Hot Wheels and High Heels

by Jane Graves

  The morning went quickly, and around noontime Amy came back to her desk.

  “It’s lunchtime,” she said. “You want to go out?”

  Unfortunately, lunching out had moved beyond Darcy’s means. Brown bagging was so low class, but at least it meant she could eat on her parents’ dime instead of her own.

  “Uh . . . no. I brought something from home.”

  “I have a two-for-one coupon for Taco Hut,” Amy said. “We can share it and get Neato Burritos for half price. Put your lunch in the fridge and you can eat it tomorrow.”

  Okay. So Taco Hut wasn’t exactly lunching out. Eating in a place like that consisted of filling your stomach with a pseudo-food product to sustain life. But she had to admit that anything that was half price these days got her attention.

  Ten minutes later, they walked in the door of Taco Hut. The décor was every bit as horrific as Darcy had imagined, with a color scheme of purple, aqua, and orange that would keep a narcoleptic awake. They ordered Neato Burritos from a high school kid who tossed the food on the tray with all the delicacy of a butcher slapping meat onto a conveyor belt. When Darcy unwrapped hers, it was squashed flat and looked so unappetizing that she almost wrapped it back up again. But hunger drove her to finally dig in.

  She couldn’t believe it. It was love at first bite.

  She’d been to five-star restaurants serving the finest Southwestern cuisine whose entrees hadn’t tasted this good. How could that be? How could she have found heaven for a dollar fifty? It wasn’t the most stunning presentation she’d ever seen, but getting so much bang for her buck these days really put a smile on her face.

  “Can’t help noticing,” Amy said. “That’s a gorgeous ring you’re wearing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So you’re married?”

  “Not really. I’m getting a divorce.”

  Which reminded her that sooner or later she was going to have to hire an attorney and deal with the fact that her husband had skipped the country. How did you go about divorcing a man who you couldn’t find? And even if she could find him, how was she going to pay for a divorce?

  “I’m so sorry,” Amy said, continuing to stare at her ring with a look of confusion.

  “John must not have told you,” Darcy said.

  “Told me what?”

  “Why I’m wearing a four-carat diamond but working as a clerk at a repo company making next to nothing and eating lunch at Taco Hut.”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  Darcy didn’t know why she confided in Amy exactly, except that girls share, and she seemed to be more genuine than most. Darcy gave Amy the Readers’ Digest version of her marital horror story. When she described her homecoming from Mexico and subsequently finding out her husband was a criminal, Amy’s mouth fell open.

  “You poor thing!” Amy said. “How could he do that to you?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that same question.”

  “Well, I’m glad John hired you. It’s good for you, and it’ll be good for him.”

  Darcy shook her head. “I’m not so sure he feels that way.”

  “Well, he should. For once we’ll have a clerk who clearly has a brain. The last few he hired were a little lacking in that department.”

  “So why did he hire them?”

  “It’s just hard to find good employees. He’s hired two repo guys in the last couple of months, but they didn’t work out. One of them was just lazy. Wouldn’t get out and hustle. The other one got his first paycheck, then blew all of it before he showed up to earn another one. As you can well imagine, that didn’t set well with John. Business is picking up, so he’s ready to get another tow truck or two just as soon as he can find the repo guys to use them.”

  Darcy laid down her burrito. “Amy? Can I ask you a question? Confidentially?”

  “Sure.”

  She leaned closer and spoke quietly. “How in the world do you deal with a man like John?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Isn’t he hard to work for? I mean, he’s crabby all the time. He never cracks a smile. He orders people around like some kind of third-world dictator. Does he ever lighten up?”

  Amy smiled. “Actually, not very often. And he’s been that way for a very long time.”

  “Well, I don’t have many options myself, but if I were you, I’d find a new place to work.”

  Amy’s smile grew brighter still. “I guess John didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “My full name.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Amy Stark.”

  Darcy froze.

  “I’m John’s sister.”

  Darcy sat back, stunned. John’s sister? This cute little woman who gave the word perky an entirely new meaning? She actually shared the same gene pool with Tall, Dark, and Exasperating?

  Then Darcy remembered what she’d just said about him. She closed her eyes, wishing she’d had the sense to keep her big mouth shut.

  “Amy, I’m so sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have said that about John. I don’t know why I—”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “You’re only speaking the truth.”

  “So why do you work for him?”

  Amy smiled. “Don’t let what’s on the surface fool you. There’s a lot more going on inside John’s head than you realize. You’ll discover that soon enough. Just always remember that his bark is way worse than his bite.”

  Darcy was having a hard time imagining that.

  That afternoon, Amy headed off to class about the time John came back. He mumbled something that sounded like hello, then strode past her, went into his office, and closed the door. She told herself that was a good thing. If he didn’t talk to her, they couldn’t fight.

  A few minutes later, a FedEx man came into the office. He greeted Darcy and asked her to sign for the envelope he was carrying. She did, assuming it was for John. It wasn’t.

  It was for her.

  Then she saw the return address. Jeremy Bridges?

  The delivery man left the office, and Darcy ripped open the envelope, wondering what in the world could be inside. She pulled out a small envelope and was even more confused.

  A Starbucks gift card?

  A handwritten note accompanied it. Enjoyed our chat. Have a cup of coffee on me. Jeremy.

  At first she was confused. Then she remembered telling him that since Warren had cleaned her out, she couldn’t even afford to stop for a cup of coffee anymore. So Bridges was giving her one.

  She frowned. Probably exactly one. This was probably a five-dollar card for one cup of coffee. And of course he’d enjoyed their chat. He was a man who clearly enjoyed humiliating people.

  Jerk.

  Darcy tossed the card aside. But after a few minutes, she glanced back at it. After a few more minutes, curiosity finally overtook her.

  She flipped the card over and found an 800 number on the back. She dialed it, and a customer service rep came on the line. She gave him the number on the card and asked what its value was.

  She heard the click of fingers on a keyboard. Then . . . silence.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Just a minute,” he said. “That can’t be right.” More clicking. More silence. Finally he spoke again.

  “A thousand dollars.”

  Darcy nearly dropped the phone. “Did you say a thousand dollars?”

  “Yes.”

  “As in a one with three zeroes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Uh . . . thank you,” she said, and hung up the phone. Was Jeremy Bridges completely out of his mind?

  Yes, she wanted Starbucks coffee. Every day, if she could get it. But now that she had absolutely nothing in the world, she would gladly have traded that daily dose of caffeine for clothes on her back and gas in her car.

  She called the service rep back.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I’m the one you just talked to with the thousand-dollar card. Is it
possible for me to get a refund for that?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am.”

  Darcy’s heart soared. Jackpot!

  “Just turn in the card along with the receipt, and any of our stores will be happy to give you whatever amount is remaining on it.”

  Her elation fizzled. “I have to have the receipt?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “But it’s a gift card. If somebody’s giving a gift, who gives the receipt along with it?”

  “Sorry. Those are the rules.”

  Damn.

  She thanked the guy and hung up. How could Bridges do this to her? Didn’t he know how destitute she was?

  Maybe not. Maybe she hadn’t made it completely clear. Maybe he didn’t know she literally had nothing left in the world. Surely if he knew how much she needed more practical things, he’d sympathize with her and hand over the receipt.

  Assuming he’d kept it.

  No. Think positive.

  She fished through her purse and found the business card he’d given her. She dialed the number on it. He’d said it was his cell phone, but still she didn’t expect—

  “Jeremy Bridges.”

  Darcy came to attention. This really was his cell phone. And he really had answered it himself.

  “Uh . . . hello, Jeremy. This is Darcy McDaniel.”

  “Darcy! So good to hear from you.”

  He sounded pretty jovial, considering how they’d parted. Then again, he had sent her a thousand-dollar gift card, so surely there were no hard feelings on his part after their disagreement the other day. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.

  “I’m just calling . . . well, I’m calling to tell you that I got the gift card, and while it’s a very thoughtful thing to do—”

  “No, you can’t have the receipt.”

  Darcy’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  “I said you can’t have the receipt.”

  “Uh . . . I don’t want the receipt.”

  “Of course you do. You want to cash out the card.”

  “No. Really. I don’t.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  She opened her mouth to say something, and several seconds later it was still hanging open. She was so utterly shocked at just how dead-on his accusation was that she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  Then she got mad.

  “You are such a jerk,” she said. “You spend a thousand dollars, and all I get out of it is coffee?”

  “You get far more than coffee. They have cookies, too. And pastries. And I think some of them have started carrying sandwiches and—”

  “You know what I mean!”

  “Hey, I think it’s kinda stupid, too. But you did say you couldn’t afford Starbucks anymore.”

  “I also said I was driving a crappy car and living in my parents’ mobile home. A thousand dollars would go a long way toward fixing those problems.”

  “Now, Darcy. What would happen if I just gave you a car? Or apartment rent?”

  “Uh . . . I’d have something respectable to drive and a decent place to live?”

  “But how would you ever expect to grow as a person?”

  Was this man completely out of his mind? “I’ve got news for you, Bridges. Growing as a person is just about last on my to-do list.”

  “I’m quite sure it is. And number one on that list is getting back all the luxuries you’ve lost. Enjoy the coffee, Darcy.”

  Click.

  Darcy held out the phone, staring at it dumbly, then hung it up with a sigh of frustration. He was toying with her, plain and simple. That was the only explanation. He wasn’t actually going to help her. Instead, he liked watching her flounder around, trying to keep her head above water while he dangled the luxuries of life in front of her, reminding her of what she couldn’t have. But what good would it do her to have a four-dollar cup of coffee if she couldn’t put gas in old Gertie?

  The door to John’s office opened, and he stuck his head out. “I was on the phone. What did the FedEx guy leave?”

  “The FedEx wasn’t for you,” she said. “It was for me.”

  He came out of his office and stood over her desk. “You? Who sent you a FedEx here?”

  Before Darcy could move the envelope out of his way, John grabbed it and read the return address.

  “Jeremy Bridges?”

  “Give me that!”

  “Isn’t he the guy your husband embezzled all that money from?”

  Darcy paused. “Yes.”

  John glanced around her desk. “What did he send you?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “New rule. If you’re on the clock, it’s my business.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you must know, he sent me a Starbucks gift card.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me.”

  John held up his hand. “Wait a minute. Do you know this guy?”

  “Not really.”

  “Your husband embezzles from him, and he sends you a gift?”

  “He’s just a very sympathetic person,” she said, hoping her nose wasn’t growing as she spoke. “He came to see me the other day. He just wants me to have one of the luxuries Warren took away from me.”

  “You’re broke. Couldn’t he have sprung for something a little more useful?”

  “The rich are different, John. A man like Jeremy doesn’t even think about necessities. It’s all about luxury.”

  She almost choked on that. A man who swilled beer and dressed like a Jimmy Buffett groupie had a little way to go as far as a luxury mentality was concerned.

  “Luxury?” John said. “Starbucks? What kind of idiot pays four bucks for a cup of coffee?”

  “That’s exactly the reaction I’d expect from a man who drinks Maxwell House.”

  “Damn fine coffee. And a real bargain, too.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, who needs bargain coffee when I have”—she nonchalantly tap, tap, tapped the gift card against her desk, then held it up with a smug smile—“a thousand dollars?”

  John’s eyebrows flew up. “A thousand dollars’ worth of coffee?”

  Finally. It was about time she impressed him with something. But instead of giving her the look of awe she expected, he shook his head with disapproval.

  “What’s wrong?” she said.

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “He’s a very generous man.”

  “Generous?” John placed his palms on Darcy’s desk, meeting her eye-to-eye. “Let me tell you something. Any man who gives a woman a thousand dollars’ worth of anything expects something in return. And I guarantee you that ‘something’ is more than a peck on the cheek. Is that really what you’re looking for?”

  “He hasn’t asked me for anything.”

  “Not yet, he hasn’t.”

  “Why don’t you let me worry about Jeremy Bridges’s motives?”

  “Just remember where you heard it first.”

  With that, John turned and went back into his office, and Darcy had to resist the urge to hurl her stapler at his door. She’d never met a man so infuriatingly sure of himself in her entire life.

  What she hated most, though, was that he was right. Jeremy was neither sympathetic nor generous. He had “ulterior motive” stamped all over him. And no matter how abruptly he’d hung up on her today, she had a feeling she hadn’t heard the last of him yet.

  Chapter 9

  Darcy’s first week on the job passed without too many problems. Gradually she learned more about word processing, and Amy started teaching her how to run some of the reports. By Thursday she’d done away with the “to be filed” pile. She was relieved when the weekend came and John hadn’t found a reason to fire her yet, but when she rose on Saturday morning, she wished she was back at the office. Her father was at his shop, as he always was on Saturday, which left her at home to be her mother’s target du jour.

  “I still can’t believe you’re working in a place like that,” Lyla said, digging the la
st cigarette out of a pack and lighting it. “What were you thinking when you took that job?”

  Darcy shoved her half-eaten bowl of Froot Loops away, visions of brunch at the Palm dancing inside her head. “I told you, Mom. I wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with job offers.”

  “Doesn’t some nice CEO need a girl Friday?”

  “This isn’t the 1950s. Even receptionists have to know a lot of things. A lot of things I don’t.”

  “You can stay here as long as you need to, but even without paying rent, you have expenses. Your hair and nails alone will cost half your paycheck. And what about clothes? Are you going to dress out of your luggage from now on? Isn’t it a little scary to think about doing that forever? It would scare me, that’s for sure.”

  Darcy had learned long ago that there wasn’t much her mother wasn’t scared of. Her life had always been governed by fear: fear of aging, fear of heights, fear of ghosts, fear of nuclear war, fear of the number thirteen, fear of trains. And spiders. She didn’t like spiders. Anytime a spider sat down beside her, all hell broke loose.

  But right now, Darcy had to admit she was starting to feel a little of that fear herself. It was a crappy, low-paying, dead-end job. Using it as a springboard to something better was going to take a very long time.

  “I’d suggest you find yourself another man, and fast,” Lyla said. “And don’t sign a prenup this time. That way if it doesn’t work out, at least you can get a big divorce settlement. Then you can do it all over again.”

  “Actually, Mom, when I get married again, I’d like it to last for a little while.”

  “Right. Statistics show that half of all marriages these days end in divorce.”

  “You and Dad are still married.”

  “Stop being naïve, Darcy. Your father would have left me ages ago if some other woman would have him.”

  Darcy sighed. Just what a kid wanted to hear. That if her father were only a better man, he’d have left her mother. She wasn’t good enough for him to want to stay, but he wasn’t good enough to find a replacement, which meant they were living in a state of mutually assured misery.