Mayne Attraction: In The Spotlight (12 page)

I was just curious if she was borrowing his
car today, or if she’d acquired it before she’d met him. I was
certain of the answer, though, and I was starting to regret having
asked.

This is why it’s better when I don’t speak,
I reminded myself.

It seemed like my savoir fair mentor didn’t
know where to take it from there, so I helped her out by explaining
myself more clearly.

“I’m just worried that I’ll be crashing this
car today, and I wonder who I’m going to be an indentured servant
to for the rest of my life. So given what I know about Corvette
owners, I thought I’d better ask.”

The explanation for my bazaar line of
questioning seemed to release the mental pressure that had been
building inside her head. She gave me that therapeutic reassuring
smile she was so good at and patted my hand.

“No worries, Bambina.”

Then she slammed on the accelerator and
threw me back in my seat like we were launching to the moon.

I couldn’t believe how much force and speed
I was experiencing. It was far, far more intense than any amusement
park attraction I’d ever been forced into riding. I hated roller
coasters with a passion, but my dad, Hoyt and grandpa all loved
them, therefore I’d been goaded into my fair share of G force
experiences. This blew them all away.

The very best part was that the person in
control, making it happen, was a lady! I absolutely loved heroines!
I’d wanted to be one when I grew up. Of course, as I got older I
realized that I was more of the distressed-out damsel type. Just
knowing a heroine was going to have to be good enough for me. And
this moment, in this amazing car, at this amazing place with this
amazing lady, was better than any heroine fantasy I could have ever
dreamed up on my own.

I was afraid to look at the speedometer but
I did any way. On the straightaway we topped out at 210 mph. I knew
the car could go faster than that; maybe she was taking it easy,
you know, for safety reasons. At any rate, as soon as I got behind
the wheel, I was driving so slowly, it felt like we were moving
backwards.

We covered all the aspects of the driving
test I’d be taking at the DMV. When I had performed all the
maneuvers to her satisfaction, some on the first try, some several
tries down the line, she pronounced me test worthy. To celebrate,
she suggested that I try my hand at speeding, but only if I
promised that this would be the last time I’d ever do it. I
solemnly agreed and then mashed on the gas. I could only bear to go
up around 100 and then I chickened out. There was no reproach in
Lidia’s eyes for me, just quiet, radiating confidence. It was the
most amazing experience of my life, and I knew in my heart that
Green Light Driving School was not involved in any way. I was more
than okay with that.

We were quiet as we headed south on our
return to Louisville. We had spent about two hours at the speedway.
I realized with a wave of sadness that this was my last day with
Lidia. In my mind, I scrambled for some way to continue my
association with this incredible real life heroine.

Should I ask her for Italian lessons? She’d
probably just suggest that I buy Rosetta Stone. Maybe I could ask
her to help me shop for school clothes? That was asking for a
makeover, and no matter how much I liked her, I didn’t want to go
down that road.

Lidia interrupted my scheming.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I went ahead and
scheduled your test at the DMV for this afternoon. I thought you
might like to get it over with…and I’d really like to be there when
you get your license.”

I was speechless. Because of that, first I
shook my head ‘no’ (I didn’t mind) and then ‘yes’ (I’d like to get
it over with and she should take me there).

She smiled and continued, “Afterwards, to
celebrate, I thought maybe I’d treat you to a late lunch at
Outback,” the Australian Steakhouse, my favorite restaurant.

How did she know that?

This was followed by more enthusiastic
affirmative head nodding from me.

Though the ride back to Louisville and to
the DMV would be about 90 minutes, I knew that it would be over too
quickly. Sure enough it was, and we were pulling in to the crowded
lot with a line out the door for everything vehicle related. It was
the last day of the month, the preferred day for all ‘day late and
dollar short’ types to transact with the State of Kentucky on
matters relating to their vehicles and driving privileges.

This would probably change our celebration
plans from late lunch to midnight snack. Lidia was unperturbed. She
walked past at least 40 people to the end of the counter. The lone
male standing behind it had watched her walk in and was on his way
to greet her before she came to a stop. She handed him a letter
sized envelope, turned and retraced her steps back to me at the end
of the line, saying simply, “Let’s go.”

And we did.

She had me take the driver’s side and
directed me around to the back of the building. The same gentleman
who had accepted the envelope was there to greet us, clipboard in
hand. He seemed far happier and congenial than I had imagined
someone like him would be. It occurred to me that this was the
first time I’d seen Lidia interact with someone and that she
probably had that kind of pleasant effect on every male in her
path. Or maybe she just got priority treatment as a representative
of Green Light Driving School.

Yeah…right.

I took my driver’s test in a cherry red
Corvette ZR1 and passed it. I was so relieved when it was over that
I nearly fainted. It was funny to contemplate the irony of nearly
crashing the car after my driver’s test in the lot of the DMV as
opposed to crashing it at the Kentucky Speedway, while
intentionally speeding. No harm done, though. I held it together
long enough to get us to Outback.

I was feeling pleased and relieved about my
accomplishment. Apparently Lidia was too, because she insisted that
I keep my newly minted Driver’s License out on the table, and she
would return to looking at it from time to time as though it were
some priceless and rare baseball card or the Crabby Patty secret
recipe.

Finally, I couldn’t resist teasing her and I
asked, “Is it really that hard to believe I passed?”

She looked contrite.

“Oh, no! I’m just very proud of you. For
someone who’d never driven a car a week ago, you’ve done remarkably
well.”

I couldn’t help smiling with pleasure. My
hero was proud of me!

“Yeah, well, even though I have my license
now, I don’t think I’m the best driver that I know, besides
you…yet.”

I let that hang out there, sensing that
maybe I’d struck upon the path to more Lidia time…

It worked!

Her eyes looked through me as she considered
my comment and how that observation on my part might be
remedied.

She responded back with, “You know, we have
an advanced course, where we teach defensive driving techniques. Do
you think you’d be interested in that?”

Would I ever!

I tried to play it cool, though.

“Sure, but I’ll have to ask my mom; she pays
the bills you know.”

In truth, it didn’t matter what it cost or
what my mom said—though it would be interesting to see who the
check would be made out to—I’d be there with bells on when the time
came.

On an impulse I interjected, “But I’m
curious. Will we use your husband’s car again, or do I finally get
to drive the infamous Hyundai?”

Her eyes flashed with surprise, then
something else…respect? I wished. Whatever it was, she smiled
hugely, stopping conversation at the next table over, I noticed,
and said, “Oh, we’ll take my car…and I promise you Bambina, it’s
much better than his.”

It was now exactly one week after I’d
emerged victoriously from the vehicle and licensing registrar’s
office at the DMV with my shiny new Kentucky Driver’s License.
Trevor had just dropped me off from school—because even though I
could drive myself, it was still way cooler to be chauffeured by
the Goths.

I spied a package by the door as I
approached the porch, not quite sure what I was looking at. It was
a medium-sized cube shaped box, packaged in wrapping paper the
color of bubblegum. Though I had no doubt, I checked the label
anyway, just to make sure it was for me.

If I was hoping the contents might reflect
the theme of the packaging, I was disappointed, though not for
long. What was inside was much better than gum, and it was
hilarious!

Tucked neatly inside the box, cushioned and
wrapped with what I realized were actual auto club road maps, was
an authentic Malibu Barbie Pink Corvette! And sitting in the
driver’s seat was a Malibu Skipper.

Wow. Who had I told about that?

My first Barbie was actually a Skipper doll,
the younger, shorter kid sister of Barbara Millicent Roberts. I
think this was probably because my mom wanted to avoid having to
answer any awkward questions about the extreme differences in my
body shape (or any female for that matter) and Barbie’s.

Skipper was a hassle-free alternative—still
a Barbie, just not as grown up...kind of like me. Except that even
compared with a mature version of myself, Skipper’s figure was
still better than mine.

As a girl, I had loved my Skipper doll so
much that she was my constant companion for a long chapter of my
life—the doll-playing chapter, that is. Grandpa picked up on that
and had nicknamed me Skipper, in tribute to the doll I
resembled.

Inside the Corvette, which was complete with
a tiny authentic looking metal Kentucky license plate, was a
Skipper wearing sun glasses and a blue NASCAR jumpsuit with the
legs rolled up and a tiny, fluffy pink feather tucked into her
front pocket (where presumably a wrench might go if Ken were
wearing it). She even had a tiny but very real looking bottle of
Cherry Coke in her cup-holder. Sitting next to her in the passenger
seat was a Frodo Baggins action figure. He fit perfectly, big hairy
feet and all. It was funny to look at. Even funnier was the tiny
piece of paper taped to his hand with Map Quest driving directions,
detailing the quickest route from Malibu to Mordor.

I laughed and then I laughed some more at
the notion of Skipper and Frodo together on a road trip.

Whoever sent this seemed to know me very
well, but it was an odd combination of components and themes to be
able to pair up its origin with any one parent or friend. I had
never spoken with Lidia about Lord of the Rings or Skipper, I
didn’t dare drink soda in front of my mom, and though Sam shared my
love of all things Middle Earth, she was famously anti-Barbie.

Had it been a collaborative effort? That
seemed highly unlikely. Well, whatever the origin, the fact that
inside information and creative effort had gone into it was obvious
and very much appreciated.

I had never been this pleased over a joke. I
only wished I knew who the recipient of my adoring gratitude should
be.

Chapter 12
–
Episode

My feet were cold. It was early February,
normally an ugly time of year in Kentucky, compared to other times,
that is. But it’s relative, since no matter which season, Kentucky
will always be the most beautiful place in the world to me. In
winter though, the trees are stripped bare and the nearly constant
overcast sky turns everything under it varying shades of gray,
albeit blue-gray.

This morning was one of those occasional
wonderful exceptions. A snow shower had pushed through during the
night, leaving behind a sharp blue sky and a six-inch layer of
sparkling fluffy perfection over every exposed surface. The snow
trucks with plows and salt hadn’t made it around to our street yet,
so the soft and quiet beauty was undisturbed as I gazed out the
window.

School was cancelled but I didn’t know that
until after I was already up and dressed. I wanted to be angry
about the loss of a good sleep in. Couldn’t they have cancelled
last night? But I was grateful for the day off.

The snow apparently was worse at the other
end of the county because the roads seemed to be okay around our
neighborhood. It didn’t stop Mom or Hoyt from heading off to work
at their normal times.

Just as the morning news was ending the
phone rang. It was Sam wanting to know if I’d like to join in on a
sledding expedition to Cherokee Park. I said yes before I thought
it through, and then it was too late to back out.

I had reservations because as a young girl
I’d seen someone get seriously injured on the very same hill we’d
be visiting today—an exceptionally steep slope that was tree-free
(except for the bottom, of course) with convenient parking just
feet away from the launching point.

With worries about safety and the heavy
potential for embarrassment clouding my mind I began to rationalize
my presence in the party. What could it be if it wasn’t to risk my
life speeding downhill on vehicles with no brakes and steering that
was theoretical at best? Maybe I could just hang back and be in
charge of the hot chocolate and administer first aid when (not if)
it was needed. I began making preparations to fulfill that role by
warming a large pot of milk and grabbing the really big box of
band-aids. I had it all in order and tucked neatly in my backpack
when they pulled in.

I was curious what Goth snow attire would
look like. So it was disappointing to approach a car full of
relatively normal looking though well bundled kids. Except for the
random strings of unnaturally colored hair poking out, there really
was no essence of their indoor selves to speak of. Trevor, who was
truly scary looking when he was in ‘uniform’, looked completely
different, that is to say, appealing, with no makeup or painful
looking jewelry to make him otherwise. I only knew it was him
because he was driving and I recognized his car.