A response to last week’s flash—Uncommon Bond, I enjoyed writing this piece from the “kid’s” point of view. Give me your thoughts. Chris
The driver’s side door extended like a wing, enticing James like a mocking bird draws a cat away from her nest. As the valet next in line to park, he couldn’t believe his luck. Back in Indiana, he drove dirt tracks and raced modified stock cars. To drive a Jaguar had always been a dream.
The concept car spewed the aging executive out, like a wrinkled bug. “Good morning, sir.”
The old bug didn’t respond, but stamped the winter sludge from his snake skin boots with a curse. James was used to the piss-ant attitude. Moneyed boomers who frequented the Palmer Hotel usually expected their backside cleaned. Minimum wage alone wasn’t getting him through design school. James knew how to kiss ass, but today this was his tip.
A nod to his humility, the exec pulled a Cub’s baseball cap from his black trench coat. Double duty, it covered his bald head. The Johnny Depp wannabe had two days of stubble connected to a scruffy mustache and goatee. “What’s your name?” Authority spoke.
“Collin, sir.” James grinned, thinking about Collin watching from the desk inside. “May I get your bags from the trunk?”
“No, Collin. I’m here for a meeting.”
The interior dash glowed. Lust quivered. James felt the dreary Chicago winter warm with promise. “Gorgeous car, sir.” His fingers ran along the door frame, a testament to British engineering.
The car’s owner pressed the electronic fob into James’s palm. “I checked the mileage Collin. No joy rides.”
“Of course not, sir.” James ducked and slid into the satin bucket. He undressing the console as his right hand coiled around the shifter.
With no finesse the owner pointed to the door closure. “Push that.” The moment was gone.
Normally, valeted cars were parked on the ground level, high-end cars in sight of the desk. The engine throbbed under James’ foot. “Oh, well.” James hit the parking garage ramp at 30mph and whooped, “Ride, Baby.” The tires squealed as the motor raced, up the five flights in as many seconds. The car leapt from the ramp, and James brought the car about, the rear tires skating in a circle. “Damn.” He took a deep breath and idled to the down ramp. “I could use a cigarette.”