Danny was not surprised to find the customer lounge of Santiago’s Automobile Repair, Improvement and Enhancement Shop crowded with people having last-minute work done on their cars before driving off for their Christmas holidays. He’d noticed that the parking lot was crowded even before he reached the building. He’d been unable to find a parking spot behind the building, near the entrance to the service bays, where Cherry had suggested that he park. He had circled the parking lot twice before he was able to snatch a spot near the front door, beating a trolling minivan with a move, it could be argued, did not reflect either the proper holiday spirit or basic good sportsmanship.
Danny knew that it wouldn’t take long to perform the service he had requested for Madoka’s car, once someone started work on it, but with a crowd like this, he worried that maybe Cherry had been wrong about there being time available and the car would have to wait overnight. That would make things very complicated. He’d need to call someone to get a ride home, and that someone would almost certainly be Mary, and Danny was already having trouble simply servicing the interest on his karmic debt to her.
Cherry, the wizened receptionist, gave Danny an inquisitive look when he approached. Danny resisted the temptation to tell her everything. Without comment he handed her the keys to Madoka’s car, and then asked whether Charlie could do the work, because he knew that Charlie enjoyed the challenge of getting the car in and out of his bay as quickly as possible.
Cherry shook her head. “Charlie is not available. He’s not working today.”
“But his car… I thought I saw his car in the lot. He’s not here?” Danny asked.
Cherry shook her head again, and paused, as if considering how best to answer. She checked to make sure that nobody else was in earshot, and then leaned forward so she could speak in a hushed tone.
“You know Charlie, I guess, and Mr. Santiago knows you, so I guess it’s OK to tell you, but don’t tell else. Charlie is here, but he’s not working today. He’s practicing–getting ready for the Gusterfield competition. Mr. Santiago has given him some time to himself.”
“Oh,” Danny had been disappointed. This was unexpected. “Santiago is OK with that? With Charlie competing?”
“Mr. Santiago knows that boys will be boys, although I wouldn’t say that he is exactly happy about it. But if Charlie is going to compete, then Mr. Santiago will try to help him win. It’s better to win than to lose, the way he sees it.”
Cherry’s expression betrayed her disapproval. Danny suspected that Santiago had had considerably more to say about Charlie and the Gusterfield, but that such comments were not to be repeated in front of customers.
“That’s really why it’s so crowded in here today,” she continued, nearly whispering. “Most of these people don’t need much work, or their work is already done, or could be done quickly. But we’re going a little slowly so that Charlie can look over every car. There’s a rumor that the Gusterfield is going to be different this year. Not minivans this time. It could be anything. Any kind of vehicle. And Charlie is weak in coupes.”
“But it would have to be a family car of some kind–not a sports car or something like that,” Danny reflected. “I don’t see how they can do coupes. It wouldn’t work.”
Cherry gave him a look that Danny remembered well from elementary school, having received many such looks from exasperated teachers of subjects ranging from finger-painting to Mexican hat dancing.
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But they had to do something. Last year was too easy–six winners! That’s not a contest. There were only eleven entries–how can you have more than half the entries win?” Cherry went on. “Personally, I think it’s the people, not the cars. Some people are more detail-oriented. Other people are just oblivious.”
Danny knew that this was a topic that could lead to a very long and interesting discussion, but his goal was to get Madoka’s car serviced as quickly as possible, and that would never happen as long as Cherry was talking to him instead of posting his work order. Fortunately, Danny knew exactly how to redirect and terminate the conversation.
“Well, if Charlie can’t do it, is there someone else who is good? I’m in a bit of a hurry today,” Danny goaded.
“All our people are good,” answered Cherry, with a slight tone of annoyance. “Do you think Mr. Santiago would let someone work here if they weren’t good? And don’t you think I’ll give you someone good? But I understand your desire for rapid service and I will see what I can do,” Cherry continued, somewhat tartly. “Please take a seat in the waiting room, and I’ll let you know how things are going.”
The waiting area was crowded, and Danny felt lucky to find an empty seat. It was directly under the television, which many of the other waiting customers were watching. Thankfully the sound had been turned off, but this made the viewers more intent, as they strained to read the blurry closed-captioned text on the ancient RCA tube. Danny felt somewhat ill at ease at having a number of strangers staring intently at a spot six feet above his head, as if waiting for something to drop, but this did little distract him from his fear of talking to Santiago.
Danny hunched down in his chair and scanned the magazines arrayed on the table in front of the row of chairs. There appeared to be nothing but old issues of “Glamour”. One hinted that it contained “twelve ways to turn him on”, another promised “nine sex moves you should try”, and another “thirteen ways to add sizzle to your love-making.” After scanning the covers, Danny idly calculated that a subscription to this magazine would give Mary, each year, somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and twenty pieces of amorous advice she wouldn’t take, but thankfully didn’t need.
Out of a mix of boredom and anxiety, Danny picked up the closest issue and began to leaf through it. The advertisements seemed to target a demographic with priorities and spending habits that Danny was not confident existed–on a pair of facing pages, Danny found a list of tips for how to save pennies every week via an intricate but efficient laundry-sorting protocol, and an article about the smartest way to purchase pieces of diamond-encrusted jewelry that cost more than Danny’s car. Danny calculated that it would take a long lifetime of incessant and careful laundering to save enough money to buy even the cheapest item mentioned, but he also knew that there were people for whom those pennies would make a practical difference.
This is how men think about cars, Danny realized. If he was holding a copy of Road and Track, he might be reading an article about driving habits that improve gas mileage on one page, and the latest Lamborghini or Bugatti on the next. Danny didn’t know how many years it would take of shifting at precisely the correct RPM in order to save enough money on gas to afford to even enter a Bugatti showroom, but he suspected that the numbers were too large to calculate without a pencil and a large piece of paper.
Danny added this observation to his ever-increasing pile of evidence that men and women differed in subtle ways. Someday he hoped to unravel the mystery of, for example, men seemed to prefer physical slap-stick while women preferred emotional slap-stick, but he suspected that his hope was in vain.
Over the top of the magazine, Danny watched the door to Santiago’s office. It hadn’t opened since he had sat down fifteen minutes earlier. Perhaps Santiago wasn’t in the office today. It was the weekend, after all. Perhaps he didn’t work on the weekend, or perhaps he had already left for his holiday, Danny hoped for a moment, before admitting that it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Santiago was here, somewhere. He had to be.
A passing customer deposited a dog-eared copy of “Car & Driver” onto the table in front of Danny, and he quickly exchanged his copy of “Glamour” for it. He leafed through the pages, absorbed by fanciful tales about the performance characteristics of cars he would never see on the road with his own eyes. For a moment, he forgot his fear of Santiago. And thus it was that he was caught by surprise when he looked up and noticed that Santiago’s office door was open, and that Santiago himself was standing in front of him.
Santiago’s face wore a look of intense concern. He looked at Danny, and then looked down at the enormous clipboard he was holding. He looked over his shoulder at Cherry and shrugged his shoulders. She nodded. He looked back at Danny, and his eyes tightened.
“Mr. Frenelli, if you would join me in my office for a moment, I would like to talk to you about that car you brought in,” said Santiago, in a soft, calm voice.
A hush fell over the room. Nobody had ever heard Mr. Santiago speak to a customer in such brazen terms before. To refer to an automobile as a “car”, and even “that car” instead of “your car”! And Santiago had not used “please”, “thank you”, or “you’re welcome” at all. A nearby mother held her child closer, and a man reached for his cell phone, gripped with a sudden urge to tell his wife that he loved her. This was a hidden side of Santiago, a dangerous side.
It was a side Danny had seen before, and had been dreading seeing again.
Without a word, Danny replaced the magazine on the table, rose, and walked across the waiting area to Santiago’s office. A dozen pairs of eyes followed him, some with curiosity, some with sympathy, and a few with the finely honed sense of schadenfreude possessed only by long-time fans of the Boston Red Sox.
Santiago followed him into the office, and closed the door behind him.
