Sure, I answered. We walked out together. All that remained in the parking lot now were our two lone automobiles. His Cadillac. My Fiat. Approaching my car, I got a sense that there was something wrong. As I got closer, I saw that the passenger side window was smashed and the door hung loosely from its hinges. My black sequined cape lay on the front seat, covered in shattered glass.
What an idiot I was! I had left my cape in the car. It must have given someone the idea there was good stuff in there. Oh, Joe, my car. Now I was crying.
I am so sorry, he said. It’s my fault for keeping you. He said it must have just happened. The attendants only went home an hour before.
I continued crying. The combination of many drinks, little food, whatever it was I felt about Joe and my darling, battered Fiat was just too much.
Joe took me by the shoulder and led me back inside. I’ll take care of everything, he said.
Then suddenly I was mad. I wouldn’t have needed anyone to take care of me if I hadn’t stayed late in that God-forsaken place. Goddam neighborhood, I muttered through my crying.
What? Joe asked.
Why would someone buy a business in a place like this anyway? I said through my sniffling and without, once again, thinking.
Joe stopped walking, took his arm off my shoulder and stood quietly next to me. I was cold. I wanted his arm back. Then he said that this “place” was his home. It’s where I live, he said. That’s why.
He called a taxi for me and then a tow truck. Through a haze of tears and champagne, I watched Joe move efficiently through the room, making calls, getting me water. He was still taking care of me. Exhaustion suddenly rolled over me and I put my head down on the table and fell asleep.
A few days later Joe called me at home. He said he tried everywhere, but the car door could not be replaced. It wasn’t being manufactured anymore. Right there in the heart of the Motor City, and I couldn’t get a car door made.
The insurance would help me buy something new, but it took a long while for me to accept that I would not be driving that cherry-red love of my life. But I had to move forward. Backward? After much stalling, I finally settled on a Chrysler Sebring convertible. Midnight blue.
I kept thinking I’d go by the club one night, to show Joe my new car. But I never did. And he didn’t call me after the car situation was resolved. I missed him but didn’t know what I was supposed to do about that. Every time I had the urge to see him, I convinced myself it was not a good idea.
I became quite busy with the League’s functions. Thanks to the success of the party, I was made chair of the Social Committee. Just as I had hoped, I was let back into the fold. I had survived another lapse in judgment and remembered who I was. Pleasant Lake was my home and I was stupid to think that I could venture outside of it. I mean how many more wrecked marriages and vandalized cars was it going to take?
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