Chapter 31: Car Problems

Georgia frowned as she approached her car. When she parked it, her SL500 had been the only car in the aisle of the mall, and she had been able to park nose-in in the first non-handicapped spot near the entrance. Now she was boxed in on three sides. In front of her were three cars, on her passenger’s side was a gigantic oversized black SUV with tinted windows, and on the driver’s side was a monstrous and dilapidated white van belonging to a local plumbing contractor.

Georgia slid between the van and her car, avoiding the filthy beast as best she could, and got behind the wheel, tossing her bags over onto the passenger’s seat. She started the car and frowned again. She had absolutely no visibility backing up and no way of being seen by anybody until her tail end was out into the aisle. Putting the Mercedes into reverse, she began to inch her way backwards, praying that she would be seen by anybody moving through the parking lot.

C-R-A-S-H! Georgia heard as much as she felt the sheet metal tearing, as the rear end of her car was pushed sideways. Shocked, she sat there in a daze until she heard somebody pounding on her passenger side window.

“Are you all right?” came through the glass, muffled. A very worried male face was peering through the window at her, his hands cupped around his face to shield him from the glare. She stared at him mutely. He pounded some more and repeated his question. “Are you all right?”

This startled her enough so that Georgia came to life. She tried opening her door but was now pushed over so far that it wouldn’t open. Instead, she managed to find the button to lower the passenger side window. As soon as it opened enough the man outside leaned in and asked, his question a third time. “Are you all right?”

Georgia blinked. She looked wildly around for a second before announcing, “Yes. What happened?”

“Are you hurt? Can you move?”

Shook her arms around and began crawling over the console towards the right. “I think so. Help me out.” She hit the lock on the passenger door and the man immediately opened the door. He reached in and helped pull her out of the car. “What happened?” she asked again, looking at her rescuer. He was rather handsome, around six-foot-tall, with a strong build, and a thick mane of white hair and a matching mustache. He was darkly tanned and looked to be just a few years older than her, despite the near whiteness of his hair.

He gave her a very sheepish look. “Sorry about that. I hit you as you were backing out. Are you okay? Did you hurt anything? Hit your head?” He was looking her over and into her eyes, but it seemed more like a checkup than that he was checking her out.

“No, I’m fine. Wow! What happened?” She moved out to the aisle, where a small group of people were standing and staring. “Oh my God! You’ve killed my baby!” she wailed.

The man looked around wildly, and then dove into the car, looking for a child, but there was none, nor any child seats or child related items. He backed out again and ran to her as she knelt down next to her crumpled rear quarter panel. “Your baby? There’s a child? Where?” he asked, taking her arm.

Georgia stared at him wildly for a second before laughing loudly. “Oh my God! I’m talking about my car! Oh God! Settle down!” She patted her Mercedes as the man visibly deflated and sagged against his front bumper, equally mangled.

“Jesus, you had me scared there! I couldn’t find any babies or children,” he said.

Georgia laughed and patted his hand. “Sorry about that.” She stopped as a small pickup truck showed up, flashing a yellow light and with a driver wearing a uniform. Everybody’s head turned as it pulled up to the accident and the driver got out.

Mall Security had shown up. “Everybody all right?” he asked.

Georgia nodded. “I’m okay.” She turned to the man who hit her. “You?”

“I’m fine.” He looked at the wreckage. It wasn’t much, mostly just some body work, but neither car was driving away. “We’re going to need a couple of tow trucks, though.”

The security guard eyed the damage. “Yeah.” He pulled out a walkie-talkie and called into the mall office, and then went to the back of the pickup. He grabbed some safety cones and began blocking off the area. “Cops are on the way, too,” he added.

The man looked at Georgia again. “I guess we’d better dig out our licenses and stuff. I’m Pierre Boulanger, by the way.” He stuck out his hand. “Hell of a way to meet somebody, isn’t it?”

Georgia smiled. Pierre had a trace of an accent, not French, but something non-native, even though he pronounced his last name in the French style, Boo-lon-zhay. “Georgia Cummings. Nice to meet you too, I guess.” She looked wryly at the two cars, noticing that Pierre drove a Mercedes himself, only in dark metallic blue compared to her silver. She turned away and reached in for her purse and to open her glove compartment, to root around for her registration and insurance card.

When she climbed back out, she found Pierre moving around the two cars with what looked like some sort of cell phone, stopping every few feet and holding it steady. In his left hand he carried his own paperwork. “What are you doing?” she asked.

He turned and smiled, then held up the device and said “Smile!” Her smile was involuntary, followed by his “Got it!” Lowering his hand, he came over to her and held up the device. It was an Apple iPhone.

“What is that?” she asked, curious.

He came along beside her and showed her the screen. “It’s my iPhone. I have an app on here that allows me to record details of an auto accident, take pictures, type in names and things, take a GPS coordinate of the accident, and automatically send it to my insurance agent.”

“Wow! Do you have accidents a lot? Do you need to do this often?”

It was Pierre’s turn to laugh. “No, this is the first time. It’s free from my insurance company. I downloaded it when I renewed my insurance and now I get to use it.” He stepped back a pace and took another picture of Georgia.

“You need my picture for the insurance company?” she asked. Was that some new kind of regulation?

He gave her a seductive grin. “That’s for me! You’re beautiful!”

Georgia blushed but was saved from a response by the arrival of an Orlando policeman. The next fifteen minutes were taken up with providing the police officer the details of the accident. By the time they were done a wrecker had arrived, along with the angry owner of the beat-up plumbing van that Georgia’s car was pushed into. The cop stuck around until the plumber called to be picked up and went back into the mall.

“Where’d ya’ want ta go?” asked the tow truck driver. He was driving a flatbed truck with a winch on it. It looked like it could probably load both cars. He looked at Pierre as he asked this, since Bobby Lee Jones couldn’t imagine a woman knowing what to do with a wreck. He was rather confused when Pierre looked at Georgia.

“I have no idea! Where do we need to get these repaired? I’m not local, so I have no idea.”

“Uh, I got this at the dealership over on Millenia Boulevard, in South Orlando. I’ve always gotten my cars there,” said Georgia.

Pierre nodded. “Do they do collision work? Are they any good?”

Georgia shrugged. “I have no idea. They have a body shop, but I’ve never used it before,” she admitted.

“But that’s where you want yours to go?” When Georgia nodded, he turned to Bobby Lee. “We want both cars taken over to the Mercedes dealer on, where was it?” he asked, turning back to Georgia.

“Millenia Boulevard,” she answered.

“Millenia Boulevard. Will that be all right?” He pulled out a silver business card clip and handed a card to Bobby Lee.

Bobby Lee nodded, happy to be dealing with a man. “No problem. I’ll bill it through them.” He took Pierre’s card but just stuffed it into a pocket of his greasy coveralls. He could care less; it would all go through the dealer anyway.

Georgia spoke up. “Do we need to ride with you?” she asked with a certain degree of trepidation. Bobby Lee’s flatbed looked as dirty as he did, and Bobby Lee had just pulled out a pouch of Red Man chew. She, on the other hand, was wearing tight white jeans and a crisp white man-cut cotton blouse, with white high-heeled sandals. Just being near Bobby Lee and his truck was making her feel grungy.

Pierre smoothly interjected, “No, we’re going into the mall and have lunch and a couple of drinks, and then we’re going to take a cab over to the Mercedes place. I know my schedule is pretty much tied up by this, and unless you have some place you need to go, this sounds like a good way to spend the rest of the day.”

“Umm, okay.” Georgia blinked at this. Had this very charming and seductive man just managed to make a lunch date with her? For some reason he looked very familiar, and she glanced at him another few times while they finished up with the wrecker.

After a few minutes more, Pierre turned back towards her and gently reached out to touch Georgia’s arm. With a finger on the back of her elbow, he steered her over towards the restaurant standing near the mall. “I think I could do with some lunch and a couple of drinks. Since neither one of us is going to be driving, that seems like a good idea.”

“That’s true, isn’t it,” she agreed. She smiled. After the morning so far, a couple of strong drinks sounded good! She allowed Pierre to guide her over to the restaurant, where he held the door for her. She stopped for a moment and looked at him closely. “For some reason, you look awfully familiar, but I can’t for the life of me imagine why. Have we ever met?”

Pierre shook his head. “Not that I’m aware. I spend most of my time in Miami or overseas. I’ve only been to Orlando a few times.”

They waited a minute for the hostess to seat them, and Georgia continued to eye him curiously. Finally, like a bolt from the blue it struck her, and her eyes opened wide. “Now I know who you remind me of! You are the spitting image of Cesar Romero, the movie star! Oh my God, how funny is that?”

Pierre grinned at her as he sat across from her. “You are not the first to say that. After the first couple of times, I had to go out and rent a couple of his movies to see if it was true. I don’t see it myself, but everyone else seems to think so.”

Georgia nodded and looked more critically at him. “It’s awfully close. Your nose is a trifle off, and maybe the shade of the eyes, but you could almost be a double for him. You seem younger, though. He didn’t go completely white until, well, I imagine it was a few years older than you.” She blushed as she said this.

“Is that a subtle way to ask my age?” Georgia blushed again. “I’m only fifty, but I’ve had the white hair since I turned thirty.”

Georgia looked amused at that. “Sort of like Steve Martin.”

“Something like that.” The waitress came over and took their drink orders, leaving them with menus.

“So other people have noted the resemblance?”

Pierre laughed. “More than a few. I think the funniest time was back in Miami when I was in a bar one time and this flamingly gay guy saw me and thought I was the real Cesar Romero and started hitting on me. He didn’t know the real Romero had been dead for ten years!”

“No! You don’t mean ... Cesar Romero was gay? Oh my God! You’re kidding me, right?”

Pierre smiled broadly at this. “Oh, yes! I googled it afterwards. It was quite well known around Hollywood at the time, but of course it wasn’t something they let in the papers in those days. He was simply known as a ‘confirmed bachelor.’ Now I imagine it would be all over the Internet and the tabloids, but things were more civilized then, I suppose.” He gave her another grin. “I really broke that poor fellow’s heart.”

Georgia blushed at this. Over the next two hours, they had a total of three drinks and a very nice Cuban American lunch, and she found herself telling Pierre far more about herself than she learned about him. By the time he got the waitress to order them a cab and paid for lunch, a sizable bill paid in cash, from a significant stash in his wallet, she felt like he knew her life story. She had told him that she was a widow, who her husband had been, and how he had left her out of the will but with enough insurance to pay for her Mercedes and house and keeping her comfortable. She was amazed that she had even told him that she had been at the mall to pick up some books at the children’s bookstore for her nieces and nephews back in Memphis! She almost never told people where she was from.

A light rain had started by the time they got to the front door, so they waited inside until the cab pulled up. Once it was there, Pierre dashed out and held the door for her, and they sped off to the dealership. By the time they got there, the brief shower was over.

The damages to the two vehicles were relatively minor, but even minor damage to a Mercedes was expensive. For his car, Pierre simply ordered it repaired, stating he would leave it and come back to Orlando to pick it up in a few weeks’ time. He also offered to spot Georgia the deductible amount, so that she wouldn’t be out of pocket on the accident. “Really, I’m the one who ran into you. I should pay.”

“Well, thank you very much! That would be very nice,” she said in surprise. “Chivalry isn’t dead, is it?”

“Never!”

The service manager piped in at that point. “Mrs. Cummings, we can certainly repair your SL500, but it’s going to be a few weeks and you’ll need something to get around in. Have you given that any thought?”

Georgia grimaced at this. “Not really. I suppose I need to call a rental place. I know my insurance covers it, at least partially, although they’ll never spring to rent another Mercedes.”

“Well, let’s talk about that a second,” he answered smoothly. At that point he called the sales manager in. This must have been a well-used ploy to them, but an interesting one at that. They offered her a new SL550 as a ‘loaner’ until her car could be repaired, with the suggestion that if she really liked it, they would take her old car in on trade and cover the difference in rental costs. Of course, she’d have to pay the difference in price, but really, it wasn’t all that much considering it would be a new car, new warranty, new everything.

Georgia was stumped at this. She hadn’t even considered a new car. Hers was only a few years old and, until that morning, in mint condition! She looked over at Pierre and asked, “What do you think?”

He made a noncommittal shrug. “There’s certainly nothing wrong with the idea. It will save you the hassle of chasing down a rental and dealing with the repairs, but it’s up to you.”

The sales manager had subtly steered her over to a new cherry red SL550 convertible. Georgia began eyeing it enviously. “Well, I...” she trailed off, running a finger over the door frame.

“Perhaps you can just take it home for a few days and get a feel for how it handles. No commitment,” he suggested.

“Uh, okay, I guess it couldn’t hurt.” She glanced over at Pierre but got nothing from him but a smirking smile. She waggled a finger at him. “Don’t start on me, mister. It’s your fault I’m in this mess!”

Pierre laughed loudly at this. “And I will make it up to you over dinner tonight.”

She snorted at this but didn’t gainsay him. She followed the sales manager to his office while Pierre wandered around the showroom looking at the other models. After another few minutes a small army of mechanics and technicians came out of the back, swarming over the car and preparing it, and opening the wide doors so it could be driven out and a new model set in its place. When Georgia reappeared with some paperwork and a set of keys, she said, “I’m just going to try it out for a few days, while they get some parts in.” Pierre simply gave her a bland smile and nodded. He had seen enough smooth salesmen in his time to know that Georgia had just bought a car, whether she knew it or not.

“Well, since you’re driving now, you can drive me over to my hotel, where I will arrange a car of my own, and plan on picking you up later for dinner,” he replied.

“Dinner? I thought you were joking. I wasn’t really serious about making you take me to dinner! I don’t really know anything about you!”

“Oh, but I was serious about taking you out. Think of it this way. It will give you a chance to learn about me,” was the reply.

Georgia blinked at that. “Oh, I suppose so. What should I wear?”

Pierre’s grin showed a nicely devilish side to him. “Every beautiful woman I’ve ever met owns a fancy red dress. It’ll match your car!” Georgia smiled at this and nodded, then led the way to her ‘loaner’.

Georgia transferred her packages to her new car and drove Pierre to the Ritz-Carlton on the Central Florida Parkway. She thought to herself that her dinner date certainly had good taste, at least in his cars and hotels. What exactly did he do for a living? Would dinner be up to the same standard? He had promised to pick her up at half past seven, for an eight o’clock dinner, but hadn’t told her where. Once she got home, she set her alarm clock and took a nap, to sleep off the stresses of the day.

Pierre rode up the elevator to his suite and looked around. He had planned on leaving today and had only been doing a few last-minute errands before heading back to Miami. There really was no reason to change plans. First, he sat down at his laptop, set up on a table in the sitting room. He worked for about half an hour and smiled to himself. Picking up the telephone, he summoned the concierge to his room. A minute later a discreet knock at the door signaled his arrival. Pierre opened the door. “Mr. Boulanger, how can we help you?”

“I was planning on leaving earlier, but my schedule has been messed up, and I need your assistance.”

“Of course,” replied the concierge, managing to sound both concerned but not obsequious.

“While I was out this morning, I had an accident in my car.” He held his hands up to calm the concierge and stop his concerned questions. “I’m fine and so is the lady I hit. However, I will need a limo for the evening, somebody who will not only drive us to dinner, but probably all the way home. I don’t need one of those gigantic stretch jobs, but I would still like something with some leg room and privacy. Can do?”

The concierge waved off the request as if it were beneath him. “Can do.”

“And I’ll need reservations for two tonight, not here, but at a nice place, not ridiculously formal, but not cheap, either.”

“The lady’s tastes?”

Pierre scowled for a second at that, not really knowing, Still Georgia hadn’t been a vegetarian at lunch...” A nice steak house ... there must be one in this town.”

“Consider it done. What time should I make it for?”

Pierre gave the times and then requested a bell man an hour prior to his departure to help with his luggage and getting it to the limo. Finally, Pierre handed over a suit and dress shirt with instructions to have it returned, cleaned and pressed, as quickly as possible. Nothing was mentioned of the cost of these services or how they would be billed; it was understood that the price was in line with the Ritz-Carlton’s charges and therefore expensive, and that the concierge would be fully compensated for his abilities.

Georgia woke a little before six, slightly confused from her nap. Had she really agreed to a dinner date with the guy who had wrecked her car? She looked out the window to see the bright red convertible in her driveway and shook her head in amused disbelief. She had better get ready!

First was a quick shower and touching up her legs and under arms, and everywhere in the middle. While she wasn’t planning on doing anything with her date tonight, he had certainly been handsome and charming enough to make her think about it! She wrapped herself in a fluffy fleece robe and meandered out to her bedroom. What to wear?

Pierre had specified a ‘fancy red dress’. Georgia was a blonde, even if only by the grace of her hair stylist, and knew that the two best colors for her were black and red. She had several red dresses, some fancy and some not so fancy, and some so outrageous that they would never make it to dinner! She pulled several from her closet and began to sort through them. The first was a very formal evening gown - too formal, she thought. It was set aside. Likewise, a little red minidress she hadn’t worn in several years went back. She thought it still fit, but it wasn’t the right signal to send tonight. Several others went back until she settled on a scarlet red cocktail dress that stopped a few inches above her knees, short but not extreme. It didn’t dip all that low front and back, and had spaghetti straps to hold it up, so that her shoulders could be seen, along with her lack of tan lines. It was made from a slinky jersey material, but not so tight that it would show underwear lines. She had decided she was wearing underwear. Georgia smiled to herself. She might just be that kind of girl, but she didn’t want Pierre to know it, at least not right away!

Next came out a pair of high-heeled pumps, stilettos, in a matching shade of red. Georgia was a firm believer in buying a pair of shoes for every nice dress. Underneath the dress would be a set of lingerie, a convertible lace bra which she removed the straps from, and a matching lace thong, both in red. They didn’t match the dress perfectly, but Georgia also knew that any man who got that far, wouldn’t be complaining about the color coordination, especially after he saw her in her sheer nude thigh-top stockings. She had a brand-new package, not even opened yet, which would go nicely with the outfit.

Georgia spent just as much time packing her handbag for the evening. It matched her shoes, and was a bit larger than a clutch purse, yet nowhere near as bulky as what she normally carried around. Her husband had always joked that she didn’t carry around a purse as much as she toted a small suitcase. Tonight, she pared down to the minimums, with just enough odds and ends to see her through a morning wake-up call, if that was how the evening went. She wasn’t sure of that, but Pierre was a very appealing gentleman, and if he was as charming at dinner as he had been at lunch ... well, it was something to prepare for. In addition to her wallet, she tossed in a few makeup items and a toothbrush, and then grabbed her cell phone before she could forget it.

It was still a few minutes before Pierre was expected to pick her up when Georgia came down the stairs to her living room. Suddenly nervous, she debated pouring herself a stiff vodka. Would it calm her nerves or make her even more nervous? She stood before the sideboard where her liquor was kept, unable to decide, until a movement at the corner of her eye startled her. Turning her head, she saw a black limousine pulling up in front of the house. “Good lord!” she whispered to herself. She waited until she saw the chauffeur get out and open the rear door, and her date stepped out. She had her front door open before he even made it up the steps.

“I found the right place,” Pierre said with a smile. He was wearing a light charcoal suit, a black silk shirt, silver tie, and black loafers.

“Yes, you did, but I wasn’t quite expecting this!” she said, waving towards the limo. Her neighbor Paige Turner had just come home and was staring across the street, and Brenda’s twins had managed to escape their father and were running across the lawn towards the big black car, their father in hot pursuit.