Page 2 of Beauty and the Grease
I march right on back to Ole Beasty and slam the door. Blazing thoughts suffocate feelings long dealt with, or so I thought. Maybe it’s true, you never really get over your ex.
I’d call him my ex-husband, but that would mean we’d actually been married. And when your marriage is annulled, then you’re supposed to believe it never happened.
CHAPTER 2
Chase
Am I losing my mind? Was Jenny Dixon just standing by my car?
The woman disappeared, leaving me bewildered. I’ve never feltbewilderedin my life, but this is the kind of day I’ve had. One calamity on top of another.
She looked angry, the Jenny person, if it was actually her. She definitely had been last I’d seen her. Angry. So very, very angry. And for good reason. I’m the reason our marriage dissolved.
My ex-wife’s voice pierces through the phone. The uh, second ex-wife.
I glance to the tow truck. I need to get out of here. Besides the flat, there’s damage to the car from when I veered off the road and careened into the ditch. I’m lucky I didn’t get hurt or hurt someone else.
What I don’t need is a furious Jenny while I’m dealing with my furious ex. But I need the tow more than I don’tneed another angry woman. “Look, Lisa, the tow truck is here. I’m still trying to get to the conference—”
My ex (the recent one) fumes at me some more for daring to do my job. If she only knew the reality of the situation maybe she’d back off on guilting me to ditch the retreat. Especially when she expects alimony checks.
My life—why?This is not where I’m supposed to be. Literally, not on the side of a random country road. Literally arguing with my ex-wife while another ex-wife waits thirty feet away. I guess I figured my forties would mean a promotion and a corner office, not a flat tire, a tow truck, and two ex-wives.
Lisa continues blaming me for not taking the kids this weekend. I called her on it and she’s not happy.
One: because she knew this work trip was in the books for months. Two: because she delights in withholding my time with Owen and Emma. When it’s convenient for her, she uses them against me. She and her boyfriend want to attend some last-minute luxury river cruise on Lake St. Clair on a weekend she committed to having the kids. She insists I’m a terrible father every time I don’t give in to her whims.
“I’m hanging up.” I end the call. I’m sure Lisa will devise additional ways to punish me. I usually concede when she makes demands because I want what’s best for the kids. I don’t want them to see us like this.
My stained suit is a problem. Coffee launched out of the cup onto my lap when I hit that canyon-sized pothole. The wet fabric makes me feel like I wet myself. Not ideal for facing what’s next. First the tow, then getting to the retreat to claw my way back into good standing with my superiors.
The tow hasn’t left, by some miracle. My sideview mirror shows no traffic (shocker), so I get out. Approaching the truck, I rap my knuckle against the driver’s side window.
The woman scowls, but the scowl can’t mar her pretty face. Yup. That’s Jenny.
The window rolls down. She has to crank it herself. “Believe it or not, this is not a joke,” she says. “I’m not a recurring guest star on the drama production that is your life.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m sorry. I’m pretty stressed right now and, well, I didn’t expect to see you.”
She holds a steady gaze. “What are you doing out here? Maybeyou’retrying to guest star inmylife.”
Seriously, what is happening here? “Why are you driving a tow truck?” The logo on the door reads Jenny’s Auto.She’s the Jenny.“Is this…did you buy a tow truck?”
“The Beast? Yeah. This truck and an auto repair shop. Yes, I did.”
When? How? “Where?”
“Down the road in Derby.”
Derby…some dinky town north of Metro Detroit if I recall. I refocus on the truck. It’s orange. Very orange. It’s so extremely orange I’m not sure how it took me this long to notice. Yellow and red squiggles cover the side leading to— “Why is there a clown face?”
“The truck used to belong to Buddy the Clown, a local entertainer. He retired from towing and then started a clowning business. Then he retired from that and had a hard time selling the truck, given the custom paint job. Jackpot for me.” Her expression flattens. “Look, do you want a tow or not? I’m on a tight schedule.” Her lip twitches, which used to be her tell. But it’s been what, seventeen years since we were together? How should I know if she’s being straight with me?
“I need the tow. And a rental car.”
She nods, then starts the truck. She backs the tow to align with my car. For the first time today, the noise in my head deadens.
When did she learn to do this? Last I knew, she worked at a car dealership in Rochester Hills. One of the big ones with mostly not embarrassing TV commercials. She worked in the office, but maybe she learned to hitch a tow on the side? When we were together, she worked at an art gallery. She wore trendy clothes and rented expensive outfits for gala events from some website that did that sort of thing.
