Rock Chick Rescue
Page 46

“Bring your mother, Chiquita. I can’t wait to meet her,” Blanca said.
How come everyone was after me but no one could kil me or maim me? It would make my life so much easier.
“Mom would love that,” I told her, and she would. It would be a meeting of the minds. A meeting in hel .
Gloria was smiling, ful -on.
“Maybe we should invite the cousins,” she suggested.
I turned and glared at Eddie, thinking maybe he’d help, but instead he wrapped his arm around my neck and pul ed me into his side.
Blanca stared at us with an expression that could only be described as blissful.
Then she snapped out of it.
“Gloria, get another cart,” Blanca ordered, “we’l have to go back through. Hasta mañana,” she said and she was off, on such a mission, she went without any kisses good-bye.
I turned to Eddie and, as his arm was around my neck, this put us ful -frontal so I tilted my head back. “You could have done something about that,” I snapped.
“Like what?” he answered, his face a lot closer than was comfortable.
I tried to pul back but it didn’t work.
“I don’t know. Politely declined somehow.”
“I’m having dinner with your mother before you have dinner with mine. Come hel or high water, Mamá is gonna one-up your mother somehow. Trust me, sooner is better than later, it gives her less time to plan.” Without thinking, I said, “My life sucks.” Eddie tensed.
“It’s dinner with my mother, it isn’t the end of the world.” It was for me.
“That’s not what I meant.”
It was, in a way, but not in the bad way Eddie took it.
His eyes got serious.
“We need to have another chat,” he said.
“No!” I nearly shouted, panic stricken, “No more chats.” His brows drew together.
I tried to calm down and said, “At least, not until I figure out what I have to say.”
“How long is that gonna take?” he asked.
About four lifetimes.
Of course, I was going to have to speed it up.
I needed my life to get back to its normal, everyday boringness.
But first, I needed to go to the liquor store and buy a bottle of Jack. I didn’t drink Jack but I thought now was a very good time to take up bourbon.
Instead of imparting any of this information on Eddie, I said, “I don’t know.”
Then he said, “You’ve got until tomorrow.” My mouth dropped open, then I snapped it shut, then I said, “You’re giving me a deadline?”
He loosened his arm but held me around the neck and pushed the cart with his other hand, moving us forward.
“You aren’t exactly a fast mover and any time I give you, you’l use to retreat. That’s not gonna happen. So yeah, I’m giving you a deadline.”
I decided it was a good time to stop talking.
We made it through the rest of the shopping ordeal without incident until we hit the check-out line. I wasn’t without incident until we hit the check-out line. I wasn’t paying attention and before I knew it, Eddie slid his credit card into the card-reading machine.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Paying for your groceries,” he answered.
I stared. Then I glared. “You can’t pay for my groceries,” I said.
“Why not?”
I didn’t know.
“I don’t know,” Then it hit me, “They aren’t your groceries,” I finished.
“I’m eating some of them, aren’t I?”
This was true, he was.
He turned from me, back to the cashier.
Guess that conversation was over.
I bent over and pounded my head on the little check-writing desk.
“I’d let him pay for my groceries,” the cashier decided to throw in.
I didn’t respond.
I walked to the end of the check-out, commandeered the cart the minute the bag boy put my last bag in it and, without looking back, motored out the door.
* * * * *
I saw Mr. Greasy Coveral s pul ing my car into the lot of the apartment building just before Eddie and I swung in. I felt a moment of elation. My car was not only running, it looked waxed and happy-shiny, like it had a new lease on life.
Eddie parked, I threw open the door to the truck and walked to Mr. Greasy Coveral s.
“It’s fixed!” I cried.
“Yeah, it had a blah, blah, blah, with its blahdity, blah, blah. Then there was the blah, blah blah.” Of course, he used words for the “blah blahs” but I didn’t understand a single one of them.
“How much?” I asked, looking happily at my car, which represented freedom, independence and no more borrowed rides or bus and taxi fares.
“Seven hundred and fifty dol ars.”
My breath caught, my heart seized and I was sure I was going to throw up.
I looked at Mr. Greasy Coveral s.
“Why didn’t you cal me before doing anything?” I asked.
Mechanics were supposed to cal , tel you what it was going to cost before sucking away your lifeblood. That’s how it worked. I thought it was the law.
“That’s the charge before detailing it, the oil change, putting in a new filter and plugs and changing the wipers.
Oh, and you had a brake light out.”
I started hyperventilating.
Mr. Greasy Coveral s watched me like I was a particularly inept performance artist. Then he looked at Eddie. Then back at me when I yel ed.
“I don’t have that kind of money! The car isn’t even worth that kind of money!”
He looked back at Eddie as Eddie’s hand slid against the smal of my back.
“It’s taken care of,” Mr. Greasy Coveral s said at the exact same time that Eddie said, “Jet.”
“Taken…” I started to say and then it hit me. Mom, Ada and me watching through the window as Eddie talked to Mr. Greasy Coveral s.
I turned and stared at Eddie. “You didn’t.” A car swung in, Mr. Greasy Coveral s handed Eddie my car keys and got in the other car and took off. I didn’t take my eyes off Eddie the whole time.
“Tel me you didn’t,” I demanded.
He watched me closely.
“I did,” he replied.
I considered scratching his eyes out. Then I thought that probably wasn’t very nice, I mean, he just spent, like, a thousand dol ars on my piece of shit car.
Then I considered screaming. But I decided to reserve my energy. Who knew what was going to happen next and I needed to be prepared.