Dumb Luck

by Lesley Choyce

  “This will never work,” she said. “I’m not the type of person who can be made over. I am who I am.”

  “Yes, it will work. Trust me.”

  And that’s when she gave up the resistance. “I trust you,” she said.

  The phone call to her mom went better than I expected. Her mother had always liked me. And trusted me. Kayla had put me on the line. “It’s my first night in my apartment,” I told her mom. “I’ve got two bedrooms. I’m feeling kind of all alone so I’ve asked Kayla to stay over.”

  Kayla’s mom hesitated at first, but then I promised that we would be good and that I was feeling lonely and needed a friend. She paused, but then took a breath and reluctantly said okay. “Kayla’s been spending way too much time alone,” she said. “I guess it’s okay. Just make sure she gets to school in the morning.”

  “I promise.”

  So Kayla spent my first night in my apartment with me. She did not sleep in the other bedroom, though. She started out there but pretty soon came to be with me. We both slept with our clothes on. But before we went to sleep, I phoned the limo service for her ride to school in the morning.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

  “This is just to get you in the right mood for the makeover.”

  “Thank you, Brandon,” she said. But she did not try to kiss me.

  In the morning, the limo driver rang from downstairs and Kayla was off to school as promised.

  In the afternoon, the limo picked her up again and then came for me. We went to the mall, to the stores that Taylor had mentioned to me—the places where she shopped. We both needed coaching from the sales people, but they were all so anxious to swipe my credit card that it wasn’t too long before we had the wardrobe, then ordered some new glasses (with the discussed possibility of contact lenses), and finally made a trip to the hair salon where she received the royal treatment.

  When we arrived back at Kayla’s house and her mother took one look at her daughter, she let out a howl of delight and hugged her. And who said money can’t buy happiness?

  chaptertwentyeight

  On Saturday, a taxi took me to pick up Taylor. The driver, a heavyset man with a big gold chain around his neck recognized me from the papers. “You’re that lucky-ass kid, right?”

  “That’s me,” I said, getting in. I had become used to the recognition by now and wondered when it would start to fade.

  “You know what I’d do if I had all that money?” he said.

  I’d heard that line plenty of times before. “What?”

  He waved his hand in the air. “Nah. I shouldn’t say. It wouldn’t be polite.”

  I didn’t say anything so he picked up the slack anyway. “Well, the one thing I can say out loud is that I wouldn’t be sitting on my ass fifty hours a week driving this sorry-ass car and taking crap from strangers.”

  “I can understand that.”

  I directed him to Taylor’s house, and when she walked out the door and started walking toward us, the driver said, “Holy Mother of God, would you look at that?” I smiled. “She your girlfriend?” he added.

  “Nope. My driving instructor.”

  “I ain’t never seen no driving instructor who looked like that,” he said.

  “We’re headed to pick up my new car,” I told him. The dealer had promised to have it detailed, prepped, waxed, and ready to roll. As Taylor got in, she kissed me once on the cheek lightly as the driver took in the show in his rearview mirror. I told him the location of the dealer and we drove off.

  The BMW was sparkling and smelled new, as only a new car like this could smell. “It’s intoxicating,” Taylor said as we got in. I started it up and checked the side mirrors and adjusted the electric seat. “Everything’s electric,” I said, a little surprised.

  “It’s a luxury car. You’re not supposed to have to work at anything.”

  “But I still have to steer it, right, and use the gas pedal?”

  “Yes.”

  I was glad the car was an automatic. I wasn’t ready for the five-speed standard that had first been offered. I took my time pulling out into traffic and just driving down the road. Taylor was looking into the little mirror behind the sun visor, checking her makeup. I said, “I can’t believe I’m driving my own car.”

  “Believe it, Brandon. Where should we go?”

  “I don’t know. Can’t we just drive?”

  “We should have a destination. Let’s go back to the beach.”

  “The beach it is,” I said, discovering the button on the dash that controlled the sunroof. It was a cool but clear day, and I liked the feel of the sunlight on my shoulders. Taylor looked up at the sky and laughed and then turned on the heater to low. “Brandon, you’re starting to adjust to your new life. I see confidence where there was once none.”

  I just nodded like I already knew that. I took my time as I drove, thought through each lane change, carefully put on my turn signals, and made perfect turns. I admit, it was like the car almost did drive itself, but I felt good about the fact I was a being a competent driver. I knew I was new at it and really needed to keep my wits. I couldn’t believe I’d put off driving so long. As long as I was careful, I figured I’d be okay. Nothing fancy. Just basic driving.

  Taylor put some music on and we cruised along with some serious volume, not talking at all, but then, as we got closer to the ocean, she turned it off. “Chelsea’s feeling ignored,” she said. “You haven’t called her for a while.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that cool was all about not caring, or at least pretending not to care?”

  “Then, you do care about her? Just playing a little hard to get?”

  I hadn’t really thought about it that way. “Not really,” I answered. “I’m just not sure about the chemistry between us.”

  “Brandon, she’s just about the hottest girl in the entire school.” Taylor didn’t need to add the part about herself being the hottest.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” I said, with the sound of ultimate cool in my voice, “I like her.”

  “That’s good. I was getting worried there for a minute that you might be gay.”

  “I’m not gay.”

  “But you are a very funny person.”

  “Why funny?”

  “Unpredictable. You ignore Chelsea but you take your old girlfriend, Kayla, out on the town to buy her a new look.”

  I kept my eyes straight ahead on the road. “She’s never been my girlfriend. Just a friend. And a good friend at that.”

  Taylor scrunched up her pretty face. “Well, she sure looked different. You guys didn’t exactly get the whole package right, though. In fact, some of my friends thought it was hilarious—Kayla trying to look like that. But it was an improvement.”

  What Taylor had said struck me as condescending and cruel. Why did it shock me that she would say such a thing? What would Kayla feel like if she knew that some of Taylor’s friends were laughing at her? Suddenly the old Brandon was the one sitting there in the driver’s seat, wondering how he ever got there—how he got the car, and this beautiful girl beside him.

  Taylor noticed that I was quiet. “Did I say something wrong? Hurt your feelings?”

  I wasn’t going to let on. I smiled. “’Course not. I was just concentrating on the road.” But when we got off the highway and hit the first red light, I put my arm around Taylor, pulled her to me, and gave her a serious kiss on the mouth.

  She poked me in the ribs when the light changed. “Where’d that come from?” she asked, not sounding the least bit offended.

  “Just making sure you didn’t think I was gay.”

  “Proves nothing,” she said joking. “I hear gay guys can really kiss.”

  We never really made it to the beach. As we neared the ocean, Taylor looked at the digital clock on the dash. “It’s time for lunch. We
need to celebrate. You have your credit card this time?”

  I gave her a hard look.

  “Great. I know the place.”

  “The place” was Three Fathom Restaurant and it had a dining room overlooking the ocean. It also had a guy in the front in a uniform who parked your car. I handed him the keys. “Don’t scratch it,” I said. “It’s brand new.” The guy looked thrilled to be able to park it.

  Inside, Taylor asked for a table near the window. The place was nearly empty and we were directed to our seats. As we were sitting down, Taylor asked, “Could we see the wine list?”

  The waiter nodded and returned with one for each of us.

  “Do you think this is a good idea?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “You’re still learning the ropes. I need to teach you about how to order the right wine with your meal.”

  I was thinking about the driving afterwards but I didn’t want to sound like a party pooper. “How do you know what the right wine is?” I looked at the complex and rather confusing wine list, which was as big as a menu and covered four pages. I’d never once in my entire life worried myself as to what the right wine for a meal would be.

  “You look at the price, silly.”

  So I looked at the prices. The cheapest bottle was $30.

  “Red or white?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Red then.”

  “French, Italian, Australian, South African, or Chilean?”

  “French,” I said, trying not to sound like too much of a lug nut.

  “I can live with that. How about this one?” She held out her wine list and I saw her pointing to something with an unpronounceable name. And a price tag of $120.

  I’m sure my eyes widened, but then the new me kicked in. The cool me. What the hell. “That looks good to me,” I said.

  Taylor put a single finger in the air and the waiter breezed quickly and silently to our table. The deed was done. A bottle ordered, and elegant wine glasses appeared at the table. A small amount was poured in her glass, not mine. She tasted and approved. When the waiter poured some in my glass, I took a sip and found the taste rather unpleasant, if not downright obnoxious.

  I guess the look on my face was a bit obvious. “It’s a bit dry, isn’t it?” Taylor asked. “Do you want me to send it back?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s fine.”

  So fine that I ended up drinking half of the bottle. Well, maybe more than half. Taylor had ordered us what seemed to me to be the most expensive food on the menu. There were escargot. (I thought she was joking but they really were snails.) And there was some dish made from goose livers. (Although it had a French name and I didn’t realize it was goose livers until I had already eaten most of them.) And there was something else involving mushrooms. “Chanterelles,” Taylor had said. “I totally adore chanterelles.” (Me, I’ve never been a fan of mushrooms of any sort.) So maybe this all explains why I drank so much of the wine.

  But we had a fine view of the ocean and Taylor seemed to be loving every minute of it and, due to the glow from the wine, I suppose I was feeling like the king of the world. I remember that I became rather talkative and began telling her funny stories about when I was a little kid and thought I could fly. I would continually jump out of trees—from not too high up—and test my flight abilities, only to fail over and over. I had always believed that if I thought about it hard and long enough, it would happen.

  But it never did.

  “And then one day, I find myself sitting in a fancy-ass restaurant with the most beautiful girl in North America, eating snails and drinking red French wine.” There was no clear connection to the story but that’s how I ended it.

  Taylor laughed so hard she almost choked and the waiter came running. But she was okay. And I settled back into being the less extroverted version of me.

  The bill was over $300 but I didn’t blink. It was play money, after all. And the wine had gone to my head so it was worth it.

  The car was brought to us and I noticed the air had become much cooler. There would be no open sunroof for the ride home. “Are you okay to drive?” Taylor asked.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  I was aware of the laws about drinking and driving but was pretty sure that didn’t apply to a couple of people having a little wine with a meal. Otherwise, why would they be able to sell wine to you with a meal? It had to be okay. And, in fact, as I got behind the wheel and headed us home, I felt even more confident in my driving than before. If anything, the wine had turned me into a better driver. I was more relaxed and more focused.

  Taylor put on some quiet music and started telling me some things about her childhood. Her trips with her mom sounded exotic at first, but then it became clear she had spent a lot of her time alone while growing up with two very busy parents. “And then the boyfriends kicked in,” she added.

  “How many have there been?”

  “I’ve lost count,” she said. “But I’m not trying to brag. It’s just that not long after I get involved with the guy I’m interested in, well, I seem to lose interest.”

  “That’s too bad. So what do you do?”

  “Move on to the next one.”

  “And there’s always a next one?”

  “Always.”

  As far as I knew, though, there was no obvious boyfriend in Taylor’s current life. She had explained fully to me, however, that she saw herself as a kind of “mentor” to me. She had no real “interest.” I thought about asking her if her views about me had changed. It seemed clear that she liked me and she liked being with me. But I decided not to push my luck. I looked straight ahead at the road.

  When things got a little too quiet in the car, I looked over and saw that she was leaning against the door of my BMW and had fallen asleep.

  chaptertwentynine

  I talked to my parents on the phone at least once each day. I may have moved out and I was still mad at them, but I wasn’t going to forget the fact that they were my parents and they had raised me. My mom was all flustered with details about moving. I talked mostly to her, since my dad was often working late and seemed not to have much time to talk to me if I called him at work. According to my mom, there were a lot of complications with the business that were troubling him. She wasn’t sure he was really making any money at all, but then my father had explained to me that it could take a while before the business actually turned a profit. My dad, however, when he had a spare minute or two to talk to me, told me everything was fine.

  “I finally found what I was looking for. His name is Sidney. He loves selling cars and the customers love him. Sidney could sell anything to anybody. He and I have been moving a lot of inventory.”

  “That’s great, Dad,” I said. But I think it was maybe an exaggeration, and I also took it as a kind of jab at me for not being a super-salesman. Oh, well.

  Life on my own was sometimes good and sometimes not so good. After a couple of weeks on my own, though, I was starting to adjust. Kayla helped me buy groceries and I bought her some more clothes and makeup. She thanked me for the new look and told me that guys were actually starting to pay attention to her at school. I felt a little funny when she said that. Could it be that I was jealous? No way.

  Kayla had been inspired by the new image to lose some weight as well and she was looking much different from the girl I used to climb trees with. She said she still experienced anxiety attacks and, if she was home, she’d call me and ask if she was interrupting anything. Usually she wasn’t. A couple of times she called at night, when the anxiety set in, and she asked if she could come over. I always said yes. She’d stay the night. She said she’d had a long talk with her parents about sleeping over and they had said it was okay. They understood and, strangely, they said they fully “trusted” me. They probably didn’t know that we’d have a couple of glasses of wine
or some beer. But Kayla would always be ready for school the next day and we really didn’t get into any trouble. Taylor dropped in from time to time—but never when Kayla was there—and we’d go for drives in my car or occasionally to one of the clubs.

  And Chelsea. Well, Chelsea called me often. And she’d drop by without calling first. And she was still one of the sexiest girls from school. I was flattered that she wanted to be with me. And I had grown to believe that it was more than the money. But I could have been wrong. Chelsea liked to party. Chelsea liked to drink vodka coolers and she liked to smoke a bit of weed. She liked to turn the music up loud and she liked to sit in the hot tub with me. And sometimes it went a little further than that. We had some of the most amazing times together. She was never shy about anything. Let me just say that it got pretty wild sometimes. And I loved it. And if she stayed over, she didn’t always make it to school the next day.

  Since Chelsea now had her full driver’s license, we two would go for drives. Chelsea in the morning, however, was different from Chelsea at night. The girl was moody and, in order to cheer her up, I’d take her to the mall and buy her some new clothes. I was amazed at how much time I spent in clothing stores since I’d moved into my new life. But I didn’t mind. And it did cheer Chelsea up. And, after all, it was only money.

  I tried discussing Chelsea and Taylor with Kayla. I wanted to be super honest and open about everything. But that didn’t work.

  Kayla was shaking her head. “Look, I just don’t want to hear about it. It’s just too weird. I need you, though, Brando. So if I call you and Taylor is here ‘coaching you’ or whatever the hell it is she does, or if Chelsea is here getting high, just let me know and I won’t bother you.” She was trying not to sound angry but she was angry.

  “I know it’s all kind of weird, I guess. Not quite normal. But this is just the way things have happened. It wasn’t like I planned it. I’m sorry. But I’ll be here if you need me. I promise. How are things going at school?” I asked, trying to change the subject.