Chapter 1

"It's a Mercedes. It'll never breakdown." My husband's words echoed in my brain as the sleek black machine sputtered and chugged, and finally wheezed, leaving me rolling on momentum only. I coasted, turning gently off the roadway, and came to a stop on the side of the highway.

Then again, David's words had rarely come through in the last couple of years. The only thing I could count on was that he was working, and he was, again, eleven states away, when I could have used him to rescue me.

Beautiful and expensive as it was, the thing wouldn't start. And as smart and educated and well off as any 36-year old woman could hope to be, I was helpless. My expensive cell phone was dead, and my very expensive car was deader yet.

With a sigh, I looked around and saw that there was a cluster of shops about a quarter mile down the highway--I was on the outskirts of town after coming back from my sister's house--but there was a cocktail lounge almost across the street. They would surely have a phone I could use.

The walk was short, about two minutes, but still somewhat of an aggravation, considering that it was hot, I was in heels, and I could see that this would probably ruin the rest of the afternoon.

The bar had kind of a funny name: The Daisy Chain. I shrugged, pulled open the wooden door, and immediately felt out of place.

It's not that I don't go to bars. My husband is a member of the country club where we live, there are a couple of places downtown we've met other couples and business associates of his for drinks. I'm just not used to pool tables, linoleum floors, and heavy metal on the jukebox. The place was relatively clean, and the barmaid smiled at me as she looked me up and down. I guess I kind of dripped wealth, even though I was dressed casual, in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless top. My dark hair and makeup were fresh from my visit to the salon, earlier in the day though, and I'm sure she didn't miss the diamond on my left hand. Few people did.

"Hiya hon, what can I get you?"

I smiled back, wondering how much she paid for the tattoos that ran up both arms, and whether they were more expensive than the pierced tongue.

"Oh, nothing right now. Except a phone. My car's broke down across the highway."

"Aww, that sucks. Okay, I'm sure you can use the office phone." She pointed to a door. "The manager, Danny, is in there. Danny knows an excellent mechanic close by here, too. Might help you out."

"Thanks," I said, heading for the door. "It's a Mercedes though."

"Yep, he specializes in foreign cars," she called after me. "Talk to Danny."

I was encouraged. A guy who owned a bar would definitely know a good honest mechanic, wouldn't he? Made sense, even to the rich, society woman from the other side of town. As I made my way to the manager's office, I was only vaguely aware that there were only a few people there, and only one guy among at least five women. He was at the jukebox, with his back to me. Unusual ratio, I thought, but it was three in the afternoon, and who knows.

I opened the door to the manager's office and saw a woman in her mid-20's sitting at a desk, talking on the phone. She smiled, a lovely, almost handsome smile blossoming from within a framework of silky blondish-brown hair, and held out her finger as if to say, "Just one minute."

When she got off the phone, I said, "Hi, is Danny around?"

She got up, and I realized that she stood nearly 5'10. She was a striking young woman, and even in a tank top and a pair of baggy dockers, it was clear that she had a very nice body. She stuck out her hand.

"I'm Danny," she said cheerfully, her dark eyes gleaming.

"Ohh! Sorry," I said, laughing at my own assumption. "I thought-"

"That's ok. It's Danielle. Everyone calls me Danny."

"I'm Nina," I said, taking her hand. Her fingers were ladylike, but strong. She was half-beach babe, half "American Gladiators" constestant, with smooth muscular arms that somehow did not take away from her femininity. Danny didn't dress like the manager of an establishment, but then, this wasn't exactly the country club David and I went to. She had no bra on under the tank top, but she certainly was justified in being proud. Her breasts weren't big, but they weren't small, and they were pert and her nipples poked prominently through the thin fabric.

She had no tattoos, but had a small stud in her nose, something I would never wear, but that on her was somehow very pretty.

"I just need to use the phone if I could. My car broke down, and your barmaid said it--"

"Please, help yourself." She handed me the phone and with a gentle hand on my back, guided me to the chair as she moved aside. "Just take over my desk. I was going to leave soon anway. By the way, I know a real good mechanic. My friend owns a shop nearby and they do great work. They'll be open for another two hours..." she said, glancing at her watch. "Might save you some time if you were going to call AAA or something."

"You mean, they would come out to the car and check it out?"

"Sure," Danielle said, "especially if I introduced you. If you like, I can run you over there. It's barely a minute away."

"Wow, that's great... if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"I'd be happy to. By the way," she said, smiling softly, "I love the way you do your hair. Really pretty."

"Oh thanks," I said, touching it self-conciously, "just went in today." I was about to recommend the salon to her, as sort of a reciprocation for the mechanic referral, but something told me this girl just didn't do salons often. She had a natural beauty, and didn't spend much effort on makeup. Her dark eyebrows would have been plucked by many women more intent on getting a "Cosmo" look, but she was happy with them, and her smile was captivating. A healthy set of white teeth, and strong cheeks made her look, as I said before, almost handsome, but the look had it's own prettiness, to be sure.

I put the phone down. "Ok, I'll give your friend a try."

As I walked out of the bar behind "Danny" several sets of eyes turned our way. When the "guy" at the jukebox looked me up and down, I could see I was mistaken and that he was in fact a short haired, masculine looking young woman. In fact, there were no men in there. My suspicions that I was in a lesbian bar were immediately confirmed when two girls, one a short pretty latina, walked arm in arm to the pool tables, and kissed each other on the lips.

"I'll be back shortly," Danny called to the bar.

As we walked out together into the sunlight, a short, spike-haired girl with dark makeup said hi to Danielle, then looked at me and flashed a brief smile. As the door was closing, I heard her saying to the barmaid, "Who's the chick with Danny?"

My god, I thought, fifteen minutes ago I was heading to my comfortable 5/3 pool home in Buckhead. Now I'm the gossip item at some fringe lesbian bar.

Soon, I would be home, one way or the other. I would put the Mercedes in the shop, and call my friend Jan to come pick me up, and we'd go have a drink and I could tell her this funny story.

We rode in Danielle's jeep, and the wind swept back my dark, shoulder length hair as Danielle, with a pair of sunglasses on, looked like some outback Amazon as she worked the stick and roared us through several backroads to a tiny auto shop.

"So the Daisy Chain, it's all, um..."

"Yes, it's a gay bar," she said matter-of-factly. "But that doesn't mean we can't help out straight damsels in distress," she added, laughing. She had an infectious smile, and I couldn't help but join her in laughter at my predicament when she put it that way.

"Danny honey!" a woman of about fifty said as she we came through the door. Her salt and pepper hair was short, and she had thick glasses on. Now this woman looked like a lesbian, unlike Danielle, who hid it a bit better. Danielle had sort of a male attitude, I was noticing, that was comforting, but she was a very pretty young woman. It was an odd combination that made her very easy to be around.

I explained what had happened to the car, and Danielle went out with the owner to talk to the mechanic. In five more minutes, we were all huddled around my Mercedes a few blocks away, and the mechanic, an thick-boned Italian guy named Freddy, was asking my permission to tow the car to his lot and work on it. I looked at Danielle. I hardly knew these people, but Freddy was going to tow for free. Danielle just smiled at me, and for some reason, I felt ok with the whole idea. I agreed, and soon Freddy was hooking up the car, and I handed him the keys without a second thought. Had Danielle not been there, I'm not sure I would have even considered using a mechanic that my husband didn't know about. But David was fifteen hundred miles away, and he hadn't called all day or last night even to see how I was. To hell with it, I'll do this myself.

"Well, let me get you home then," Danielle said as she headed the Jeep back toward the Daisy Chain.