It was Wednesday afternoon when Crazy Ed finally came through. Apparently installing a new engine wasn’t as easy as I had hoped. In addition to seeing more daytime TV than I had in my life before now, in my free time I developed meaningful friendships with the staff at Taco Loco Express, which consisted of me blathering away in broken Spanish and them smiling and correcting my third-rate pronunciation. My twice-daily pilgrimage in the 100 plus degree heat, not only gave me something to do, but Taco Loco Express was the only food joint around, (sans the Sweet Shop—which Laura told me has great wings. I just could not bring myself to find out). In the evenings, I would meander to the lobby to say hi to Laura, who always took time out to visit.
By Monday night, I was sitting behind the bullet proof glass with her looking at photos of her boys, exchanging life stories. It turns out Laura jointly owned the hotel with her ex-husband. The two of them bought it when they were young and first married. When Laura’s ex went to jail for dealing at the Sweet Shop, she divorced him and was running it while he serves his mandatory five-year sentence.
“We actually get along better now, than we did when we were married. Probably because someone else gets to see him naked,” she confided.
My other major activity was fielding bi-hourly calls from my parents. They hadn’t taken the detour to Phoenix Phoenix
Mother still fretted. “Christina, who is this Laura?” she asked with the same tone I hadn’t heard since high school. If I wanted to go out with friends she hadn’t met, I would be expected to give her their family history. Any possible celebrities or public figures they might be related to were an added bonus. Her line of questioning this time around was just as intrusive, inquiring about Laura’s pedigree. Out of sheer self-preservation, by Tuesday I changed the ring on my cell to alert me if it was my mother on the phone.
Walking into his shop Wednesday morning, I found out his mother must have really named him Crazy Ed. It wasn’t just a marketing gimmick. Ed was in his mid 40s, skinny as a rail. He had a deranged expression, matching his wild white hair. He looked as if he used a blow dryer in a full bathtub on a regular basis. His skin was tanned and sun damaged. His hands were thin like his torso and his finger nails had never been washed. He fit into his surroundings.
Ed’s office was squalid and grubby. It smelled like a mixture of stale cigarette and grime. Muted sunlight shone in behind the exterior safety bars of the dingy windows. I half wondered if the bars were to keep the riff-raff in or out. There was paper everywhere and I was certain Ed didn’t own a filing cabinet.
“Miss Cavanaugh. You need to talk with my finance manager?” Ed asked. It was a rhetorical question. He and I had covered my payment challenges earlier in the week. At the time, Ed patiently assured me his finance department could handle my situation and I needn’t worry.
I played along anyway. “Yes. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Then please, follow me,” Ed said, opening the door and waving me through.
I tagged along after Ed into June’s searing heat. He led me to shed on the back end of his lot. We had traipsed past several cars in a variety of stages of disrepair.
“Are these for sale?” I asked, not terribly curious, but desperate to make conversation. Ed muttered something pleasantly indistinguishable. As he opened the door with painted blue, “finance” letters and Ed gave me a quick pat on my ass as his way of guiding me inside.
“Here we are.” He said, following me into a small room. Decorated as chicly as the front office, it smelled like stale cigarettes and looked like a paper factory threw up. Sitting behind the metal desk sat a round man with beady eyes. He was sporting a polo shirt, Bermuda shorts and a bad chestnut toupee. Between his graying goatee and his incisors, which stuck out when he smiled, he gave the distinct impersonation of a walrus.
“I took the liberty of calling my finance manager to meet us here,” Ed said, showing his dingy teeth. “This here is Carl,” Ed said motioning towards his desk. “He’ll fix you up right.” Then, with a nod to Carl, he sauntered out the door.
Carl, a loan shark, was happy to provide me with a modest loan for an unholy interest rate. I caught my breath as he worked through the terms, weighing my options. Carl or cave to my parents? It was a no-brainer. After making such a stink of needing to move on without their purse strings, I wasn’t willing to give in so quickly. I knew the first phone call I made would be the hardest. And, every time I needed a bail-out from then on, would just get easier. The way I looked at it, Carl was my new best friend.
As noble as it sounded, the truth was, I knew if I had called Mother and Dad dy, I would need to explain about a few credit-damaging youthful indiscretions. Nor did I have any desire to go into a 90 minute dialogue about why I hadn’t put ten percent of my income away like they had harped upon all my life. No. I wasn’t going to call and ask for money, no matter how humiliating it was having good old Carl look down my top while I signed on the dotted line.
And, I signed a lot of papers. I had to give phone numbers of my three closest relatives. Carl was quick to explain it was just procedure when I gave him a curious look. I wrote down Dad dy’s office number, my brother Jimmy’s cell and Mother and Dad dy’s home number. I watched with a deep-seeded humiliation as Carl called all three to verify, hanging up when voice mail kicked in or someone answered.
“Is this the Patrick Cavanaugh?” Carl asked, as he hung up from calling Dad dy’s office. I nodded, self-conscious. I wasn’t surprised by his reaction. I had caught the involuntary eyebrow raise when Carl heard my father’s secretary answer the phone. He was looking over my application again. He eyed me, searching my face. “You don’t see his name in the papers much since he left office.”
I smiled, noncommittally.
Carl did a tisk-tisk, “Some say, your father is a pretty popular man.” He paused. “Surly your family has the funds to take care of this bill.” He leaned over the desk, eyeing me. “You aren’t asking daddy for a loan.” It wasn’t a question.
He gave a dry chuckle, showing his tusks. Then, not waiting for my reply, Carl shifted gears. He asked for my past and current address. “I’m just passing through.” I said with a quick explanation about El Paso
Carl dismissed me, “It’s just procedure. I will call you later this week and get your new address.” He said.
“I don’t think you understood. I don’t live in Phoenix
Carl stopped me, propping his pudgy elbows on his desk, giving me a slick smile and putting a palm out. His face turned dark, his eyes even smaller, “No, you don’t understand, Miss Cavanaugh. Until you pay this off. I own you. Before you eat, you pay me. Before rent, you pay me. If you cut yourself, before you buy a band-aid, you pay me. I am your first priority. You’re only priority. You pay me before you do anything else. To do otherwise, would not be in your best interest.” He looked at me, his voice lower, “And, just so we are clear. It would be best not to leave town until you pay this off, you see?”
“Of course I will pay you! But I am just passing through.”
He laughed a hearty laugh but his eyes pierced me. Carl slowed his speech pattern and took on an air of a parent talking to a toddler. “You want your car to work. You don’t have the money to pay for it so you get a loan from Carl.” He showed his teeth again. This time they looked like fangs.
He hissed, “If I take my hard earned money to pay off my friend Ed, you pay me back. No matter what. And, that means you stay here in Phoenix
With the words barely out of his lips, he made a movement with his hands like he was swinging a bat. He paused for a moment, clasped his hands and stared me down. “I am sure Jimmy would be happy to explain to you that you need to pay me back. Don’t you think?”
I stared, revolted. I was eye to eye with Satan.
Just to drive the point home, as I walked out of the room, Carl called to me, “I expect you will want to make sure you don’t skip a payment.” I could feel goose bumps creep down my spine as his slick voice filled my ears. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him staring, unblinking.
I was shaking as I walked past Ed. “It was great doing business with you,” he said, handing me my keys as I walked out the door. He sounded like he meant it.
“Likewise,” I lied.
I was shaking as I drove across the street to the safety of the Hacienda, not sure what to do next. I believed Carl. There was no doubt about the tone in his voice. I had a lot to pay for. If I didn’t, Carl made it pretty clear others would. I kept thinking how would he know if I left town. Maybe down the road I would figure that one out. But, today I wasn’t willing to put my family in any jeopardy.
I barely noticed Laura as she greeted me when I walked into the lobby. “Hey Tina,” she said.
I nodded with a half-wave, preferring to be alone. Safely in my room, I laid on my back, spread eagle.
“Tina?” It was Laura again. I finally registered the knock from a few moments before. She peeked around the door with her usual strawberry blond braids dangling. It struck me as curious. Laura was working the early shift.
“Just wanted to see if you were ok.” She said.
I nodded, and she mistook my head movement as an invitation to come in. Perching against the wall, she said, “Wanna talk about it?”
“I decided to stay in Phoenix
“Do you have a job?”
I shook my head.
“Do you have a place to live?”
I shook my head again.
“Uh-huh?” She wasn’t buying it. “So, I see you have all this worked out.”
“As much as I did when I was heading to El Paso
Laura considered this. “I don’t know if you would be interested.” She started. “I have some room. My garage. I turned it into a small studio. It has a bathroom and microwave and hotplate. It isn’t much. But you could live there until you get a place. My kids are normal. You know, loud.” She shrugged, leaving the invitation hanging.
I looked at her. A sudden rush of homesickness washed over me. I was sentimental for the family I left behind. I missed everything I denounced a week earlier. I so much wanted something to belong to.
Now, Laura, a perfect stranger offered her home to me. She knew full well I had no job. No nothing. I was touched and overwhelmed. “I have a little money. I sold my stuff before I left. But it isn’t much.”
She shrugged again. “We can work something out.”
When she left, I bawled.
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