Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (11 page)

I pulled away at one of the few remaining
conveniently perforated strips of paper on the bottom of the poster
that contained the phone number and website for Green Light Driving
School and put it in my pocket. Then I grabbed a ‘People’ magazine
and paperback for good measure and headed to the seasonal aisle,
settling into a wicker outdoor furniture display for the long
haul.

It was Wednesday afternoon, the following
week, and I had just been dropped off by the Trevor Transit System.
I ran upstairs to my bathroom to freshen up, all the while
listening for the doorbell because the timing was very tight. The
man from the driving school was supposed come any minute.

I had just finished redoing my ponytail when
the chime of the bell broke through the silence in the first floor
hallway. I ran down the stairs and pulled open the door. The person
standing there was nothing like I expected, and this must have been
plain on my face.

The beautiful, exceedingly well dressed
black-haired supermodel standing in front of me gave a reassuring
smile and said, “You must be Ms. Mayne,” holding out her hand,
which was apparently magnetic because my own hand drifted toward
hers, with no command from me to do so, to shake it.

“I’m Lidia, your driving instructor,” she
explained.

She seemed genuinely pleased to be there.
Her accent was very slight, but possibly Italian?

What? Since when do they send a model from
the Victoria’s Secret catalog to teach kids how to drive?

I glanced over her shoulder to examine the
car in the driveway. It matched her; it was some kind of expensive
looking SUV, and European, like her. She followed my eyes and
understood the silent question there.

“Regular vehicle’s in the shop. We’ll be
using my car this week—unless you’d rather wait for the Hyundai?”
she added, with a sardonic tone.

I shook my head, still staring at the car.
There was a brief pause. Then finally she asked, “Do you have your
I.D.?”

Wordlessly, still looking past her at the
car, I held up the card where it was being stored in my left
hand.

“Okay then…let’s get going.”

Her words were flavored with a mixture of
uncertainty and amusement. She turned and I followed, shutting the
door behind me. I felt a huge release when she made her way to the
driver’s side. This meant that she was going to take me to some
place wide open and safe, instead of making me drive myself
there.

I got in the shotgun seat and took the
opportunity to study, identify and familiarize myself with the
various mechanisms and buttons on the dash. I knew it would be
infinitely harder to do that later while trying to drive at the
same time. She seemed to realize what I was doing and smiled with
approval.

Lidia reached up to grasp her seatbelt, and
I copied her motion doing the same on my side. After harnessing up,
we just sat there for a minute, not looking at each other. Then she
turned to me and said, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal
question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” with that
subtle accent draped around her words in the most appealing
way.

With raised eyebrows and a slight up and
down tilting of my chin I indicated that she should proceed. But
what could she possibly want to know?

“Do you…speak?” she asked, gravely
serious.

This jarred me back to my senses and I
couldn’t help myself but to laugh out loud. Then I replied, “Yeah,
when I’m not being idiotic, I speak…I’m sorry.”

This answer seemed to please her and she
gave me a huge smile. Then she ventured, “You’re probably just a
little nervous?”

“That’s an understatement. I’ve never driven
before, and I’m not…I mean…I don’t play video games so I’ve never
pretended to drive either…” I paused and then added, “Actually, I’m
so nervous I think I might have a stroke.”

I laughed nervously. It felt good to
confess.

She started the engine and began backing
out.

“No. You won’t have a stroke, but I think
you might have some fun. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad
happen. And by the time we’re finished, you’ll be the best driver
you know, besides me, of course,” she assured me with a smile.

I did start to feel instantly better. Could
she teach me to be awesome like her too?

We made our way to the old K-Mart plaza, now
just empty retail space for lease, with its huge and deserted
parking lot. She guided the car to the center, far away from any
obstacles like curbs or buildings. Then she began with a verbal
tour of the controls—explaining their names and functions—like the
ignition, the gearshift, the mirrors, the turn signal and wipers,
gas and brake pedals, and most importantly, the stereo. Then it was
time to switch seats and get down to business.

My maiden voyage (no pun intended) at the
helm was much less frightening than I had imagined it would be. She
was right, I had to admit, it was kind of fun. After I had driven
back and forth across the lot so many times I lost count she asked,
“How do you feel about going live, on the street?”

“No main streets, right? Just side streets
and neighborhoods to start with?” I pleaded, too much desperation
in my tone.

She smiled and said, “You’re the boss. Do
you know which way to go from here?”

In fact I did. We weren’t all that far from
Samantha’s place. I decided to head in that direction. I knew a
back way into her neighborhood from here. I was taking it very slow
and easy, and fortunately for my nerves, the streets weren’t busy.
Though I knew where I was, it was still oddly disorienting to be
viewing things from behind the wheel. My normal view of the world,
while traveling by car, was almost always from a side window, in
the back seat.

We were closing in on Sam’s street when I
realized that there was a car on my tail, almost literally. From my
side mirror, I could see that it was uncomfortably close. If I so
much as tapped the breaks it would rear-end us.

I looked in the rearview mirror for the
first time and felt a spasm of embarrassment. It was Trevor. He was
smiling hugely at the reflection of my frightened eyes in the
mirror.

“Now what’s up with this jerk?” Lidia
clipped, as she turned full around to glare at him.

“Uh…it’s okay. I know him from school,” I
explained, trying unsuccessfully to diffuse her irritation at my
favorite guy in the world. She turned and looked at me.

“You know him?” she asked, a little
incredulous.

I nodded and sped up a bit. He backed off
once he’d gotten my attention and whatever reaction he was hoping
for.

“So is he late for his job at the circus or
what?” she asked, still irritated.

I laughed. Yeah, I guess he deserved that.
I’d have to tell him about it tomorrow at school…on second thought,
no…I wouldn’t.

“He’s on his way to my friend Samantha’s
house, I think. Guess I was holding him up.”

Samantha’s house was still several blocks
away and apparently he’d had his fun. He sped up to pass me on the
left, looking my way the entire time, still grinning. I could feel
the waves of displeasure radiating from the passenger seat as he
sped by. I ignored them both as best I could and concentrated on
the road ahead.

My driving lessons with Lidia continued on
Thursday and Friday. I advanced from side roads to main roads, and
then on to Interstate travel. When we reconvened on Monday, we
worked on my downtown navigation skills including four-way stop
etiquette and one-way traffic rules. Then we hit a café for an
espresso while we went over the questions on the State’s written
driving exam. Tuesday was devoted to vehicle maintenance and I
finished our session having changed the oil and a tire on my Jeep
from start to finish without any help. My final lesson was to be on
Wednesday. I had mentioned the week before that she could come
earlier on Wednesday, if she wanted, because it was a Teacher In
Service Day and I didn’t have school. She seemed to appreciate
being given that option and made plans to pick me up early.

Wednesday morning was beautiful, cool and
clear. It was about time for her to arrive and I checked outside
for the third time because I wanted to step right out once she
arrived so she wouldn’t have to get out of the car.

As I was watching out for her I noticed a
car coming down the street and laughed to myself. It was a
Corvette! It was cherry red and sexy looking and way out of context
on our street. Every one of our neighbors was retired and drove
Japanese sedans in metallic finishes of one sort or another. It
seemed that the driver of this muscle car was obviously lost—until
it slowed in front of our yard and pulled into our driveway!

No way!

But sure enough, I could see that it was
Lidia, looking exactly right behind the wheel. And then it occurred
to me: in the not too distant future it would be me sitting behind
the wheel, looking exactly wrong! It was a stroke to my ego,
though, to realize that she actually trusted me enough to use a car
like this to prepare for my driving test. I practically skipped
over to the passenger side and hopped in.

I was completely jazzed, yet feeling a
little perverse as well, so as I was getting in I asked as
innocently as I could, “Is this the Hyundai?”

Her reaction was priceless. I knew it was a
terrible affront—that was the fun. I could tell that something
deeply sarcastic must have been ready on her lips, but in a highly
controlled act of suppression she smiled, shooting me a sideways
glance and said, “You’re very funny.”

Apparently my acting hadn’t fooled her. I
was positive there was nothing that could.

“So, do you have to be back by a certain
time today?” she inquired.

After making a joke like that, she was still
asking about spending extra time with me?

Miraculous!

“No, just in time for dinner, I guess.”

It was 8:00 a.m. I was delusional if I
thought she’d spend all day with me. Surely she had a photo shoot
or a lunch date with a rock star to attend to at some point in the
day.

“Okay, that should be enough time. I’ve made
special arrangements for us at a unique driving course. But it’s a
bit of a ride up Interstate 71. Are you okay with that?”

How could I not be?

“S-s-sure…I’m good.”

Actually, I was better than good. This was
unbelievable. During our time in the car over the last week, Lidia
had explained quite a bit to me about cars and the differences
between them. Why some cars were more desirable than others, which
were her favorites and the incredibly long list of makes she had
driven. She was definitely in a position to opinionate—having
driven nearly every kind of car ever made. She was a car
encyclopedia and historian. And as her worshipful protégé, I
absorbed her enthusiasm for all things automotive like a sponge.
The drive north was entirely consumed with details about the
specifications, features and benefits of the Corvette ZR1.

Lidia’s interpretation of ‘a bit up 71’
meant a drive that took us half way to Cincinnati. As we finally
exited the highway an hour later and turned onto a side road, we
passed a sign that said “Kentucky Speedway”, and I felt a hint of
nausea lapping at my stomach when I realized what she meant by
‘unique driving course.’

She must have been expecting that reaction
because she quickly assured me, “We’ll be all alone except for the
grounds keeper. No worries.”

Like I might be worried she would take me
there on race day to test my newfound driving skills at 250 miles
an hour!

Truthfully, I don’t really know what I was
worried about. I pretty much knew how to drive now. Some unnamed
fear was still trying to break through my consciousness. I turned
the volume down on my mind and concentrated on the sound of the
engine, imagining its sound with my foot holding the gas pedal all
the way down…

We drove through the parking lot and up to
the stadium. There was an older gentleman in some kind of heavily
patched neon colored jumpsuit standing outside the gate that led
under the stands and onto the track. Without a word he opened the
gate and waved us through. We never saw him again.

We made our way slowly through an underpass
that was carved out of the stands, pulling out onto the track and
into the bright sunshine on the other side.

I knew better than to bring this up, but I
hadn’t gotten all the perversity out of my system yet, and I needed
a distraction from the intense nervousness I felt about being in a
car like this in a place like this. So I dove in and asked, “Lidia,
is the owner of this vehicle a middle aged man, by chance?”

She looked at me like I’d grown another
head. When she recovered, instead of answering the question she
asked, “Why would you ask me that?”

“Well, I thought that Corvettes were the
official car of the male mid-life crisis. If you actually own this
car, then it’s just you and Malibu Barbie breaking the trend.”

I kept my expression serious.

“Malibu Barbie?” she asked.

Now I must have been sprouting antennae.

“Don’t they have Barbies in Italy?” I
prompted.

“You mean Barbie dolls?” and she did the
hand gesture for Barbie’s figure, making certain, I suppose.

“Yes. Well you know what she drives,
right?”

I was still all seriousness.

Lidia shook her head, though I wasn’t sure
if it was in answer to my question or a general physical
manifestation of her internal thoughts about my sanity.

“She drives a hot pink Corvette. And she’s
the only other girl, or person under 40, that I’ve ever seen behind
the wheel of one. So you’re a bit of a rarity, you know; if it’s
yours.”

I couldn’t hold back the smile now, so I had
to turn away.

She was obviously married. She wore the
largest diamond I had ever seen outside of a jewelry store window
and it was flanked by a burst of sapphires, which were probably
more costly than the diamond. It was a stunningly beautiful and
unique piece, and it seemed like the person who gave it to her must
have been trying to match the ring with the girl. He’d definitely
gotten it right.