CCLaP Weekender, October 16th 2015

At the end of the bar, where Carla had been sitting earlier, the redhead made a sharp turn left, exiting through the rarely used side door. Carla heard the door click closed as she stood and hurried after. She remembered that the door opened to the alley, which lead back to a small parking lot behind the building. Carla thought only employees could park there, and not having ever seen the redhead working the bar, she wondered what sort of special status the woman might have to park in that lot. Maybe George’s niece? No, he barely chatted with her tonight. Or the owner’s girlfriend? She pushed the sticky door open and turned down the alley, toward the clicking of the redhead’s heels. Carla imagined an old, red Thunderbird, or maybe a Harley—no, not that, it was winter—but as she emerged into the open and looked toward the sound of an engine starting up, the only exhaust she saw bloomed from a Sentra that was at least ten years old and nothing like she had imagined. The car backed away with a sudden start, then halted. The frosted-over window rolled down, and Carla first saw the flowing curls and then the sharp, darkeyed stare. The redhead’s smile was mild, yet still bold. “You’ve been watching me all night,” she said, to which Carla could only swallow hard, not knowing what to say. Yes, she had been. She nodded. “Get in,” the redhead said, her voice a quiet command.

Carla was barely inside the car, the door not yet closed, when the redhead stomped on the gas pedal. But though the engine roared, the car only gasped forward a few feet, then stalled, and came to a stop. The redhead laughed, flipping her head back, curls flying, and shifted back into park. “Piece of shit car,” she muttered. She turned the ignition key in, but the engine coughed and refused to turn over. “So nice of my ex to leave it behind for me,” she added, her voice barely heard over the cranking of the starter. After three tries, she released the key and leaned back into the seat. Her head fell into the headrest and she turned toward Carla. “So, you.” Carla said nothing, having still not spoken a word to her. “You were watching. Carla.” Carla stared at her in disbelief. She certainly didn’t know the redhead. How could the redhead possibly know her? She continued to stare, desperate to understand, before the woman’s wry smile unnerved her and she looked away, toward the windshield, wracking her memory to recall something, anything, about how the redhead knew her. Carla’s nerves knotted and she began to reach for the door handle, to flee, to get away from the whole, maybe-dangerous situation, when the redhead again turned the key and the engine caught. The Sentra lurched forward and Carla pulled her hand back, still worried over the question, but even more so about where they were going.

October 16, 2015 | 9