Page 5 of Salvage Him
Two
Brooklyn
Movingsucks.
We were on our fourth move since Paul and I had married four years ago. And each one of them had been new, interesting, and exciting, but basically, they all sucked. None of them feltlikehome.
Paul said it was because my attitudesucked.
According to the driver who picked me up at the airport, I had twenty minutes tochangeit.
It was my attitude that he fell for in the first place. I had been twenty-one years old, sharing a two-room flat in Brooklyn, New York, blocks away from where I grew up. That used to be my wholeworld.
On our first date, Paul picked me up in a limo. We drove to Manhattan's newest real estate gem in Tribeca. We rode to the top floor, the penthouse. As a real estate developer, Paul's company built, marketed and sold the forty units that ranged in price from two point three million dollars to ten million. We moved into the penthouse the following week. It sold two months later, and we moved into another, and then another. That was my life for the last four years. I was a placeholder in an apartment that would soon belong to someone else. Even though we lived in Munich, Paris, and Los Angeles, it was nevermylife.
Now, we were in Dallas,Texas.
The driver kept staring at me through the rearview mirror. He hid his surprise when I walked up on him at the airport and told him I was Mrs. McIntyre. His name wasO'Connell.
Sorry to disappoint.I wasn't a kinsman. I was a Brooklyn-born African American woman who hadmarriedwell.
"First time in Dallas?" heasked.
"Yes." I peeked out the window as we zoomed down a six-lane highway. "Are youfromhere?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said in a heavy Texasdrawl.
I held in agiggle.
Ma'am, was that a Southern thing? The man could have been myfather.
"Born and raised. Where you from, ma'am?" He rested his arm on the passengerheadrest.
"Brooklyn,"Isaid.
"You're from Brooklyn,NewYork?"
"Yeah ... No. I mean. Yes, but I was saying please, call me Brooklyn, not ma'am." I scooted up inmyseat.
"Sorry." He turned back to me and smirked. "It's a habit." He turned back to the road. "I hope it's not that big of a culture shockforyou."
"Yeah, well, I thought all Texans wore a plaid shirts, jeans, andcowboyhats."
He wore a black suit and ablackhat.
"I thought all New Yorkers stayed inNewYork."
I caught his wink and grin in the rearviewmirror.
I wished that were the case. Imissedhome.
We exited off the highway onto anotherhighway.
"So this here is the Tollway; it's one of three highways that take you from North to South. You got your 75/Central Expressway on the east and 35/Stemmons Freeway on the west. Now don't get that mixed up with 35Westin. . ."
I tuned him out. I had no clue what he was talking about anyway. I would discover the city for myself. I had found my way around the other cities wecalledhome.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the window. It was cool outside. I thought Texas was hot. The chill on my forehead chased a headache away, but I knew it would be short-lived.
