Hot Wheels and High Heels

by Jane Graves

  John pulled up to a stoplight at the corner of Legacy and Forest Glen, and suddenly insult was heaped on top of injury when Darcy found herself looking up a long, tree-shaded lane that led to one of the most familiar places of all to her: the clubhouse at Forest Glen Golf and Country Club.

  With a silent sigh, she stared at the white-pillared, neo-Colonial brick mansion. The fountain out front was lit by floodlights and circled by pristine landscaping, accented by a collage of flowers lining the front walk that led to a pair of massive oak doors. In the distance, the rolling hills of the golf course were bathed in the bright orange hues of the setting sun.

  At least twice a week for the past fourteen years, Darcy had crossed the threshold into that clubhouse, and as she looked at it now, it was almost inconceivable that it wasn’t part of her life anymore.

  “Warren and I had a membership there,” Darcy murmured, nodding toward the clubhouse.

  John glanced at it, then stared straight ahead, tapping his fingertips on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change. “Pretty pretentious, if you ask me.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “It is.”

  “You miss it, don’t you?”

  “Hard not to. It was an easy life.”

  “Sometimes easy isn’t best.”

  Still, she couldn’t help the longing that overtook her, the sensation of being on the outside looking in. She hadn’t been back to the club since her life turned upside down. She didn’t even know if their membership was still paid up or whether Warren had jerked that out from under her, too. Not that she wanted to go there with the girls for Saturday lunch and martinis these days. A single meal would cost almost a whole day’s salary, and did she really need all those catty eyes staring at her, thanking God her misfortune wasn’t theirs?

  Darcy felt the oddest kind of longing. It wasn’t as if she wanted the life back that she’d lived with Warren. She didn’t need that lavish lifestyle. She just wanted to know she had a comfortable little cushion between her and destitution. But there was no way that was ever going to happen on the salary she made right now.

  She thought about asking John one more time if he would please make her a repossession agent in training, but she knew what the answer was going to be. If only she could come up with another way to grab Larry’s car, she might get that ball rolling in the right direction. It was still her best bet for her first repossession. She was pretty sure Larry wouldn’t pull out a gun and blow her head off, but she couldn’t say that about a stranger whose car she was going after. Later, once she got John on board, he could teach her the subtleties of dealing with irate deadbeats.

  But other than waiting for Larry to leave his house and then hoping she could follow him, she didn’t know how to catch him with that Corvette outside his garage.

  Then she had a thought.

  She froze, her hand tightening on the console, and glanced back at the clubhouse. She knew where Larry went every Monday evening. The same place Warren used to go—to the club for their male bonding ritual of Scotch and cigars, a tradition that the men would miss only if the world came to an end. A plan started forming in Darcy’s mind of a way to grab his keys, then his car. In no time that Corvette would be in the impound of Lone Star Repossessions where it belonged.

  “Darcy?” John said. “What’s the matter?”

  Darcy whipped around. “What?”

  “You have a funny look on your face.”

  “I do?”

  John glanced over, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah. Like you’re plotting something, and I’m not sure I’m going to like it.”

  She let a lazy smile come to her lips as she inched her hand over to rest against his thigh. “Oh, you’ll like it. Trust me.”

  The light turned green, and John hit the gas. In seconds, he was driving just a little bit faster than the law allowed.

  Darcy decided that first thing in the morning, she was going to research repossession law on the Internet so she’d know what she could and couldn’t do so she wouldn’t slip up again. As long as she was sure she’d be breaking no laws, and as long as she could talk Carolyn into helping her, and as long as Larry wasn’t so down on his luck that he’d lost his country club membership, Monday evening she was going to put her plan into action.

  “No, Darcy. No. I changed my mind. I can’t do it. I can’t help you steal a car.”

  Carolyn braked and turned into the parking lot of a strip mall on Parker Road and brought her car to a halt.

  “Come on, Carolyn!” Darcy said. “You can’t back out on me now!”

  “Do I look like Ethel Mertz to you?”

  “You barely have to do anything,” Darcy said. “While Raoul is parking your car, I’ll grab the key to Larry’s car.”

  “What if there are two attendants on duty?”

  “On a Monday night?”

  “So what do I do while he’s parking my car?”

  “Just walk into the club like you always do.”

  She shook her head. “No. There’s no way I’m doing this.”

  “Will you stop being so neurotic? I’ll be the one doing the key stealing.”

  Carolyn sat there like a stubborn mule, refusing to budge. Good Lord. It must be hell to be that spineless.

  Darcy sat back in her seat, her eyes narrowing. “Carolyn? Do you remember a certain New Year’s party a few years ago?”

  Carolyn’s eyes widened.

  “Madeline’s husband . . .”

  “Darcy—”

  “And you . . .”

  Carolyn gritted her teeth.

  “In their pool house . . .”

  “I’d had four martinis! And we didn’t do anything!”

  “Yeah? Well, Charlie sure had a hard time explaining that lipstick on his face to Madeline.”

  “You wouldn’t dare say anything about that to anyone!”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t. Because friends stick together.”

  Carolyn fumed for a moment more, her lips pursed angrily. Finally she threw up her hands. “All right! I’ll do it!” She put the car in gear. “God, you play dirty.”

  Darcy smiled. “Thanks, Carolyn. You’re a true friend.”

  “Yeah. Friends forever. We can share a cell in Huntsville. Are you sure you have the authority to do this?”

  “I showed you the repossession order, didn’t I?”

  “Wait a minute. How are you going to know which key to grab?”

  “The car was manufactured in 1968. Keys looked different back then. No embedded computer chips.”

  “But how do you know there won’t be other classic cars in the parking lot?”

  “We’ll scope it out once we get there just to make sure.”

  A minute later they were driving up the lane that led to the clubhouse. Darcy scanned the parking lot. “There’s Larry’s car.”

  “Do you see any other older cars?”

  “No. Pull up to the valet stand.”

  Carolyn drove up, and Raoul stepped off the curb to open her door. Darcy got out the passenger side.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Grant. Mrs. McDaniel. So nice to see both of you this evening.”

  Darcy and Carolyn greeted Raoul, then stepped up on the curb as if they were going into the club. Raoul slid behind the wheel of Carolyn’s car and drove it toward the parking lot. Carolyn just stood there dumbly, as if she didn’t know what to do.

  “Go into the club,” Darcy whispered. “And watch for anyone coming out.”

  “You didn’t tell me I had to be a lookout!”

  “Just go, will you?”

  Carolyn scurried inside, and Darcy hurried over to the valet stand, ducking down to fish through the key hooks beneath it. At first they all looked alike, and for a moment she was afraid she wasn’t going to find the right one.

  Then she saw it. A key that was different. She pulled it off the hook and saw that it was even on a Corvette key ring. Thanks for the big red flag, Larry.

  “What are you doing?”

&nbs
p; She stood up and spun around. Oh, God. Larry?

  Over his shoulder, she saw Carolyn standing at the door with a panicked I’m sorry but I couldn’t stop him! look on her face, probably wetting her pants at the same time.

  “Gosh, Larry,” Darcy stammered. “It’s early. You’re calling it a night already?”

  “I have a date.” He nodded at her hand. “That’s my key.”

  Okay. She had one of two choices. She could make up some dumb story about why she picked up his key, hand it to him, and walk away, in which case she would have screwed up twice trying to repossess this car. Or she could flash the repo order, march right over to the parking lot, get in his car, and drive it away.

  She took a deep breath, deciding she hadn’t come this far to back down now. Gail always said Larry had no balls, so he probably wouldn’t even try to stop her.

  She pulled the repo order from her purse and held it up. “Sorry, Larry. You’re busted.”

  He grabbed it from her, a look of disbelief passing over his face. “My car is being repossessed?”

  She took the order back and stuffed it into her purse. “That’s what happens when you don’t pay your bills.”

  She skirted the valet stand and started toward the parking lot. For a moment she thought Larry was too dumbfounded to follow, but then he took off after her.

  “You?” he said, striding alongside her. “You’re the one repossessing my car?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I heard you fell on hard times with Warren being an embezzler and all, but . . . you’re a repo man?”

  “Do I look like a man to you, Larry?”

  “You’re not taking my car.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Darcy, give me the key.”

  She kept walking.

  “Gimme the key!”

  He reached for it, but she was quicker, stopping short and stuffing it down the front of her shirt into her bra. She doubted John would do something like that, but she had a few assets he didn’t, so she might as well put them to good use.

  Larry’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think I won’t go after that.”

  “No, you won’t. It’s common knowledge that you get excited reaching into a woman’s bra only if you’re paying for the privilege.”

  “That’s not true! Gail made all that up!”

  “Right.” She kept on walking.

  “Come on, Darcy!” Larry said, striding along beside her. “I’m just having a few financial problems right now. I’ll clear things up with the bank in a few days.”

  “Fine. Once you’re square with the bank, then you can have your car back.”

  She reached the Corvette, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel. She pulled out the key and stuck it in the ignition, then looked up at him with a sarcastic smile and a little wave of her fingertips.

  “Bye-bye, Larry.”

  Feeling a surge of accomplishment, she started to turn the key, only to see something out of the corner of her eye that made a shiver of apprehension run right up her spine.

  A stick shift?

  It took a moment or two for the sight to soak in. No. This could not be happening. Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why hadn’t it occurred to her that a sports car might have a manual transmission?

  Wait. There was no reason to panic. She’d seen Warren drive a car with a stick shift a million times. How hard could it be?

  No. That was insane. It was like saying she’d watched a guy pedal a unicycle a million times, so of course she could do it, too. There was no way she could make it back to the office without wrecking this car, and if she did that, she knew John’s horrific cop threat wouldn’t be just a threat any longer.

  “What’s the matter?” Larry said.

  She yanked the door open and got out of the car. Larry looked confused. Then he zeroed in on the gearshift, and a big, mocking grin came over his face. “You don’t know how to drive a stick shift, do you?”

  Darcy glared at him.

  “Ha! You thought you had me, didn’t you?” He held out his hand. “My key, please?”

  She slapped the key into his hand. “You’d better watch out, Larry. I’ll get this car sooner or later.”

  Larry opened the door. “Yeah? Well, you’ll have to find it first.”

  “I found it this time, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for the tip-off.” That mocking grin again. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  He got into the car, started the engine, and hit the gas. As he squealed out of the parking lot, Darcy’s hands curled into fists. She didn’t know what it was going to take, but sooner or later, she was bringing in that car.

  Chapter 18

  A few days later, Darcy sat at her kitchen table going over her finances, wondering how she was going to pay her apartment rent when it came due on September first. When August arrived in Dallas, it brought with it the usual hundred-degree temperatures, along with humidity that would challenge even the most industrial-strength hair-care products. Before her life fell apart, the heat had been nothing more than an irritating nuisance. But now she had to air-condition a noninsulated apartment with west-facing windows, and the astronomical electric bill that produced was going to eat a good portion of her monthly income.

  Basically, she couldn’t afford to live in a decent apartment with good insulation, so she was going to have to pay a ridiculous amount for electricity, which meant she’d probably never be able to save enough money to move to a decent apartment with good insulation. Up to now, she’d never realized the world of catch-22 that poor people were stuck living in.

  Okay. Maybe if she cut her own hair, drove only when she had to, and quit eating, she could afford to pay the rent, assuming nothing else went wrong.

  Unfortunately, something did.

  Gertie’s air conditioner had been blowing progressively warmer, and when Darcy got in her car to go to work the next morning, the air actually felt hot instead of cold. She drove to her father’s mechanic shop on her lunch hour, sweat sticking her hair to the back of her neck and trickling down her temples, hoping he could twist a screw or something and make it blow cold air again.

  “Looks like a Freon problem,” her father said. “Needs a recharge.”

  “What’s that going to cost me?”

  “Just the cost of the Freon, but on a car this old, it’s in short supply. If it needs two cans, maybe a hundred bucks.”

  Darcy sighed. Another hundred dollars? “I’ll have to come back in next week. I’m really short on money until payday.”

  “I’ll take care of it. It’s too damned hot for anybody to be driving around without air.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I’ll pay you back.”

  “No need. You’ve got plenty of other things to worry about.”

  “No. I want to. It may be a little while, though, unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless I get the car I’m trying to repossess.”

  When she saw the look of astonishment on her father’s face, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “You’re repossessing a car? I thought you were a clerk.”

  “I’m trying to get a promotion. I’ve gone after this one car twice already. The first time, it turned out I was kinda breaking the law, but nobody found out. The second time I could have driven it away without any problem, but the car had a manual transmission.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her father smile, much less laugh. But slowly the corner of his mouth turned up, and he actually chuckled a little.

  She frowned. “You’re laughing at me.”

  “No, I’m not. I just never thought . . .” He shook his head in disbelief. “You want to be a repossession agent?”

  “Why not? It pays pretty well. But my boss doesn’t want me to get within ten feet of a car with a delinquent loan. He says it’s a crummy job. People yell at you. And sometimes it’s dangerous. But I know I can handle it. And if I can bring in just one car on my own, he’ll
have to admit it.”

  Her father’s smile grew even bigger.

  “Dad? Will you stop smiling? You’re starting to freak me out.”

  He nodded toward his truck. “Get in.”

  “What?”

  “Behind the wheel.”

  Darcy drew back. “Behind the wheel? Of your truck? The one you wouldn’t let God himself drive?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “If my little girl’s gonna be a repo agent, I need to teach her how to drive a car with a manual transmission.”

  Darcy couldn’t believe it. “You’re going to help me?”

  “Yes. But for God’s sake, don’t tell your mother.”

  “I guess she would flip out, wouldn’t she? She didn’t exactly raise me to steal cars.”

  “Uh-huh,” her father said. “You might break a nail, and that’d be tragic.”

  Darcy slid behind the wheel of the truck, and her father got into the passenger seat. For maybe the first time in her adult life, her father looked different to her. Maybe he really wasn’t the rock around her mother’s neck Lyla always said he was. Maybe it was the other way around. Her father stayed up late watching TV every night of his life, claiming he had a hard time sleeping. But Darcy knew that during those late-night hours it was just him and the idiot box and no Lyla to contend with. A man grabbed his peace and quiet wherever he could.

  She stuck her hand out for the keys, but her father held on to them, looking at her directly in a way he rarely did.

  “This hasn’t been easy for you, has it?” he said. “Since Warren left?”

  She sighed. “No. It hasn’t.”

  “Still, I’m glad he’s gone. You can do better than him.”

  “Why? Because he’s a criminal?”

  “No. Because he was the wrong man for you.”

  “I don’t know. Life was pretty easy. He gave me everything.”

  “You don’t need a man to give you things. You’re very capable.”

  Darcy sighed. “Come on, Dad. I’m not capable of much of anything, and you know it.”

  “Nah. You’ve always had a handle on things. You’ve been running your own show since kindergarten. Just because you haven’t been taking care of yourself doesn’t mean you can’t.”