Nancy Bartholomew - Stand By Your Man

"Well, he sure doesn't need to find me here," I muttered.

Maybe he wouldn't notice my car. Old white VWs were common. Maybe if I slipped out the side door and drove around to the car wash, he'd come and go.

"Listen," I said, "I'll go wash the car and check back. If he's gone we'll talk, if not, I'll ride back by in a few minutes."

Weathers was getting out of his car, staring right at me, as if he could see my face through the tinted windows. I turned and fled just as he stepped up onto the stoop and put his hand on the door.

I could hear the bell on the door tinkle as I made a quick dash to my car. I slunk down into the driver's seat, started her up, and pulled up the incline and around back, out of Weathers's sight, to the car wash entrance. I pushed my token into the slot, hit the button, and lined the car up with the automatic tracks.

The lights came on, water started squirting out from every possible surface of the interior walls, and the brushes began to whir. I reached up to crank the handle and close the sunroof as the car began moving forward. I turned and turned, moving the panel slowly forward, but just as the hood touched the front water jets, the handle came off in my hands.

" No !" I yelled. I tried furiously to reattach the handle, but there was nothing for it. The screw was stripped. I was headed into a deluxe hot wash and wax with my sunroof open a good four inches.

I reached up and tugged on the panel. It groaned and moved slowly forward, one inch. There was no budging it after that. The water moved slowly up the hood of the car, smacking into the windshield, suds foaming up like billowy clouds. I reached into the glove compartment, hoping for a map or something to cover the opening, but remembered too late that I'd cleaned the entire car out only a few days before. I leaned back and moaned. There was nothing I could do. Not one thing. I was about to have the complete works, all three minutes' worth, wash, wax, and dry.

Water started streaming through the opening in the sunroof, hitting my hair and raining down across my face.

"Oh man," I sighed, "is it my karma? Have I ticked somebody off?"

That was when the hot wax light sprang on and little squirts of slippery thick liquid began hitting my head. I learned something then. When hot moist air hits the cooler interior air of, say, a car, it begins to form a cloud. A misty fog thickened as I rolled forward, covering my windshield and the side windows.

The fuzzy sweater I'd thrown on as I left the house began to clump up and resemble a wet alley cat. Little beads of wax stuck to it, clinging like sequins. There was nothing to do but sit and wait for the blow dryer to begin its job.

A huge gust of wind from the dryer blew through the sunroof, whipping my hair into a red tangle. The cloud began to clear and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. I was almost through. With a final blast of air, the car wash pushed me out into the late afternoon sunlight, leaving me poised at the top of the little hill, overlooking the parking lot. At my angle I couldn't tell if Weathers was gone.

But that wasn't really the issue. As I started to roll forward, down the hill, water that had been blown back into the sunroof's housing came rushing forward, like a waterfall, raining down right on top of my head.

I screamed, slamming on the brakes instinctively. The car stopped at the bottom of the hill as the last gush of water escaped and covered me. Another cloud billowed up, and I leaned forward to rest my head on the steering wheel.

"Why me?" I muttered. "I was only trying to help."

I sat there for a moment, remembered Weathers, and sat up. But of course, it was too late. He and Bess King had left the Gas and Go office and moved outside to see what kind of idiot would run her car through the car wash with an open sunroof. Bess's eyes were wide-open dinner plates. Marshall Weathers, on the other hand, was smirking.

He left the curb and sauntered up to the driver's side. "I was wondering how you did your hair," he said. "You know, so it always has that wild look about it. I never dreamed the lengths a woman could go to for beauty."

I opened my mouth to say something smart, but he stopped me. "I'm sorry," he said, "I couldn't help it. Tell you what," he said. "I don't live too far from here. Give me a minute to finish up, and we'll go to my place. I reckon I can help you clean out your car before you start mildewing." He peered up at the roof. "Reckon I can take a look at your sunroof too. I mean, it is broken, isn't it? You didn't just elect to do the wash-and-dry job on yourself, did you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, just turned his smirky self back around and walked over to Bess. I wanted to tell him to go jump in a lake, but a chill was starting to set in, and the way I figured it, this was no time to get huffy.

The mechanic had wandered outside to take a look at the cause of the commotion, and while Marshall Weathers talked to Bess, he stood staring at me. He was a thin rat of a man, with greasy coveralls and thickset eyebrows. When I looked right back at him, he began to smile. The guy was actually trying to come on to a woman who had just been hot-waxed. I couldn't believe it. I winked and pulled one lock of my hair straight out from my head. It stuck there, and I believe that's what finally convinced the guy that I was not his type. He turned away, an ill-at-ease smile in place, and walked back into the garage.

Of course, Marshall Weathers turned back around just in time to see me pull out another strand of hair and stick out my tongue at the retreating mechanic. It was just one of those days.

Marshall Weathers was a liar. I figured this as I followed him out of the gas station and away from town on Wendover Avenue. He couldn't live nearby. I didn't figure him for a city boy and we were definitely in urban territory. He'd driven east for approximately three minutes when he abruptly split off onto a narrow road that ran alongside a roller rink. It seemed we'd gone for less than a mile when the paved road ended. We were five minutes from busy Summit Avenue and yet, he had me running down a gravel and dirt lane, out into pure pastureland.

"What is this?" I muttered. "Another cop trick? Drive me out into the country where I can't get away, then interrogate me?" My imagination ran wild. I had to admit the idea of being alone with Marshall Weathers wasn't totally unappealing. In fact, if I recalled the way he kissed me just a few hours before, I could downright anticipate it. However, at the same time, my sweater began to shrink up over my belly button, and my entire body began to itch. It had to be the detergent and hot wax. Human bodies weren't made for the harsh chemicals of a car wash.

We were running alongside a horse farm. Split-rail fences with barbed wire kept a few beautiful bays penned inside a green pasture. Weathers abruptly made a turn into a dirt driveway and slowed to a crawl as we passed two log outbuildings that had to be over two hundred years old. The driveway was lined with cedars that formed a shady tunnel. The trees ended and we drove out into the brilliant sunlight of the clear October afternoon. Marshall's car rolled to a stop in front of a small white farmhouse.

I drew in my breath and slowly exhaled. It was perfect. It was the farmhouse I'd always wanted. Yellow and white gingham curtains fluttered from the kitchen window. Bright yellow chrysanthemums and pumpkins edged their way up the back stoop steps. The roof was red tin, and the woodwork was such a shiny white that I figured he'd painted the place within the past month.

I jumped out of the car and walked toward the front of his house. It sat on the peak of a rise overlooking acres of tobacco fields. It had to be his home place, a farm that had gradually been surrounded by the growing city. I stared at the front porch, lost for a moment in the idea of what it must be to live in this place, to walk outside every morning, coffee cup in hand, and sit, watching the day begin. The air was still and silent, with only a breeze kicking up now and then.