Chapter 59: McFly!

June 11, 1985

The week spent in Florida during my recovery period is a memory that, over time, has only grown in fondness. It was a week of blessed idleness, of nary a care or responsibility, with my loved one by my side. Inez and I spent nearly the entire time hanging out at her place, either with her parents or by ourselves. We made one trip to the beach, and that was it. Since I was still under doctor's orders to take it easy, going out dancing was not an option. But we were together, and that was what was important. We talked about everything: what lay ahead for us, what we'd shared together up to that point, as well as our lives before we'd met each other. I never grew tired of her company; if there was ever any question that she was my soul mate, that notion was dispelled during those seven wonderful days.

I also got to know – I mean, really got to know – her parents. Yes, I'd spent time with them before, but those occasions had always seemed hectic and hurried. Now, I was able to bond with them on a deeper level, and I actually felt that I was becoming a part of that special connection that Inez had with her mom and dad.

It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon; Javier and Lupe were at work. Inez and I were lounging out on the back patio, seated at a table, just finishing up our lunch. Like the house which rested on it, the clean and well-maintained property was modest in size. There was a small pool alongside the patio, and as hot as it was, we'd surely be changing into our bathing suits later. A single large tree with small leaves and strange-looking fruit, the likes of which I'd never seen in the mid-Atlantic region, loomed over one corner of the yard.

"Those fruits," Inez told me, as she noticed me inspecting them visually, "are a royal pain in the butt. They're inedible, to you and me at least, and they're constantly falling off the tree and splitting open in the yard. They make a huge mess, even when you consider that the raccoons and squirrels gobble up some of them." She made a face, as I laughed a little.

"This lunch we're having," I noted, pointing at my nearly-empty plate, "is anything but inedible."

Our meal actually consisted of leftovers from the previous day's dinner, but that didn't matter. I was gaining more and more appreciation for Lupe's cooking skills, and her expertise was not limited to Puerto Rican cuisine. She'd prepared a huge batch of spaghetti and meatballs, enough to feed an army, as well as Caesar salad with homemade dressing. She'd also baked up some garlic bread. Today's lunch consisted of leftover spaghetti and salad, and it was still out of this world.

Inez was quiet for a moment as she, too, finished off her lunch. Then, she offered me a curious little smile. "Guess what I was just thinking about, mi amor?"

"What, love?"

"I was thinking," she elaborated, "about my life in the other timeline, before you met me. We don't have a lot of information about it, do we? All we can do is speculate. I was thinking about Tio Raul, Tia Rosie, Mayra and Lisette. Their lives in the other timeline are a big unknown, correct?"

"That's true," I confirmed with a nod. "Neither Evie nor Jasmine said anything about you having relatives in New Jersey."

"I've been asking myself ... why didn't my aunt and uncle help me out after my parents' accident in that timeline? Why didn't I go to New Jersey and live with them? I have a theory about that."

"You do?" I asked curiously.

"Well, you know what my uncle's like. I love him to death, but he might not have been too approving of my out-of-wedlock pregnancy in the other timeline. I hate to say that, but it's probably true."

I took a deep breath before shaking my head in agreement. "Yeah. You could be right."

Inez had more input to offer on the matter. "We've also been wondering why I moved to New Jersey in my forties, after all, right?"

"Part of the reason was your job," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but there had to be more to it. Why did I decide to look for a new job in New Jersey? I'm sure it was because of my aunt or uncle, or Mayra, or Lisette. One or all of them probably reached out to me after all that time, wouldn't you think?"

"You know, that makes too much sense," I said thoughtfully. "I can't believe I never considered that."

"Here's another point to ponder," continued Inez. "Look at Mayra and Lisette. How different are their lives in this timeline? Again, we have nothing to go on in the other life, but Mayra didn't have Dennis, right? They met through us. And Lisette certainly wouldn't have known your brother. He didn't even exist!"

"Ah," I smiled, for she'd just touched on something I had considered. "How do we know Mayra didn't have Dennis in the other timeline? Maybe Fate found a way to bring them together in that life, too."

My ever-romantic girlfriend smiled at that notion. "Isn't that a nice thought?"

"Well, I knew Dennis slightly in the other life. I might have hung out with him a few times, even had a beer or two with him on occasion. After the end of sophomore year, I lost touch with him. If we assume Mayra went to Rutgers in the other life – and that's a reasonable assumption – isn't it possible they might still have met somehow? And if they did, there's certainly a fighting chance they'd have hit it off like they did this time around."

"I think I'll choose to believe that," said Inez, her smile continuing to widen. "We'll never know one way or the other, right?" She fanned herself with her hand; the heat and humidity were becoming unbearable.

"What do you think?" I grinned. "Wouldn't a dip in the pool be nice?"

We retreated indoors, supposedly to change into our swimwear. But the house was air-conditioned, her parents were out for the afternoon, and her bed was comfy. We didn't make it into the pool until over an hour later.

June 13, 1985

Javier got up and closed the door, before reaching into a small refrigerator near his desk. He produced three bottles of beer. Keeping one for himself, he handed one to me, and the other to Mike.

"Don't tell anyone," Javier winked at his nephew. "Drinking on the job is okay if the boss does it with you."

It was around four-thirty in the afternoon, not far from quitting time for Javier and Mike. The three of us were sitting in Javier's office, which was attached to the warehouse from which Javier ran his shipping business. Lupe had left work early; she and Inez had paid a visit to the hair salon. While the ladies were occupied, Javier, Mike and I had seized the opportunity for a little male bonding. It wasn't a case of pleasure triumphing over business, however, for business was definitely the topic of conversation.

"A big part of my business comes from people in the Miami area who send items to their relatives abroad," Javier explained. "They pack things up in boxes and bring them here to the warehouse. We charge them a fee that's based on the size of the box, plus the destination. A truck comes by every Friday to pick up the week's shipments. The truck heads straight for the port of Miami, where everything gets loaded onto ships. They also have the option of sending certain items by air, which of course costs more. If they choose air freight, the stuff might get there in under a week. If it goes by boat, it takes a couple of weeks or more, depending on the destination. In a few countries, we have local contacts who provide home delivery."

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. An idea had popped into my head; it was one that would not be feasible at this point in time, but might be further down the road. At the very least, it was a chance to show off my business acumen. Mike began to speak, however, so I opted to hold off and listen.

"Most of the deliveries go to Central America or the northern part of South America. Ecuador, Peru, that's about as far as we ship. We also send stuff occasionally to places like Jamaica and Haiti where Spanish is not the primary language."

"Do you ship to Mexico?" I inquired.

"Occasionally, but there aren't very many Mexicans in South Florida," replied Javier. "I'll tell you one thing, though. If Cuba ever becomes an option, with all the Cubans that have moved here recently, we're sitting on a gold mine. But until Castro and his buddies are kicked out, or the embargo is lifted, that's nothing but a dream."

That won't happen in the next twenty-plus years, I thought.

I took a deep breath, before speaking up. "There's an idea that's been bouncing around in my brain, and it involves exporting goods. Specifically, automobiles."

"Cars?" blurted out Mike, in a tone of voice which hinted, I can't wait to hear about this racket.

I nodded. This idea, naturally, was inspired by an experience in my other life. Not long before I'd been sent back in time, a friend of mine had been involved in the type of business I was about to detail. It had been a side venture for him, and he'd done quite well with it.

"Cars," I repeated. "They're generally more expensive in Latin America than they are in this country, correct?"

"That's true," answered Mike, his voice now containing a note of curiosity. "Sometimes, a lot more." Javier, seemingly choosing to remain silent, leaned forward to listen.

"Here's what you would do," I began. "Find potential car buyers in Latin America. You'd have to make local contacts and advertise your service somehow. Ask the buyers what make and model they're looking for. Then shop for it yourself here in the USA, on their behalf, and have the car shipped to the customer. Even with shipping fees, import taxes, and duty charges, you'd come out ahead. Agree on a price and method of payment with the customer, taking a cut for yourself, of course. Negotiate a better price with the dealer, and that's money in your pocket. You'd want to target used cars in good working condition; models with a good reliability history."

"Wow," said Mike. "You make that sound too easy."

"You could look into getting an auto dealer license," I continued, "which would give you access to cars sold at auction. Hell, if you wanted to go full tilt, buy or rent a lot, and maintain an inventory of cars. If you wanted to do something on a smaller scale, with less risk, you could focus on auto parts. They're also more expensive – and harder to find – in Latin America."

Javier spoke up at that point. "The problem with your idea is that it's next to impossible to find a buyer willing to invest in a car, sight unseen. Do you really think someone would put that much trust in you?"

"That's the big hold-up here," I acknowledged. "I agree, it wouldn't work for exactly that reason. But in the future, who knows what kind of advances in technology or communication could arrive on the scene, and make this sort of thing feasible?" I had a checklist of things in my mind: instant sharing of photos, which would allow the customer to view the car from every possible angle, both inside and out; near-instant money transfers; the Internet and email, which would streamline the communication process, make advertising a snap, and make it infinitely easier for the customer to research the transaction.

The conversation continued along these lines for a good fifteen or twenty minutes. "I'm still skeptical, Pat," laughed Javier, "but I'll give you this much. You sure do have a good head for business."

"Just keep the idea in mind," I grinned. "Who knows what will happen down the road?" Yes, once again I was looking to plant a seed, and I was aiming more to plant it in Mike's mind than Javier's.

June 19, 1985

The seven-day Florida sojourn drew to a close. Inez and I bade farewell to her parents, headed back north, and soon found ourselves once again in the midst of what passed for a daily routine. In this case, it was a routine of leisure. There was no school, no work, and no band-related concerns. The doctor had given me the go-ahead to resume normal activities, pronouncing me one hundred percent fit. Dave was coming along; his cast had been removed, but his doctor recommended that he hold off for another week before touching the drum sticks. All we could do was wait it out.

Today, however, there was an interruption in the temporary span of idleness. I interviewed for the job I'd had in the other timeline, and what a strange experience that was.

It was somewhat reminiscent of my first college class. This was another instance where I arrived at a point in time which was identical to the corresponding moment in the other life, with no external factors influencing it. Since I had yet to visit the work site in this timeline, and had yet to encounter any of the people I spoke with during the interview, everything was the same as last time. At first, the questions and conversation were identical to the first time around. It was eerie, and even a little bit creepy.

There was one important difference, though. I was now a far different person than I'd been during the first interview. My responses reflected that; I drew on my experience in the other timeline, and formulated well-thought-out answers that undoubtedly far surpassed what any other candidate might have come up with. As a result, the reactions from my interviewers changed as well. The further into the interview I went, the less it resembled the first time around.

At the end of the rather lengthy interview – it lasted nearly four hours – I spoke with a gentleman named John Wickersham. He'd been my first boss in the other life. After my promotion a couple of years down the road, he'd immediately gone from supervisor to peer. A year or two after that, he found another job, and moved out of state.