My Best Man by Andy Schell (unputdownable books .txt) 📗

“Fuck me on Sunday!” Amity yells.

We’re over a curb and smashed into a stop sign.

“Fuck!” I yell, the metal sign bent in front of us, the gash it leaves in the hood horrifying to our eyes.

“Oh, my Gawd!” Amity inhales. She’s still holding the roach.

Even smashing into a stop sign can’t cause her to part with it. “Back up! Back up!”

She puts the car in reverse and plunks back down over the curb. We jump out and survey the damage. It’s not good. The bumper is indented in a decidedly V shape, and the front grill and top of the hood is gashed in.

“Babe, I’m so sorry,” Amity moans.

A cop car, from around the corner of nowhere, flashes his lights, gives a single whoop from his siren.

“Shit! Where did he come from?” She drops the roach and quickly covers it with her foot. Smooth as a card shark she reaches into her pocket and slips me a piece of gum while hardly moving her arm. “You were driving, Harry.”

“What?” I ask, my heart racing. I awkwardly shove the gum into my mouth while she starts to chew her own. “Why me?”

“I’ve been drinking champagne, Harry. I won’t pass a test if he gives me one.”

The officer approaches the car. The absolute stereotype. A big, fat, doughy white guy with puffy fingers that are probably full of mayonnaise. He’s got no necl and too much forehead, and his cheeks look as if they’re storing walnuts. He checks out Amity as he asks, “Who’s the driver?”

“Me,” I answer.

He looks at me and with his backwoods accent says, “License?”

I hand him my Kansas license. He grabs it with his swollen hands, holds it into the sun to see better. I get the feeling he can’t

read. I swear he’s just staring at it, turning it over, looking for my picture. Surprisingly, he seems oblivious to the pot smoke that’ still seeping out of the car. Maybe, with all the windows down and the sunroof open and Amity’s perfume, he doesn’t smell it. it’s because he’s breathing through his mouth.

“You don’t got no license plates, Kansas,” he drawls as if my name is Kansas.

“We’re just test-driving it, Officer.”

When he laughs, I see that even his tongue is fat. “Hell of way to test-drive it, son. We’re going to have to file a report.”

Amity slams into save-your-ass mode. She jumps into the sat ion her accent thicker than I’ve ever heard it. “Officer, husband and I are just so excited!” Exsawted! “He’s planning buying this new car, and this is his first time to drive it, and of us was trying to adjust the side mirrors so we could see while the other found the control for the headlights.” “Did we do something wrong?”

He looks past me to the smiling Southern belle. A young Kelly. “Why’d you need the headlights?”

“It’s always safer to drive with the headlights on. Even the day,” she says smoothly.

All of a sudden he becomes polite. “Yur right. That’s defensive drivin’. You married to Kansas here, ma’am?”

“Just recently,” Amity glows, taking my hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make a Texan out of him yet.”

I know she’s just playing this out in order for us to escape,

no one has held my hand and claimed me since the day my dropped me off at my first day of kindergarten. I hold tight Amity’ shand.

He noisily inhales through his fat throat. “No doubt. you’ve bent the stop sign. Damaged city property.”

“Oh, but just hardly.” She grabs the officer, grinding the

into oblivion with her instep as she leads the cop to the sign. “Look, a big ole strong man like you can bend this thing back. No problem.”

“You think so,” he asks, putting his hands on his doughy hips and puffing his sagging chest up.

“Go on,” she purrs. “Help us out. I know you can do it.” The cop pushes against the sign. It doesn’t move.

“Harry, get over there and help the officer,” Amity conducts. Together, we’re able to push the sign until it’s almost vertical. “There!” Amity decrees. “Good as new.” She walks over to the cop and grabs his fatty biceps. “You’re so strong. Forget those firemen. If my pussy’s ever stuck in a tree, I’m going to call you.” The cop blushes. “What about the car?” he asks.

“You know it’s less than five-hundred dollars damage, Officer. There’s no need for a report. It’s going to be embarrassing enough having to return it this way to the BMW dealership.” Bay-ErnDubbya Daylership.

He looks at her. Thinks. Thinks about her pussy. Then he says, “I shouldn’t be doin’ this, but all right. You get that car turned in, y’here? And make sure you set them mirrors ‘fore you drive off.”

She relaxes, smiles, cocks her head. “We certainly will, Officer. Thank you.”

He returns the license to me and walks back to his car. We sit and for a moment do nothing. Then I start the car, turn the headlights on, and drive away cautiously. We slowly inch down the western stretch of University, lined with brick duplexes inhabited by grandmothers who sit on their porches and knit pot holders while watching cops pull over stoned Yankees. “Shit,” I say, practically slumped over the wheel.

“Bubba, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for the damage,” Amity says, anxiously rubbing one eyebrow.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It wasn’t your fault. Neither of us Were watching the road.”

“I just don’t ever want to cause you pain, Harry Ford,” says seriously. “I can’t believe I’ve done this to you.”

“Hey, if it weren’t for you, that cop would have filed a rep You saved my ass.”

“This is University Park, Bubba. They don’t like outsiders. knew right away you were a Yankee, Harry. You need to deve your Texas accent. And use a few phrases like “Y’all’ this “Y’all’ that. When you’re working, say to the passengers, “D up. We’re ftrin’ to land.” And instead of “How are you?” say “I all right?” And when you agree with how