The Future Memoir of Ann Jones Page 2

  Freda gave Ann an eerily knowing look and nodded as if she knew the answers before she asked them.

  “You knit?” Freda asked with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “In fact, I do.” Although she hadn’t knitted anything in quite a long time, even though she had recently visited a knitting store back home.

  “Well, then, you’ll have to come to Knitting Club. Just a group of us old bitties sitting around stitchin’ and bitchin’. I think you’ll have a lot in common with these gals.”

  Ann was excited to meet new people and make friends, so she accepted the invitation, “Absolutely! When and where do I show up? And what shall I bring?”

  “We meet each Wednesday at 7:30 PM. Always at my house, just three doors down. Do you have a pen and paper? I’ll write down my address and phone number for you.”

  Ann dug in her purse and pulled out a small notebook and pen and handed it to Freda.

  “Would you like to have a piece of this yummy looking cake with me?” Ann offered.

  “Never eat my own food,” Freda warned, as she handed her contact information to Ann. “Well, I need to get back to my sweetie.”

  “Your husband?”

  Freda let out a laugh as hearty as her handshake, and said, “My dog. He’s part Siamese cat. Gets real finicky if I leave him too long without letting him know where I am. Since he was asleep when I left, thought it best to leave him be.”

  “So how do you manage to leave him during Knitting Club?”

  “Don’t. We bring our pets. You’re not allergic to nothing, are you?” Freda glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.

  “No, I have a dog.” Ann called, “Honey!” Her pooch bounded down the stairs. She was surprised Honey hadn’t come bustling down when the doorbell rang.

  Freda gave a heavy pat to Honey’s head and commented, “Cute. She’ll fit right in.”

  “Should I bring something to the knitting group?”

  “Knitting needles and yarn if you plan to knit. Anything else’s optional. Some of the gals may bring a munchie, if the mood strikes ‘em. But not necessary. Gotta go. See you Wednesday.” Freda moved toward the door.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Freda. Thanks for the cake. And thank you for inviting me to the knitting group. I’m looking forward to it.” Ann was anxious to make friends as soon as possible.

  “Remember,” Freda said as she opened the door without turning back, “Initiation’s at 7:30. Don’t be late.” She closed the door behind herself.

  Initiation? That’s a funny way of referring to meeting a group of ladies. But, then again, Freda did seem a bit odd. Ann turned to see Honey eyeing the chocolate mound. Knowing that chocolate would make Honey sick, she moved the cake to the kitchen.

  Since she had been working all day unpacking boxes, Ann figured she deserved a treat. She cut herself a rather large slice. Of course, this called for more coffee, and even though she normally preferred it black, but when she was already overloading her insulin, she preferred to make it extra sweet. She decided to throw caution to the wind and stirred in three level teaspoons of sugar into her cup. The South has their sweet tea so the West Coast, though now she was on the East Coast, could have their sweet coffee.

  Ann put a large piece of the luscious cake on her fork and scraped a heaping helping of frosting next to it and then shoved it into her mouth. She just as quickly spat the entire horrid mess across the table, some of which landed on the floor.

  Honey ran over, sniffed it, and backed away slowly, with her ears sagging. When she had backed away sufficiently far enough, she began to growl.

  Ann dashed over to the sink and ran water into her mouth from the faucet, rinsing the repugnance out of her teeth. It tasted like what she imagined vomit, sewage, and dog farts mixed together in a dumpster of dirty diapers would taste like. She took a few gulps of her coffee to replace the memory of the worst cake…no, the worst anything, she had ever tasted. And that included eating cat food and play dough as a child. She was thankful for the caution she had thrown and had the sweet flavor of sugar to replace that vile mess, Freda called cake.

  What was Freda trying to do, poison her? She couldn’t figure out what Freda had put in that “cake”, but chocolate, flour, eggs and sugar were definitely not among the ingredients. She made a mental note to herself, when someone says they don’t eat their own food, be damn sure to trust their judgment.

  Chapter 3

  The next morning, Ann awoke to another beautiful day. She thought if every day started out like this one, she wouldn’t mind living far from her beloved Hotlandtown, with its perfect temperate climate, her friends—especially Alex—and her twins. One change Ann was looking forward to, in addition to moving far away, was to find a job. But first things first. She needed a car. Before she could return the rental to the airport, she would have to purchase one for herself. She checked Gloria’s phone book and searched for the nearest car dealer. Ann hated car dealers and buying cars—sleazy salesmen who either hounded you into buying options you didn’t want or those who ignored you if you didn’t have a man hanging on your arm. She braced herself for the worst.

  Her finger stopped on an ad with a picture featuring a rotund man with a white beard who was pointing to a late-model Mercury. He looked like Santa Claus. How could anyone go wrong buying a car from Santa? Ann punched the address into her cell phone’s GPS, gave Honey a pat on the head. With her most optimistic attitude, she drove toward Jallopenson and Son Car Sales.

  * * * * *

  As she pulled into the dealership, Ann noticed several sales people busy with customers. This was a good thing; it would give her a chance to look around the lot without being hounded.

  Ann had sold her car before moving. She wanted to start fresh with something totally different and didn’t want anything to do with another minivan. That part of her life was over. It was just her and Honey now, and it was time for her to get the car of her dreams, even if she wasn’t quite sure what that was. She did know what it wasn’t—a frumpy car.

  As she browsed up and down the aisles of blah-beige automobiles, a shiny metallic blue car caught her eye. She was drawn to it, as if it were calling to her. “Ann, Ann, come to me,” she heard. “Drive me home.” Hypnotized, she obliged and scampered off in the direction of the shiny object.

  Just as she reached the blue goddess a deep voice from behind broke her reverie. “Good morning, ma’am. I’m Ben Jallopenson. Can I help you with something?”

  She didn’t turn around but placed both hands on the hood of her dream car and said almost breathlessly, “I’ll take this one.” Up close, she noticed tiny flecks of something reflecting the sun’s rays. She imagined they were fragments of pixie dust.

  She looked up at the rather tall and quite attractive salesman. He frowned and said, “That one? You sure you want a Mustang?”

  Ann wondered what type of salesman she had encountered that would question a sale.

  “We have a mighty nice Civic Hybrid next row over,” he glanced over her shoulder.

  Oh. A Mustang. She’d heard of that. It had a horse for its mascot. Without looking in the direction of the Civic, she demanded to know, “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “Nothing. It’s sure got plenty of power.” He hesitated. “But the gas mileage isn’t so great.”

  “I’m not planning on driving it across the country,” Ann snapped. She stood up straight as her ponytail fell gently over her shoulders. She kept one hand on the Mustang as if protecting her young.

  Ben stood taller in response and towered over her. “Well, you know how much snow we get. This is a rear-wheel drive vehicle. First inch we get, and you’ll end up in a ditch.”

  Ann’s feathers were ruffled. How dare this man talk to her like he was her father! “First of all, sir…”

  “It’s Ben.” He offered his hand.

  Ann didn’t want to shake his hand. She wanted to shake his shoulders. She shook his hand anyway, and said, “I’m Ann.” Sh
e liked his firm grip and large hands. They were comforting and protective. “Well, I’m not from here,” she noticed his handshake lingered just a bit too long and released his grip. “And second of all, I’m an excellent driver, never been in a ditch.”

  “Where’d you say you’re from?” He gave her a quizzical look.

  “I didn’t,” Ann took her hand off the prize and crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, are you going to sell me this car or not?”

  He grinned “Well, Ann, if you insist. I suppose I will. But I would prefer to sell you something a little safer.”

  Ann was irritated by the salesman. Who did he think he was to tell her what to buy? Just because he was good looking, that didn’t give him the right to make decisions for his customers. She wanted the guy from the picture. The Santa-looking man. The one who looked nice and jolly; not this arrogant man who thought he was God’s gift to women, and thought he knew better than she did what was best for her. “Where’s Santa?” she blurted out.

  “Who?”

  “The guy in the yellow pages. With the beard. The nice-looking man.” She didn’t care if she was being rude by asking for a different salesman, she wanted someone who wasn’t going to lecture her.

  Ben threw his head back and laughed whole-heartedly.

  “What’s so funny?” She was thoroughly annoyed by this entire encounter.

  “That Santa, as you call him, is my father. And precisely why do you want him?” Ben eyed her with suspicion.

  “He looks nice, that’s why! Like he wouldn’t try to sell me a car I don’t want.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Ben said, pulling out his cell phone. “Maybe you do need my dad.” He dialed and then spoke, “Dad, can you come out to aisle three?”

  “Be right there, Son,” the kind voice on the walkie-talkie announced.

  Yes! That’s the salesman I want.

  Shortly afterward, the man with the familiar white beard marched down the aisle with a slight limp.

  “Well, hello there!” Ben’s dad called out.

  “Hey, Dad, this um…nice young lady asked for you specifically. Said she saw you in the yellow pages and just had to have your help.” Ben’s green eyes twinkled as he introduced his father.

  “This is Ann.” Ben turned toward her. He looked like he’d just stolen a cookie from the jar and gotten away with it.

  Ben’s dad vigorously shook her hand. “The name’s Reuben. But Ben here. He’s your man. Knows more about cars, and what’s best for folks, than any salesman we’ve got. Any salesman in the state. Any salesman on earth, for that matter.” Reuben beamed proudly at his son.

  “But, he’s trying to sell me a Civic, and I want this car,” Ann said, pointing to the Mustang.

  “It’s up to you,” Reuben said, “but my advice would be to take my boy’s advice. He’s the expert here. Well, nice to meet you. Gotta get back to work.”

  “Wait, this isn’t your job?” Ann looked confused.

  Reuben chuckled, “Oh, hell no. Don’t know the first thing about these cars. Retired from sales years ago. Financing’s my job. Once you seal the deal with Ben here, come on inside and I’ll hook you up with a great rate.” Reuben marched back down the aisle and disappeared into the showroom.

  Ann’s heart sunk. Ben kept his huge boyish grin as Ann fumed. She felt betrayed. It was definitely a bait and switch. Not for the car…for the salesman. She was stuck with the arrogant one when what she wanted was a jolly old elf. “I don’t care what he says, I want this one.”

  “Would you at least like to take it for a test drive before you buy it?” he offered.

  “No! I don’t want to at least take it for a test drive,” she mocked.

  “Okay, but I’m going to make you sign a waiver that come this winter, you won’t try to get your money back.”

  “Oh,” Ann’s eyebrows shot up, “I didn’t realize I had that long to return it.”

  “You don’t,” he shook his head in disbelief, “it was a joke.”

  Ann pursed her lips. “Not a very funny one.”

  Ben beamed as he led her into the showroom.

  * * * * *

  When she had finished signing all the papers with Reuben to own her new shiny blue Mustang, Ben handed Ann the key. She pulled out her ponytail and shook her hair in anticipation of feeling the breeze blowing through her locks with the windows rolled down.

  Ben walked Ann out to the parking lot, where her blue baby was waiting in front of the showroom. “Look, I’m sorry for all the hassle,” he said. “Let me make it up to you. How about dinner?”

  What nerve! First this lug tried to talk me into buying a boring car, and now he has the audacity to ask me out? “I think not!” she scowled, forcing her nose in the air.

  Ben didn’t look as disappointed as Ann thought he should have as he stood on the sidewalk and watched her climb into the driver’s seat. Finally, a real car. A car all for her. Not to haul kids, not to get better gas mileage as Ben had suggested. But just to please herself. She turned the key in the ignition and threw her head back against the headrest to hear the roar of the engine.

  Silence.

  She rolled the window down and barked, “You sold me a lemon? Is this why you didn’t want me to buy this car? You knew it didn’t work?”

  Ben cocked his head to the side and smirked, “I was the one who tried to get you to take a test drive, remember?”

  She wanted to wipe the irritating smirk off his face with her fist but decided to glare it off instead.

  Ben didn’t budge, but instead offered, “It’s a manual transmission. Try pushing in the clutch when you start it.”

  Her face flamed. How could she not have known? The third pedal should have been all the hint she needed. But she wasn’t about to let on to that arrogant bastard she hadn’t a clue about the transmission. Or that she didn’t know the first thing about driving a manual transmission.

  She studied the three pedals, not knowing which one was the clutch, took a wild guess, closed her eyes, and turned the key again. This time the filly roared. Ah-ha, this isn’t such a big deal.

  She smiled triumphantly at Ben, who still had an annoyingly cocky grin plastered over his face, like a linebacker who’d just sacked the quarterback. So full of himself. Though he looked more like a quarterback than a linebacker, tall and muscular.

  When Ann threw the car into second gear, it sputtered and lurched to a stop. It wasn’t until that moment she understood Ben’s look. That knowing look. The one she couldn’t bear to see again. Without looking at him, she cracked her window and said dejectedly, “I, um…”

  “Need some driving lessons,” Ben finished her sentence.

  “No! I know how to drive! I’ve been driving for twenty years! I just need an itsy little lesson on how to make this clutch thing work.”

  Ben wasted no time. He ran around to the passenger’s side and climbed in. He was an extremely patient instructor, and soon Ann felt confident in being able to handle the car on her own.

  She looked at Ben in a new light. He hadn’t been arrogant or cocky while teaching her lesson. He was kind and helpful, especially when she was too pig-headed to listen and stalled her new engine more than once.

  When she drove back into the parking lot and let him out in front of the sales office, he squatted next to her open window. “And just what were you planning on doing with your old car? I noticed you didn’t trade it in.”

  Ann gripped the steering wheel and squeezed. “Oh crap! I totally forgot about it with all the excitement of my new baby.”

  “That’s not hard to do after your traumatic experience,” he snickered.

  She let the snide comment pass. “Actually, it’s a rental. I need to get it back to the airport by three o’clock or they’re going to charge me for another day.”

  “The airport? Do you know how far that is? It’s at least—”

  “Two hours. I know. Drove it home yesterday.” Ann needed to think. How could she have forgotten about th
e rental? And how would she get it back to the airport? Those logistics never even crossed her mind.

  “Tell you what,” Ben suggested. “I’ll follow you in my car to the airport. You can drop off the rental. Then I’ll bring you back here to pick up your shiny new one.”

  Ann eyed him sideways. She wondered why this salesman would travel two hours out of his way and back for her. She tried to find the answer in his eternally innocent-looking baby face, but found none. There was no hint in this clean-cut salesman’s eyes as to why he would want to waste a tankful of gas.

  He answered Ann’s curious look, “Oh yeah. There’s a price alright.”

  Here it comes. He’s going to scalp me, knowing I have no other choice. She wished she hadn’t sounded so desperate. But she didn’t have any other option so she asked, “Okay, how much?”

  “How much what?” Ben’s pretend-innocence shined; he played it up perfectly.

  “What’s your fee?” she blurted out, not wanting to drag out this dance any longer.

  He snorted, “The same one I proposed earlier.”

  Ann didn’t remember him suggesting any fee earlier and was growing irritated. “What? When?”

  “Remember? I offered to take you to dinner?”

  “Yeah, so?” she saw the overconfident look on his face, which explained the price was a date with her. “Oh!” She was relieved he wasn’t going to charge her a huge amount for her ride back. But, her newly-single status hadn’t sunk in yet and she certainly didn’t feel like she should be dating this close to her beloved husband’s death. It had only been a few months. “Um, I don’t…know…you. That well.”

  His face fell. There was an awkward pause, and then he smiled broadly. “Tell you what. My job is to negotiate. It’s what I do best. So, how about a compromise?” He stood up. “How about if we go for coffee. A pre-dinner coffee. No dinner involved.”

  Ann pondered his compromise for a moment and thought coffee would be in a well-lit, loud coffee house, so it should be fine. “Sure. Coffee would be nice.” Not to mention the fact that she ran on coffee and would probably be ripe for a cup when she returned. She was glad Ben wasn’t going to gouge her, but she was still leery of him.