some fresh air; the onion smell was starting to make her nauseous.

  “Now, if you’re going to be that way you might as well buy a brand new, foreign car that costs an arm and a leg and if it breaks down you won’t be able to fix it because the parts are too expensive. If you get something too new I won’t even be able to change your oil!” Another sore subject with her dad—foreign made cars that boasted fuel efficiency with lots of gadgets under the hood he couldn’t figure out.

  “And no Toronados or classic cars. We both know I don’t have the time, money or know-how to restore one. Agreed?”

  “I guess.” He didn’t sound happy. “You know what you’re looking for since I’m not allowed to give you my opinion?”

  Rach grinned at the small whine in his voice.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. Your opinions are welcome. And no, I have no idea what I’m getting. This car shopping wasn’t planned.”

  He gave a small gasp and shook his head. “You haven’t done any research on what kind of car you want? You should have picked out a few and did some comparisons.”

  His words made her think of Craig and she frowned out the window. She hated missing him. Hated wondering if he missed her. Staring at the passing houses, she said, “I know, but I didn’t have time. It’s okay, we’ll find something.”

  Rach ran her hand along the vinyl dash of the car. Funny, she was going to miss driving it. For the last couple months it had treated her well, but it was time to upgrade. She was definitely ready.

  “We don’t really need a salesman. Most of them don’t know what the hell they’re trying to sell, anyway. We can just drive through some lots and if you see something you like, we’ll stop.” He gave her a sideways look. “Should we go to Craig’s dealership?”

  She shook her head quickly. “No.”

  He didn’t ask for details. Leah had said Craig had gone to her parents’ house when Rach wouldn’t return his calls, so her parents were aware something had happened between them. Rach had no idea how that conversation between Craig and her parents had gone, and she wasn’t going to ask her dad, either. She didn’t want to think about it. Right now she was car shopping and she was going to attempt to put Craig and Maggie and the entire ugly scene out of her mind.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Craig sat in his office behind the massive desk. He tapped the silver pen on the notepad in front of him. The pen had been a Christmas present from Kathy the year before. He’d been dating Maggie at the time. The thought of the other woman put a foul taste in his mouth.

  Preoccupied, he ignored the phone ringing on his desk. Kathy had been taking his messages or sending them to voicemail. She’d reminded him twice that his paper messages were quickly accumulating. He didn’t care.

  The incident from the week before replayed in his mind over and over again, and each time he imagined a different ending. Why hadn’t he told Maggie to back the hell off and force her out of his home when she’d bribed him with information? What the hell had he been thinking!

  He sighed and turned to his computer. His email Inbox was full but he didn’t care to open the messages. One of the message’s subject matter read, “Enclosed executed settlement documents.” He should have been elated, but he felt nothing. Mediation the day before had been successful. Finally, the matter was concluded. His dad would want to know the mess was finally behind them, but he didn’t even care to relay the good news. Maybe he’d call tomorrow.

  All he wanted to do was storm into Maggie’s office and fire her. The idea of it brought a humorless smile to his lips. If he fired her, he’d have another lawsuit on his hands. The woman was capable of anything and ruining his life even more so than she already had would only be another victory to her sadistic existence. I’m trapped. Stuck with Maggie in his life forever while Rach refused to speak to him. The emptiness inside made him ache.

  He missed her so much.

  Every time he pictured the horrified and disappointed look on her face, his breath caught in his throat and his heart raced, followed quickly by a sick feeling that made him want to break things. He couldn’t forget the image of her green eyes staring straight through him, as if he no longer existed in her life.

  All week Maggie had come to his office, trying to see him. Mad as a mother bear, Kathy had refused to move from Craig’s door to let her pass. After Kathy threatened to pick her up physically and remove her from the room, Maggie finally stopped coming. If Craig hadn’t been so depressed he might have laughed at his secretary’s gumption. As it was, he hadn’t even been able to muster a smile.

  He pushed himself away from his desk and stood to pace his office—not the first time of the day—and he imagined he could see wear in the carpet where his shoes had tracked across it. He raked his hands through his hair and scowled at the floor. Things had gone from perfect to shit and he couldn’t even pinpoint when it had happened or what the hell to do about it.

  He wasn’t used to not being in control of his life. There had never been anything he hadn’t been able to fix. Usually, he’d approach a dilemma analytically, find the way to correct it and that was that. He’d move on to the next problem and his life would go on. Then Maggie had come into the picture. He’d known better, and yet he’d ended up in her bed anyway. Turning back time wasn’t an option, so he was stuck with the consequences. Losing Rach was one of them.

  The last week without Rach to tease him, needle him, joke with him, had been torture. He’d be able to live without her, but he didn’t want to. Just knowing he might never hear her voice again left him sleepless at night. Without her, there’d b
e no more fighting over pizza and making up in bed. There’d be no more midnight runs to Spetzer-Mart to piss off her neighbor, and no more walking beside her in the pouring rain with her in nothing but a nightie.

  The thought of never smelling the fragrance of her perfume, or having her warmth beside him, her soft lips against his, made him want to roar in frustration. He swore out loud, kicked his desk, then swore again when his foot throbbed inside his loafer.

  “Serves you right, you stupid prick.”

  He straightened up and scowled at Rick. “What the hell do you want?”

  “To punch you in the face, that’s what.” Rick puffed out his chest and looked back at Kathy. “Hold his calls. He and I need to have a chat.”

  “It’s about time.” Kathy held up a stack of pink message slips. “And no need to worry about his calls—he hasn’t answered his phone for days.”

  “He’s got issues,” Rick agreed. “Most of them mental.”

  Kathy gave a short nod. “Yeah, well, I’m hoping he feels like such a louse that he’ll take off his money-making cap so he can think like a human being and figure out how to fix this mess.”

  Craig opened his mouth to object to his secretary’s unfair judgment, she didn’t know all the details of what happened, but Rick slammed the door shut before he could get anything out.

  “Go away,” he growled and sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk.

  “Forget it.” Rick made himself comfortable in a chair across from him, lifting his loafers to rest crossed feet on the edge of the desk.

  “Get your feet off my desk.”

  “No.”

  Craig tried his serious boss-man face on him. It didn’t work. Rick still looked like he was staring at a fly on the wall.

  Craig finally sighed and asked, “Why are you here, Rick?”

  “To tell you you’re the biggest douche bag I’ve ever met. What the hell were you thinking? Leah told me what you did. Jesus, Craig! Why would you even want Maggie after all she’s done?” Rick looked so disgusted that Craig slumped in his chair, giving up any pretentions of being all-powerful. Where was the confident, savvy business man? He now felt, as Rick had stated so bluntly, like a douche bag.