Page 30 of Two Chances With You

“Why should I? Just pretend I’m not even here. You said that I wasn’t expected as a part of your night out, didn’t you? To say nothing of the whole issue of equality, plus there’s something even more important.”

She swings around to face me, hands on her hips. “Let’s hear it. What else?”

“You said that you were a third dan, right? Just think if you lose against a wheel. Ha, ha, ha.”

She looks at me, furious now. She practically lunges into the trunk, grabs the wheel, and arches her back. She makes a huge effort, and I head right over to her, ready to help, but she has the spare tire out of the trunk before I get there.

“I can do it. What are you worried about?” Then, as she passes by me, she hits me with her shoulder and shoves me aside, intentionally. “Get out of my way! Don’t stand around, keeping people from working.”

Chapter 11

Isit down by the side of the road, atop a low wall, and I light a cigarette. I just sit there, hidden in the darkness, watching Ginevra. Then I shout from a distance, “Nice work, good going. You’re doing a great job.”

She slides under the car to place the jack. She’s bent over, with both hands on the ground, her fingers up in the air as she looks for the best place to slide in the jack. She starts to lift the side of the car with the jack, pumping up and down, making the car sway slightly.

“Let me know when you’re done. Maybe I’ll take a nap in the meantime.”

I let myself slide back into a recumbent position on the top of the low wall. I watch the clouds scudding overhead in the dark sky. By now they’re mixed up with the smoke that I let escape in plumes from my mouth. Transparent, bathed in hidden light, that higher moon, the one you can’t see even though you know it’s there.

I take a nice deep breath. I smile, and I turn to look at Ginevra. There she is, undoing the bolts. She puts all her strength into turning the lug wrench. She can’t do it with the strength of her arms so she puts all her weight on it with one foot. The lug wrench attached to the bolt bounces off and clangs to the ground. She heaves a sigh of annoyance, and with the edge of her hand, to keep from smearing grease on herself, she pushes the hair out of her face. She’s beautiful and overheated. She puts the lug wrench back on the bolt and gives it another shot.

A car is arriving. It has a dark paint job, and it goes by at moderate speed, flashes its brights, and honks its horn. Then I hear the screech of brakes from a short distance ahead, followed by the sound of tires backing up fast, typical of a knucklehead driver. It’s a Toyota Corolla. It’s in reverse but traveling at considerable speed, fishtailing as it comes. It half-curves in reverse. Then it comes to a halt right next to Ginevra’s Micra. Some people get out. I sit up on the low wall. It’s three guys. I flick my cigarette to the ground and sit there, watching the scene unfold.

“Hey, ciao. What are you doing here all alone at night?”

“Flat tire, huh? What lousy luck.”

“What lousy luck forus, for a minute we thought you were a hooker.”

They all laugh.

One of them coughs. They might be more or less twenty years old. They have buzz cuts. Maybe they’re in the army.

Ginevra doesn’t look in my direction. “Listen, do you mind very much? Could you help me change this tire?”

“Why, of course. We’d be delighted.”

The shortest one gets down low and starts undoing the bolts with the lug wrench. “Damn, they’re rusty.”

“Yeah, I’ve never changed a tire on this car. This is the first time I’ve had a flat.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

One of the three guys laughs in a raucous bark, and the other two follow suit.

“Hey, it’s a good thing it happened to you tonight, when we just happened to be passing.”

“Yeah, right, it’s a good thing that you guys are here.” This time Ginevra shoots a glance in my direction, and without letting herself be seen, she gestures with one hand as if to say,Serves you right, you see? These guys are going to help me.

The little guy changes the tire in the blink of an eye. He undoes all the bolts and sets aside the flat tire. He lets it fall to the ground nearby, so that it bounces and rolls, and immediately places the spare tire on the hub. He gets the holes aligned quickly and tightens all of the bolts. He gives them all a first tightening, one at a time without tightening too much, and then goes back over them for the final, decisive tighten-up. He must be a mechanic as a day job. He gives one last jerk to the lug wrench and gets to his feet. “Et voilà, all done. Taken care of, signorina!”

He cleans off his hands by smacking them against his jeans above the knee. The jeans are so dirty that his hands leave no marks.

“Thanks. I wouldn’t have known what to do without your help.”

There’s just no two ways about it, I think to myself. She really is a princess. The right phrase at the right time. Or the wrong one. An ordinary and obvious attempt to get rid of them in an amiable manner. But just as I expected, it falls flat.

“Wait, what are you doing now? You’re just going to send us away like that?” The taller guy, who is also a little bigger than his two companions, takes the situation in hand.

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