nearly so fascinating.
“Well, I’m originally from Iowa,” I
said, “Known as the Tall Corn State. My father’s family owns several farms out
there. They grow corn and hogs. Most of the corn is made into that new fuel
people are using in the Midwest to run their cars and trucks, have you heard
about it?”
“Yes,” he said, very seriously, “I have
heard a lot about it. This is what we want the U.S. government to start
encouraging with tax breaks, instead of making more and more high fructose corn
syrup, right?”
“Exactly. You can buy it all over the
Corn Belt, at most gas stations. But you never see it here in the East.”
“No, but I have seen something on the
local news about a car that runs on vegetable oil. Do you know what that is
about?”
“I saw that too. I guess some inventor
figured out how to rig his diesel engine to burn cooking oil that he gets free
from the fast food places, after they’ve used it to make french fries and onion
rings! I’ve seen him driving around town. It says ‘This car runs on Mazola’ on
the trunk.”
He laughed, and shook his head in
amazement.
“Fantastic! I love it. Human beings
are incredibly resourceful, aren’t they?”
“Yes, maybe we can save the planet,
after all.”
We talked a bit more about our common
interest in alternative energy, then he steered the conversation back to my
personal history. I told him about my family, one brother and one sister, both
living happily in the Chicago area. Our father died of a stroke when I was
still in school. My mother lived in Florida now, near her sister. I told him
about my college years here in the East, when I discovered I had an interest in
art and a facility for remembering historical details. When I got to the part
where I took a job at Lexi’s gallery across town, I told the story with
surprising calm. I hadn’t actually thought about it in a while, and my intense
feelings seemed to have faded.
“I’m not surprised you had trouble
working for someone so domineering,” he said with insight. “You are a very
independent woman.”
“A very powerful woman,” he added, and
flashed his pretty white smile at me. His hand reached across the table to barely
touch my fingertips. Electricity sparked in the air between us.
I was flattered, and smiled shyly. I
didn’t really think of myself that way. But, it was true that I stood up for
myself whenever necessary. And, I did like to run things my way. Maybe he was
right! On the other hand, I warned myself not to forget he was probably just
trying to manipulate me. No sense in losing my head over his compliments.
We lingered on after our meal,
laughing and talking on the patio under the stars until long after all the
other customers had left. I think the waiter was glad to finally see us go,
though he did wait patiently.
Tony let me drive home and I sped down
the deserted highway, keeping an eye out for wandering deer or moose. He leaned
back in his seat, turned sideways a little so he could watch me.
“You know,” he mused, “I kind of like
this. I think James Bond must have the right idea.”
“What?”
“I like having a powerful woman in the
driver’s seat,” he said in a satisfied tone.
I have to admit I loved it. Corny but
cute. And I always wanted to be one of Charlie’s Angels, so he hit my fantasy
right on target.
We traveled on down the road sitting
side-by-side in the dark. I turned on the blinker and we exited the highway.
Streetlights made little pools of brightness here and there on the sidewalks.
Inside the car it felt cozy and secure, very intimate, lit by the hot magical
glow of the instrument panels. The soft leather padded seat held my body in its
warm embrace like a gloved hand. He leaned forward to turn off the radio, and I
briefly caught a trace of some warm, sweet scent like cinnamon, or cloves.
Suddenly I realized, it was him .
There was a burst of intense pleasure
inside my head. I wondered if he would kiss me goodnight
“Well, I’m originally from Iowa,” I
said, “Known as the Tall Corn State. My father’s family owns several farms out
there. They grow corn and hogs. Most of the corn is made into that new fuel
people are using in the Midwest to run their cars and trucks, have you heard
about it?”
“Yes,” he said, very seriously, “I have
heard a lot about it. This is what we want the U.S. government to start
encouraging with tax breaks, instead of making more and more high fructose corn
syrup, right?”
“Exactly. You can buy it all over the
Corn Belt, at most gas stations. But you never see it here in the East.”
“No, but I have seen something on the
local news about a car that runs on vegetable oil. Do you know what that is
about?”
“I saw that too. I guess some inventor
figured out how to rig his diesel engine to burn cooking oil that he gets free
from the fast food places, after they’ve used it to make french fries and onion
rings! I’ve seen him driving around town. It says ‘This car runs on Mazola’ on
the trunk.”
He laughed, and shook his head in
amazement.
“Fantastic! I love it. Human beings
are incredibly resourceful, aren’t they?”
“Yes, maybe we can save the planet,
after all.”
We talked a bit more about our common
interest in alternative energy, then he steered the conversation back to my
personal history. I told him about my family, one brother and one sister, both
living happily in the Chicago area. Our father died of a stroke when I was
still in school. My mother lived in Florida now, near her sister. I told him
about my college years here in the East, when I discovered I had an interest in
art and a facility for remembering historical details. When I got to the part
where I took a job at Lexi’s gallery across town, I told the story with
surprising calm. I hadn’t actually thought about it in a while, and my intense
feelings seemed to have faded.
“I’m not surprised you had trouble
working for someone so domineering,” he said with insight. “You are a very
independent woman.”
“A very powerful woman,” he added, and
flashed his pretty white smile at me. His hand reached across the table to barely
touch my fingertips. Electricity sparked in the air between us.
I was flattered, and smiled shyly. I
didn’t really think of myself that way. But, it was true that I stood up for
myself whenever necessary. And, I did like to run things my way. Maybe he was
right! On the other hand, I warned myself not to forget he was probably just
trying to manipulate me. No sense in losing my head over his compliments.
We lingered on after our meal,
laughing and talking on the patio under the stars until long after all the
other customers had left. I think the waiter was glad to finally see us go,
though he did wait patiently.
Tony let me drive home and I sped down
the deserted highway, keeping an eye out for wandering deer or moose. He leaned
back in his seat, turned sideways a little so he could watch me.
“You know,” he mused, “I kind of like
this. I think James Bond must have the right idea.”
“What?”
“I like having a powerful woman in the
driver’s seat,” he said in a satisfied tone.
I have to admit I loved it. Corny but
cute. And I always wanted to be one of Charlie’s Angels, so he hit my fantasy
right on target.
We traveled on down the road sitting
side-by-side in the dark. I turned on the blinker and we exited the highway.
Streetlights made little pools of brightness here and there on the sidewalks.
Inside the car it felt cozy and secure, very intimate, lit by the hot magical
glow of the instrument panels. The soft leather padded seat held my body in its
warm embrace like a gloved hand. He leaned forward to turn off the radio, and I
briefly caught a trace of some warm, sweet scent like cinnamon, or cloves.
Suddenly I realized, it was him .
There was a burst of intense pleasure
inside my head. I wondered if he would kiss me goodnight
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