Chapter 1: Angel Gets an Idea

Angel Carter loved her name when she was growing up. Blessed with blond, curly hair and sparkling blue eyes, she even looked the part. Nothing pleased her more than hearing someone say, “She does look like a little angel.” She even modeled her behavior to live up to the name, helping out whenever she could, doing all the good deeds that came her way, and trying to be the perfect student. Then, puberty kicked in, and along with a little hair ‘down there’, the beginnings of breasts, and a slight outbreak of acne, she went through a significant change in attitude.

“Just call me Ang,” she told her friends and family. The cute dresses and blouses she usually wore gave way to clothes that, as her mother told friends, “look like rejects from Goodwill”. Along with that came makeup that might have looked right if Ang was going for the goth look, but goth didn’t exist in the mid-70s. She enjoyed hearing the snide comments about her: “Is she homeless?”, “She looks like a gypsy”, “At least she smells okay”.

By the time she was fourteen, she had also become a money-hungry creature. Her woeful allowance and the small amount she earned babysitting for the loathsome Grant twins weren’t cutting it. She came up with an idea. Her school had a fund-raising event at the beginning of each school year. Ang usually was an active participant, a hangover from her halo-wearing days, but this time, she wanted to raise money for herself. After all, she was a student at the school, so why not eliminate the middleman?

She set out one Saturday morning on her bike, going through the trailer park, sorry, mobile home estate, where she and her mother lived, knocking on doors and asking for donations. Most people assumed it was the school she was collecting for, not herself. She didn’t bother to correct them. Even with that deception, things were not going as well as she had hoped.

She decided to cross Billings Avenue and go into Royal Oaks, something she hardly ever did. The homes there were newer and nicer than those in her neighborhood. Still, things were not going well. With nothing to sell but her sweet personality, most people just closed the door on her, some politely and some not so much. She was about to give up when she rounded a corner and saw the dark blue Corvette she and her friends had seen driving by while waiting for the school bus. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and when the owner accelerated past them, the roar of that V-8 sent shivers down her spine. And there it was, sitting in a driveway just a few yards away.

A man, the lucky owner she assumed, was washing it. She parked her bike, approached him, and began her sales pitch once she made eye contact. “Hello sir, my name is Angel, and I’m collecting money for my school. As you may know, the state has cut back on funding for public educa...”

He stopped her there. “Well, hello, Angel. I’m Chris. So, what are you selling? Candy? Calendars? What is it this year?”

This was the tricky part, where she usually lost the interest of her potential donor. “Well, we decided we could skip that and just appeal to the good nature of the public. Do you have any kids yourself, sir?”

He chuckled. “No, sweetheart, I couldn’t afford a car like this if I did. Tell you what I’ll do, if you help me dry Connie, I’ll give you something.”

As he said that, he tossed a towel toward her. She looked around, wondering who the hell Connie was, then realized that was what he called his car. He loved his car as much as she did.

“You do the windows and the wheels,” he said, “and no spots, or no reward.”

Ang worked as hard as she could over the next few minutes, not just because of the promise of money but because she felt the car deserved it. When she finished, she stepped back, admiring her work. Connie’s owner walked around, carefully examining her work. “Okay,” he finally said, “good job. Now I’m going to put her away. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

Chris settled into the bucket seat and started the engine. Being that close to the sound of that Chevy V8, even at barely more than an idle, made Angel smile. She wanted to get a ride in that car someday. He slowly pulled into the garage and parked in the middle of the immaculate floor. It looked like he lived alone, which explained why he could afford a car like that. She hoped that meant he could be generous in paying her.

He closed the garage door. Ang walked around to the front door and waited. When he didn’t show up right away, she was afraid he was ripping her off. Then the door opened. “Come in,” he said. She noticed that he had changed clothes, which explained the delay. He was wearing shorts and a tight-fitting T-shirt. He looked like Mr. Akers, the new football coach at her school, whom all the girls swooned over.

A quick look around his living room confirmed what she had thought; if he wasn’t rich, he was close to it. There was a big screen TV, a rarity in the mid-70s, with an expensive-looking sofa and recliner facing it. She wasn’t much of an art critic, but the paintings she saw on his walls looked expensive and better than the prints her mom bought at Kmart. He walked over to a desk in one corner of the room and opened a drawer. She saw him take something out, and when he turned, she saw him holding his wallet. It looked full, a lot fatter than the one her mother had. Here we go, she thought, payday.

He pulled out a $10 bill. Although that was a little disappointing, it would still be the biggest donation she had received so far. “You earned this,” he told her.

She reached for it, but he pulled it back. “Or, I could give you this, too.” He partially slid two twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet. She reached, quick as a cobra, but he pulled the bills back with mongoose-like speed. “But you have to earn it.”

Why was he teasing her like this? Fifty dollars was more than she could earn in two months from her allowance and babysitting. “What do you want me to do? Your laundry? Wash your windows? Vacuum?”