Page 4 of Velvet and Valor
At least I won’t have to fold myself into the back seat of a Prius.
One second I’m walking, staring at my phone, and the next second bam! I collide with a solid object and stumble back, losing my balance. It feels like the sidewalk rears up and slams into my butt.
“Ow!” I cry as everything in my hands goes skittering across the sidewalk. A groan gets my attention. I look over to seeanother woman on her hands and knees nearby. It only takes me a second to realize she’s the solid object I collided with.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say, going to help her stand up. She has a cut on her lower lip but seems otherwise uninjured. “I should have been looking where I was going–”
“Yeah, you should have!” she snaps, shoving me away from her. I’m a little taken aback by her rude manner. “Next time, don’t walk and text.”
“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re bleeding.”
She touches her lip, then looks at the crimson on her fingertips. Her glare could peel paint. I take a step back because I see the promise of violence dancing in her eyes. We’re about the same age, but the lines on her face and the haunted look in her eyes tell me she’s lived a hard, hard life. One that’s sharpened her into something dangerous. Her upper lip curls into a snarl, “You bitch. You fucking bitch, you made me bleed.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, trying to offer her a napkin I took from the bar. “Let’s get you cleaned up, at least.”
“No!” Her eyes go wide. “Never mind. I’m fine!”
“Are you sure–”
“I said, I’m fine!” She grabs her luggage and storms away like she’s on fire. “I have to go.”
“Wait.” I stoop over and pick up a silken scarf off the sidewalk. It has a brilliant if unfashionable black and white striped abstract pattern printed on the silk. “I think you dropped this.”
The woman doesn’t slow or react in any way to what I’ve said.
“Ma’am?” I say, again trying to catch her attention. But she heads into the nearest lavatory, presumably to check out her busted lip. I could follow her, but on the other hand she said she was fine, and I need to get my ride sorted out…
Absent-mindedly, I tuck the scarf into my palm and gather my things from the pavement.
In my flurry of texts, a message comes and goes from my ride service. I eventually get around to checking it, when I realize it’s almost time for my car to arrive.
Hello, JuneMayweather246. The following changes have been made to your scheduled ride:
New driver/vehicle.
A message with the driver and vehicle information will reach you soon. Thanks for using the Sir Liftsalot service…
“It’s fine,” I grumble, adjusting my sunglasses in the face of the hot sun. “It’s not like it’s a million degrees or anything.”
A glossy black, stretched limo rolls up to the curb almost right in front of me. The driver’s door opens, and I see a black hat first. It rises up into the air…and up…and up, propelled by a head shaped like a thumb and sized for a Brahma Bull and not a human being.
The driver gives me a rather sour look as he stalks over to the terminal sidewalk. He’s so big, it’s like his own body is hindering his movements. Definitely a beach muscle type.
He looks at me for a long time, his eyes narrowed. His gaze darts down to my hands, and then back to my face. Then he strokes his chin and looks at the rear door of the limo.
I put my hand on my hip and give him a look. Like, what do you want, dude?
Then it hits me: The alternative ride. This guy looks just as confused as I do, it’s probably him.
“Um,” I say, stepping forward. “Excuse me, but I think you’re here to pick me up.”
His eyes widen. The driver’s gaze darts left and right before he tries to yank the briefcase out of my hand.
“Paws off please, this is vintage!” I screech, “Are you sure you’re working for the--”
His shifty brown eyes dart around, landing on a fender bender in the line of cars behind us, “I am here to pick you up.Get moving,” he says, shoving me toward the rear door of the limo.
“Hey! This suit set me back four figures,” I blurt as I stumble toward the door. “Your people skills need some shoring up, real talk.”
