Once Upon a Road Trip (43 page)

Angie cleared her throat and extended her vowels in an effort to humor him. “Yah, sure…you betchya?”

Jim tipped his head back in a hearty, resounding laugh. “She’s a good sport. I like that.” He directed the comment to Vince before looking back to Angie. “Gets pretty cold up there, doesn’t it?”

Angie had begun to wonder how many people held the impression that her home state was a frigid, year-long winter wonderland. “Well for four or five months out of the year, yeah, it gets pretty cold. But it gets just as hot in the summer as it does here.”

“You don’t say.” Jim gave a contemplative grunt. “Well, I’ve never been there myself. I suppose I’ve just got a picture of frostbite and ice-fishing in my head for some reason.”

Angie smiled. It hadn’t taken her long to decide she liked the man. “Probably for the same reason I associated the South with moonshine and rednecks. Media stereotypes are hard to replace until you see the real thing in person.”

Jim leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “You haven’t heard many car horns playin’ Dixie since you’ve been here, have you?”

Angie chuckled, dropping her voice in a tone of reassurance. “Just once. But don’t worry, I heard it more often in the parking lot of my high school.”

Jim straightened up, exaggerating a relieved sigh. “Well good. That’s one less person I need to apologize to for something I can’t help.” He broke into a beaming smile when he looked to Vince, as though he’d just shared a private joke. “How are you doin’ on those reports, Wonder Boy?”

Vince  seemed entertained by the back and forth, but he sobered quickly. “I’m keeping ahead of them so far. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, you know me—hangin’ in there like a hair in a biscuit.” Jim formed a determined fist in front of himself. “I’ve got an appointment with my cardiologist on Thursday. Assuming one of those surprise inspections don’t agitate me into a heart attack before then.”

Vince’s smile grew. “Let’s hope not. You’d be missed around here. Nobody takes flak from the higher-ups like you can.”

Jim rumbled out a low, chuckling complaint, “I’m the flak-taker, am I? Well that’s nice of you to point out, but it isn’t much incentive to stick around. I’ve had about enough of this ol’ body fallin’ apart.” He rocked side to side until he’d turned himself around and started back into the hallway, throwing a departing wave over his shoulder. “Carry on.”

Vince shook his head, looking to Angie questioningly. “Feel like the guest star on a sitcom yet?”

“Something like that.” Angie laughed. “I’m not bored, that’s for sure.”

She retrieved the book she had yet to make progress on and laid it open in her lap. When she glanced up, Vince was still watching her. His expression shifted from humorous to enigmatic. She expected him to look away, but he didn’t. Opting to look down, she forced herself to appear as engrossed in the book as possible.

The work day came to a quick end, in Angie’s mind at least. Before she knew it, Vince was packing up and she was following him out of the building. Sunlight warmed her face as they crossed the parking lot, and she realized she’d missed it. She had trouble imagining herself being confined to a windowless box, steeped in chilled, recycled air every day; forty hours a week.

A man with a salt-and-pepper goatee and sharp, pale features came toward them en route to the building. Standing just below average height, he was dressed down in a gray t-shirt and jeans. She wouldn’t have noticed him, except that he raised a hand and paused to address them. “Hey, Vince!” His voice carried a nasal, Midwestern pitch. “Is this your girlfriend?”

The question caught Angie by surprise. As casual as the man had put it, it still seemed forward. Looking to Vince, she decided to leave the answering to him. She found herself intensely curious over how he would respond.

Vince missed half a beat in his reply, his gaze flickering to Angie’s face and then back to the man. “Ah…no, Wayne. This is my friend, Angie. I’m pretty sure I mentioned she’d be visiting?”

“Oh! I remember.” Wayne hooked a thumb into one of his belt loops and pointed at her with the other hand in a motion reminiscent of firing an imaginary gun. “From Minnesota, right?”

Angie mustered a polite smile and nodded. “That’s right.”

“Sorry, I guess you weren’t quite what I was expecting,” Wayne said, not bothering to explain what he meant before continuing. “Hey, I’ve seen that movie Fargo. It was pretty good. But do you folks really talk like that up there?”

Angie blinked, at a loss as to whether she should correct the man on his grasp of geography. Fortunately, Vince interjected for her.

“Fargo is in North Dakota, Wayne.”

Wayne set his jaw forward in a look of confusion. “Oh. Well, I was close.”

Vince nodded toward his car. “Sorry, but we need to run. My night classes are about to start. Good to see you.” He waved in salute and motioned for Angie to follow.

She didn’t need any encouragement to vacate the brief, yet awkward conversation. “Nice to meet you.” She nodded to Wayne and all but sprinted for the passenger door of the Corsair.

Once the doors were closed, Vince gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Wayne can be a little…odd.”

“It’s fine.” Angie didn’t feel in need of an explanation. She was more preoccupied with analyzing the way Vince had answered the man’s initial question. A lingering contradiction left her mystified. She knew she would have been angry at the presumption if he’d said “yes.” So, why was it she’d felt the bite of disappointment at his denial?

Vince glanced over his shoulder as he started the car and backed out. “I’ve got a little more time before class than I let on,” he said. “Can I interest you in another mocha?”

Angie smiled, struggling to set aside her confusion. The thought of specialty coffee was a welcome distraction. “Oh, definitely. ”

Chapter 25

Mocha in hand, Angie stepped out of Vince’s car and followed him through the crowded parking lot of his school.

They had passed the set of brick-faced buildings on their way in that morning, but she hadn’t recognized the place as a college. The asphalt between the weathered buildings was veined with deep, unfilled fissures and weeds growing unchecked. Short cement steps led up to unmarked entrances. Several cars throughout the parking lot contained loafing drivers, most sharing the booming bass of their music selection with passersby.

The entrance they approached was crowded with at least a dozen loitering students and faculty of varying ages. The grouping shared the unifying effort of gulping down hasty lungfuls of cigarette smoke. They parted just enough to allow Vince and Angie single-file passage.

A dingy glass door opened into a compacted foyer, hallways lined with offices and classrooms stretching to the left and right. The dull blue carpet was thinning along obvious tread paths, and even the silk plant near the elevator seemed ragged under the florescent lights. Angie was beginning to see why Vince considered his education here to be sub-par.

“Wow. Your school is kind of...ghetto,” she said, continuing her scan of the lobby. The next thing she knew, Vince caught her by the crook of her elbow and towed her to an alcove beside the elevator. Bewildered by the abruptness of his action, she didn’t have time to protest before he’d grasped her other arm and all but backed her into the wall.

“You -can’t- say stuff like that around here.” His warning came in a strained whisper.

Angie began an indignant objection, but stopped short when she read the genuine dread in his face. Her first inclination was to search the upper walls and ceilings for any recognizable form of surveillance. “What, do they do the Big Brother thing here?” she asked, concerned at once that she might have unwittingly gotten him into trouble.

“What? No.” Vince shook his head. “It’s not the school you need to worry about, it’s…people. That’s not a word you can just throw around without offending somebody.”

Angie paused to process this before mouthing the word ‘ghetto?,’ in search of clarity.

He gave a curt nod.

Angie’s jaw slackened in disbelief. Defensive, she whispered back, “But…where I’m from it’s just common slang. We use it for describing anything run-down. I’ve looked it up, it was originally a Venetian term, and—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Vince interrupted, squeezing her arms just above the elbows to command her attention. “People aren’t going to ask where you’re from or what it’s like there. They’re not going to care that you don’t know any better. They’re going to jump straight to being pissed off.” Seeming to realize he still had a hold on her, he let his hands slip down off her arms. His eyes searched hers, rapt with concern. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. Please…be careful what you say.”

Angie nodded, a belated sense of embarrassment creeping over her. “Sorry. I’ll try,” she promised.

Now let’s see how long I can keep my big mouth muzzled.

Vince stepped back from her and then aside to hit the up button on the elevator. “Sorry about that,” he said. Hands in his pockets, he looked as shamefaced as she felt.

Angie decided she was glad he’d cared enough to correct her. “Don’t worry about it. Somebody needed to save me from myself.” She gave him an appreciative smile, stepping onto the elevator when the doors slid open.

Angie glanced up from her corner of the white-walled classroom and checked the digital clock over the door. It had only taken her a few minutes to tune out the murmurings of the two dozen students around her. Intent on their computers and self-led in their work, no one had questioned her presence.

Overhearing her name, Angie’s mind pulled back into focus. She sat up straighter in her chair. Several feet away, Vince was meeting with his pre-production editing group. Most of them were staring at her. Angie closed the book she’d been skimming and scanned over the young men until her questioning gaze landed on Vince. “Did I miss something?”

Vince started to answer but was cut short when a small, bushy-haired fellow across from him piped up, “You know some martial arts stuff, right? We want to put you in front of the green screen.”

The lanky young man beside him reclined in his chair and slapped the back of bushy-haired-guy’s shoulder. “Yeah, we’ll have you beat up Jason here for about ten seconds and record the whole thing so we can import it into the game. Should look nice.” The others nodded in agreement.

“Oh…okay.  Sounds like fun.” Angie shrugged, concealing her bewilderment. Her focus shifted back to Vince as everyone stood up and gathered their belongings. He offered an contrite smile, scooping up his laptop as he made his way over to her.

“Sorry to volunteer you like that…nobody else had a better idea.” Vince cast her a sideways glance as he slid his laptop into its carrying bag. “It won’t take long. We’ll go meet Grady and eat somewhere after class is over.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and turned to face her, a gauging expression tightening his features.

Angie tucked her book under one arm. “I don’t mind, if it helps you with your class. It actually sounds interesting.” She smiled, following the last of the group as they filtered out of the classroom and made their way down the hall. After some consideration, she added, “Just as long as you don’t let them superimpose some sort of unflattering Battle Bikini onto me, I’m fine with this.”

Vince chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about that—” He nudged her with an elbow, grinning boyishly. “I’ll make sure it’s -very- flattering.” 

Angie gave him the most offended look she could summon and sidestepped, aiming for the toes of his right foot. She hit her mark and Vince faked a limp for the next few paces, still smiling to himself.  

As they walked, Angie scanned over the framed artwork that hung every few feet on either side of the hall. All of the pieces displayed graphic art done by present and former students. Some offered fantastical landscapes with abstracted scenery, while others featured bizarre machines and horrendous creatures. “Any of these yours?” she asked.

Vince shook his head. “Not yet. I haven’t been around long enough to be noticed.” They turned the corner into a narrow corridor which emptied into two small rooms. The one on the left was open and brightly lit, while the one to the right was dimmed — lined with computers and recording equipment. Vince made a quick gesture to the left doorway. “They’ll set you up in there however they need you. I have to take care of things in the studio, quick.”

Angie nodded, moving past him into the open room where the lanky, dark-headed young man she’d seen earlier was setting up a camera on one side. On the opposite wall a green screen hung from floor to ceiling, stretching unbroken to the floor and then out to cover several feet of the carpet.

Three more of Vince’s classmates trickled in through the doorway.  The camera man gestured for her to move back until she stood in front of the screen. A heavy-set young man hovered on one side and then the other, repositioning the lighting.

“Alright, now just do a little warm-up pose for us and then we’ll send Jason in for you to take down,” the camera man said while adjusting the camera angle. “He’ll fake a punch, and you can take it from there.”  

Jason stepped in from the hall, casting the camera man a skeptical look that went unnoticed. He combed his fingers through the shaggy mass of his sandy-blond hair and gave Angie a nod. He then made a show of popping his fingers one at a time and bouncing from foot to foot. The students grouping near the doorway began to snicker. The camera man snapped his left hand into the air. “Ready? And...action!” He swept his hand back and pointed at Angie. 

Angie took a deep breath and began a basic warm-up routine. She cupped both hands at her center with one curved over the other. From there, she made a wide arching motion with her right arm while taking a step in the same direction. Her foot came down as her arm straightened, and she held the position for a moment before drawing the arm and leg back into herself. She repeated the movement on her left side. Sliding her left foot behind the right foot to form a triangle of balance, she lifted her right hand and made a four-finger beckoning motion.