Regular visitors here will recall the story of Gabriel, who accosted me, more or less, in front of my house proposing to buy my old car a few weeks ago, eventually upping the ante to an inquiry about my marital status.
I sent an e-mail to the address he left with me, once I had Melissa safe in the hands of my young and penurious friend D. J., and thought no more of it.
This morning as I hoisted my gym bag I spotted a glossy white sedan parked, annoyingly, athwart the end of my driveway. As I stepped into the yard the driver got out.
“Hello, I have been hoping to hear from you, do you remember my stopping by?”
“Gabriel,” I said. “I see you got your car problem solved?”
“Oh no, that is my woman’s — girl friend’s car,” he said, indicating a shadowy silhouette in the passenger seat. It was a Mercedes and quite a handsome one.
“Ah. Well my young friend did take the car.” His face became tragic. “I did send an e-mail, and it didn’t bounce, so I thought I had the address right.”
“Ah. There was a problem. My son got into my mail account and did something and now I cannot get in.”
I gave him the card for Kirk’s Garage, where there is usually a rehabbed old wreck out front with a For Sale sign, and pointed him down the street to another clunker with a phone number posted in the window.
They didn’t leave even when I pulled out of my driveway. It made me hinky, I have to say. I circled the ‘hood and came back by the end of the street to make sure they were gone before I went on to the gym. Yeah, I’m a suspicious old bitch, but you know, some guy comes knocking on your door pleading to buy an old heap cheap and asking if you’re taken, and the next thing you know his son is hacking his mail and his girl friend is chauffeuring him around in a white Mercedes? I mean, what kind of smoke is he trying to blow up my ass?
Serve him right I gave it away to a young buck.