Page 31 of Wicked Dance
“Which one do you think?” Blitz asks. His smile is enormous.
I look around. “I’m guessing not the green SUV with an inch of mud on the tires.”
“Good observation,” he says.
“And I don’t think the black Mercedes is what you’d pick for me.”
“Nope.”
“I’m guessing the white Volkswagen convertible!”
“We have a winner!” Blitz says.
I rush over to the car. “I love it!” I say.
“Let’s go for a spin, then,” Blitz says.
I glance around. “I’ve never driven on an actual street, remember?” I say.
“It’s easy,” Blitz says. “And you were doing great in the parking lot last time.”
I walk around to the driver’s side. A uniformed man opens my door.
The new car smell wafts out. It’s all leather and something I can’t define.
I sit down as Blitz settles in on the passenger side. “I’ve never smelled a new car before. Yours always smelled like French fries.”
“Guilty as charged,” Blitz says. “But this one only has the mileage the sales guy drove it to get here.”
I glance at the dash. Eleven miles. Wow.
The bellman closes the door. I hold the keys but realize the key part isn’t showing to put in the ignition. “How do you work this thing?”
“It’s actually keyless,” Blitz says. “Just put your foot on the brake and push this button.”
I feel around for the gas and brake pedals and press the brake. When I push the big round button, the car’s quiet engine purrs lightly.
“It’s so cute!” I say.
“Ready to put it in drive?” he asks.
I look around me. There’s still several cars I have to navigate around. “Can I wait until they are all gone?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says. “You probably need to adjust your mirrors anyway.”
We fiddle around with the knobs and levers and get the seat the way I want it. By then, only the Mercedes is still in the circle drive, and it’s behind us.
“Okay,” I say. “Here goes.” I slide the gear shift into drive and release the brake. We glide forward.
My brain tries to panic but I calm it down and slowly putter away from the front doors of the hotel.
“I’d go left,” Blitz says. “You don’t want to get mixed up in the traffic beneath the freeway.”
I nod, concentrating, and turn on the signal.
This back street is quiet, and other than making sure I don’t get too close to cars parked along the curb, the drive is easy.
“You’re doing it!” Blitz says. He makes a big show of leaning his seat back and tucking his hands behind his head, as if he’s going to take a nap.
