Debi Moseley

"Stupid, stubborn--"

Words failed Lisa as she fumed, staring under the hood of the unresponsive Toyota. It sat impassively, some unidentifiable component ticking away slowly from the depths of the engine as it steamed serenely in the evening air. Her need to address it overwhelmed her again and she started her rant once more.

"You stupid, rotten--" The words her brain was retrieving to send on to her vocal cords and from there out into the cooling air were a few steps beyond profanity. As angry as she was, her memory was really outdoing itself, striving to please her by producing the foulest epithets possible, stringing together phrases and curses that approached high art. Lisa squelched the impulses mercilessly. It wouldn't do her any good to get used to saying them again and then slip up in front of her young nephew. The kid was like a tape recorder and her sister always knew right away who his elocution coach was. At the speed of thought, her speech center began a new search for acceptable words that might begin to approach the level of expression that she needed in order to vent her frustration. Lisa began to speak again to the car, reviewing its dubious parentage, speculating that it might have been the unfortunate love-child of a Pinto and a Yugo and observing that the quality of the hamsters that ran the Tinker-Toy engine had declined abruptly from their earlier standards. The car did nothing to defend itself, merely ticked ever slower and belched its steamy last breath at her. She gave up and peered forlornly under the hood again.

It probably wouldn't do her much good; she didn't know that much about the mysterious inner workings of the vehicle at hand, or any other for that matter. The Toyota had lasted forever and a day, having nearly two hundred thousand miles on it. It had been well-maintained and rarely abused. She really couldn't complain. The elderly vehicle had only recently begun showing the signs of automotive senility: hesitating in the mornings, drinking far more than its fair share of various fluids, rattling unexpectedly and without explanation, farting black smoke when the gears were shifted. But why, why did it have to strand her tonight, of all nights?! She looked down at her clothing; up until just a little while ago it had been a fairly stylish silk shirt and trousers. Lisa had had the good sense to take the jacket off and leave it on the front seat, but the cuffs of the blouse sported a few smears of grease and the trousers were dusty and disheveled from leaning against the car. To make things worse, silk was not very forgiving when it came to stains. Sighing in frustration, Lisa looked up and down the rural road she stood alongside. Spying a driveway that wound back into a stand of pines, she retrieved her jacket from the car's interior. Donning it against the chilly wind that began to blow, she locked up her vehicle and began to walk.

By the time she reached the front door of the house, she was very glad she hadn't worn heels. The drive was nearly a mile long, but since it had been the only choice available to her, complaining about this latest setback seemed fruitless. She rang the doorbell and stepped back into the glowing circle shed by the porch light.

The door opened abruptly and a man peered around the door, a somewhat harried expression on his face.

"You aren't from the garage?"

Lisa took a few moments to answer, startled as she was by his question. "No, but I could sure use one if it does house calls."

It was the man's turn to goggle while his mind replayed the statement and interpreted it. "I'm sorry," he began. "You need to use the phone?"

"If you don't mind."

He backed up, opening the door wide. As the door opened, more of the man was revealed. He was wearing only a pair of slacks; his skin was damp and his blond hair was dark with water. Lisa tried not to stare; he was nicely built and had an angularly handsome face. The object of her scrutiny never noticed her appraisal of his attributes.

"Come in, I'm sorry." Showing her to the kitchen, he pointed to the object in question. "The phone's right there." He continued on his way through the room. "I'll be right back." He muttered, more to himself than to her, "I've been trying to get ready all afternoon…" The sound of his distracted voice trailed off as he headed back into the depths of the house.

"Thank you," she called after his retreating back. 'Awfully trusting soul,' she thought to herself. The blond man had left a total stranger unattended in his home while he went off to do who-knew-what for whatever occasion. Groaning, Lisa remembered her own reason for driving out tonight and hoped that the man she was supposed to be meeting for the first time would be understanding. Even better, maybe he would get discouraged by her absence and just go home so she wouldn't have to face him. Ever. Sighing in resignation, she dug through her bag and found her long-distance card. A brief search in the vicinity of the phone yielded a directory and she thumbed through it, looking for towing services. In a matter of minutes she was embroiled in an intense verbal battle with the unfortunate individual that answered her call.

"I don't know what happened to the car. It stopped running, it died, it ceased to be!" A brief, insane impulse goaded her to perform the entire Dead Parrot Sketch for the idiot on the other end of the line, but she suspected that the sarcasm and humor would be wasted on the man. "Look, I'm in some strange person's house on Highway 16, I have no idea what the name is--"

"Andraesen."

Lisa nearly jumped out of her skin; so intent was she in her conversation, she hadn’t heard her host’s approach. He smiled apologetically at her. "It's Andraesen," she relayed through the phone, once her heart had started again. "The address?" He handed her a slip of paper and she read the number to the towing service. "No, I have the keys. Why? I'll be with the car. I can't stay in here, he's got somewhere to go. Two hours? Where are you coming from, Miami? Fine, fine, whatever. Not like I have anything better to do on a Friday night."

She hung up the phone and sagged in defeat against the counter. Now she knew that she'd miss her date. Oh well, no big deal. She'd been dreading it for a week anyway. She didn't know what had possessed her to answer that stupid singles ad anyway. Nobody was ever honest in them. The composer professed the usual love of the outdoors and of animals, time spent together, movies, music; the standard run-of-the-mill crap. But for some odd reason this one had appealed to her. Maybe the pressure of living by herself and always being alone had finally gotten to her and she'd cracked, submitting for one brief moment to that traitorous spark of hope and had sent the email before she could stop herself. At least this time she was disappointed before she even met the guy. That was a novelty.

"Everything okay?"

Lisa turned to look at her anonymous host. "Everything sucks, but that's about par for the course. Thanks for the use of the phone. I'll let you get on to wherever you're going." She turned to head for the door.

"No, please stay." He brushed a restless hand through his hair. "It's getting dark out and I can't let you stay out there alone. Besides," he grinned at her in wry humor, "my car isn't back from the shop yet. We're both stuck." He glanced down at his watch, the smile turning to an expression of irritation. Remembering his guest, he looked up at her again with a sheepish grin. "My manners are exceptionally bad tonight. First I snap at you in my doorway because you aren't the car deliveryman, and I never introduced myself." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Pete Andraesen. And this time I'm dressed."

He was indeed, in a blue-grey blazer to match the other half of the ensemble he had unwittingly modeled for her. The color set off his features very nicely indeed. At least she'd gotten to meet someone tonight, even if the circumstances were less than ideal. She took the hand and shook it. "I'm Lisa Fraser. Nice to finally meet you."

He offered her a drink, which she gratefully accepted. To pass the time, he showed her around the house. It was a large rambling ranch-style, overlooking acres of pasture behind it. A large barn stood out against the rapidly descending gloom of the sunset and several horses wandered lazily about. Lisa peered at the animals curiously.

"Is that one a Paso Fino?" she asked, pointing. Before he could answer she pointed to another. "And that looks like a Clydesdale."

"You've got a good eye, though Bunny is actually a Peruvian Paso; practically the same thing," he added quickly. They spoke of horses, a love they apparently shared. After a while, Pete looked reflexively down at his watch and sighed. "I guess I'm not going to make my date tonight."

"Why don't you call her?" Lisa suggested. "I'm sure she'll understand."

"How did you know I was meeting a woman?"

"Well, you mentioned a date, you're dressed very nicely, to impress someone, it looks like."

"I could be gay."

Lisa didn't miss a beat. "You could be."

"But I'm not, so you're right." He surveyed her once-pristine suit. "You look nice too. Meeting a man?"

"Think so?"

"I do," he said emphatically.

"I could be gay," she returned, grinning.

"Could be."
"Nah--" they said in unison and began to laugh. Sitting back in her chair, she said to him, "So, why don't you call her?"

"I don't know her number, just an email address," he began. "It was a blind date. You see, I placed this stupid singles ad…"