We ride in silence the rest of the way home. Sara visits the bathroom while I talk to Lloyd, our arms around each other's waist. "After you drop off Sara and Tony at Pere, bring the Buick back for me, Lloyd. I have an errand to run. Have you heard from the body shop about when the other Buick will be ready?"

"They called. It will be ready this afternoon. I'll take a couple of the guards and pick it up."

"Good. Take it out on the freeway east of Reno and run the speed up to a hundred. See if it pulls left or right, vibrates or makes any noise. Let me know."

Sara walks up, throws her arms around both our necks and gives us each a kiss on the cheek. "I love you and I love you," she says.

We look at her in surprise. "What's that for?" asks Lloyd.

"Impulse, I guess. I'm happy."

We watch Sara walk out to the Buick, open the door and get in the back. Lloyd and I smile and exchange a hug. Lloyd slides into the driver's seat as I watch. Wave as they pull away. They will stop and pick up one of the guards as a driver and bodyguard.

Sitting at my desk, I put on my headset and ask Margaret to patch me through to Ume. When Ume comes on, she asks if I have hired Sara yet. "Yes," I tell her, and she cackles with glee. I ask, "You know about the code that Sara released?"

"I know she went to campuses with CSNET access," says Ume. "I know she accessed a terminal at each campus. I don't know what Sara did once she had access." After I describe how Sara developed her code and introduced it to the Internet, Ume laughs softly and says, "Oh, I knew she was up to something from what SIA found. By the way, SIA is expunging the records of her visits to those campuses so no one can find out what Sara has done. What do you think of her?"

"Sara hasn't told me everything about her code yet, Ume."

Ume chuckles and says, "She's waiting until we give her a percentage of the business and put her on the board. We should grant all her wishes, Jill. Our Sara believes that she can manipulate you and me once she is on the board and has authority."

"What does she want?"

"Oh, like almost anyone, she wants wealth and power, but more than anything, she wants protection for herself and her secret."

"Protection from whom, or what?"

"Men . . . and their power," says Ume softly.

"Obviously, you know something that you're not telling me, Ume."

"Yes, I do, Jill. I know what happened, three times, when she was young."

Recalling Sara's description of her gift with mathematics and memory, I whisper, "When she was a little girl, Sara decided not to study math formally. When she was thirteen, she changed her concept of thinking from a cloud to a universe of lights. When she was fifteen, she began running thought processes at a rapid rate."

Ume says, "So that's how she described the experiences to you? From her description, would you guess that she assigned a gender and a specific age to her code?" The question startles me to the point that I can only say no. "I'll bet anything that she made her code female," says Ume, "and an adolescent female at that."

"I'm in over my head, Ume," I tell her. "Obviously, young Sara has secret plans and obviously, you are waiting for her to enter your trap so you can spring it on her. You'll let me know when I'm supposed to recite my lines in this little play, won't you?"

"You'll know when," says Ume, "and then we'll not only control young Sara and her code, we'll also control the world." Suddenly, I have had enough of this. "Good-bye, Ume," I say and hang up.

Boot the terminal and check voicemail messages. Ron says that I can drop by any time after nine a.m. to review the layout. Call Dick in Purchasing and ask him to tell the printer that we will review the blueline tomorrow, so they will receive the print job tomorrow or Friday at the latest. When he asks me to drop by one afternoon for a visit, I tell him I look forward to it.

Forward another call from Alice Hawkins to Tony. Delete another call from Lucy without listening. A message from Lou Dobny, the Marketing Supervisor at Doc's Place, says that Marketing already has an agreement with a local graphic designer and Lou prefers that I use his designer rather than Ron. Please call.

Call Dick again and explain Lou's request to him.

"For hell's sake, I told Lou those guys do crappy work and he should find someone else" says Dick, "They screwed up two Marketing layout orders already."

"Anything serious?"

"No, just a couple of flyers he and his girls hand out to the local motels but in both cases, we ran out of stock because they had to re-do the job, which took another week each time. I'll call and tell him again."

"Give me a few minutes to return his call, okay Dick?"

"Sure thing, kid. Hey, don't forget to stop by, okay?"

"I will, Dick. Thanks."

Call back and ask for Lou. "Lou, this is Jill Price, returning your call."

"Hi Jill! Remember we met when you came on board? How ya doin'?"

"I'm fine, Lou, and yes, I do remember. You called about my using your graphic design vendor to layout the magazine."

"Yeah, listen Jill, the guy's a friend of mine and he could sure use the work. You know what I'm sayin'?"

Say nothing, waiting. So far, I feel like driving to Doc's Place, walking into Lou's office and slugging him.

"Hello, Jill?"

"I'm here, Lou."

"So, will you help out a buddy here?"

"No, Lou. I won't."

"What? Did you say no, you won't?" When I don't respond, he asks, "Well, why not, Jill? The guy's a good guy, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"I spoke with Dick in Purchasing about the two bad jobs they've done on motel flyers. In both cases we ran out of stock because they took a week to re-do the work."

"Now Jill, those are just glitches. . . ."

"Frankly Lou, I'm surprised that you would even continue to retain them, let alone recommend them to me. Don't you agree that our publications represent Doc's Place to the public?"

"Look, there's no need to get official. If you prefer to use Ron instead of my guys, well, that's just a personal preference, ya know?"

"No, it isn't, Lou."

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I said it's not a personal preference, Lou. Do you know what Dick in Purchasing told me about your buddy's work? He said it was crap, Lou. Do you expect me to consider your recommendation when our own Purchasing Manager says they produce crap?"

"You know, Jill, you had a good point there about our publications representing Doc's Place to the public. Now that I look at my own records here, I see that I have placed our account with that vendor in review. I'm going to withdraw my recommendation until I complete my review."

"So you're not recommending them?"

"No ma'am, I am not. Now, I have people gathering for a meeting. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"No Lou, not today but thanks anyway."

"Anytime, Jill. Always extend a helping hand to the new guy, y'know?"

Disconnect, remove the headphones and begin to strip as I walk back to the bedroom to change into coveralls. Have the Thunderbird up on floor jacks checking the brake fluid lines when Lloyd returns.

She drops to one knee and sees me lying on my back on a creeper under the T-bird. "What are you doin' under there, girl?"

"Checking the brakes on the `Bird. When I drove `er here from Utah, I noticed a slight pull to the left. Already checked the adjustment and the shoes. Gotta be in the fluid lines."

"When do you have to be at the graphic designer's to check the layout?"

"Any time this morning. No hurry."

"Need help?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Tell me what to do."

Slide out from under the Bird and sit up, wincing slightly from pain in my leg and shoulder. "Slide into the driver's seat there." When she has settled in, I tell her, "Okay, start `er up."

"Won't we get carbon monoxide poisoning?"

"I connected exhaust hoses to the tailpipes. Go ahead."

Lloyd touches the ignition and it starts, rumbling peacefully. "Wow, that sounds like a big engine."

"Three ninety cubic inch high performance V-8, Lloyd. Now listen up. When I call out to step on the brakes, you press them normally and hold. No need to stand on the brake. Just apply firm, steady pressure."

"Like this?" She places one shoe on the brake.

"Right. Now, you may feel the brake get mushy for a moment as I bleed the line. Just keep pressing firmly. When I tell you, let up and press again. I'll say, `Brake' and you push the brake. I'll say, `Release,' and you let up. Got it?"

"Got it. Why do we have to have the engine running to adjust the brakes?"

"We're not adjusting them. We're bleeding air out of the lines. These are power brakes, Lloyd. They don't work right unless the motor's running." Slide under the right front, set the wrench and yell, "Brakes!" Open the valve. Nothing but fluid jets into the catch pan. Tighten it and yell, "Release!" Moving to the left, same thing. Rolling back to the right rear still produces no air, but the left rear farts bubbles. Repeat the process until only fluid jets out. Check all the wheels once more, but no more air. Rolling out the driver's side, I tell her, "Okay, shut `er off, Lloyd."

"Did you find air in the brake lines?"

"Yes, I did. Bled it all out too. Thanks for you help."

"Sure thing," says Lloyd. As I fill the master cylinder with brake fluid, she asks, "How come the radio has AM but no FM?"

"FM was an extra-cost option in 1963. The original owner didn't buy it. See that handle on the left side of the steering column? Pull it toward you and push the steering wheel to the right."

"Wow! That's neat."

"Neat? Sure thing?"

"Hey, sitting in this car reminds me of high school. I used to say that stuff back then."

"Wanna take `er out for a spin?"

"That would be peachy keen," Lloyd says with a laugh that makes me smile.

Once I've stored the jacks, removed the coveralls, cleaned up and dressed, I rumble the Bird out into the street. We stop at the guard shack to tell them we'll be back soon. Take the Bird out west on I-80 and give her the gas until we reach an exit, where I turn around and drive back.

Lloyd is rapturous, wearing a big smile.

Drive straight through town, take 395 south and exit for Ron's shop. As we pull up to a light in the right-turn lane, a couple burly guys in a pickup check us out.

"Hey honey, your sugar daddy buy you that?" calls the driver, a round faced, bearded guy.

Push one finger into my rounded lips and then smile.

"He sure did, but I keep him happy, darlin'."

"I'll bet you do, honey," he says with a grin. Lloyd laughs as we pull away, turning right. "Bet they'd shit if they knew you just bled your own brakes," she says.

Inside, I hug Ron and Karen and introduce Lloyd. We sip tea as I review the layouts, which are perfect. "When can you drop off the bluelines?" I ask.

"This afternoon. I'll hand them to Dick personally," says Karen.

Outside, who should be there but the two guys from the pickup. They are walking around the Bird, admiring her. We stroll up and I ask, "She's a beaut, ain't she?"

"Sure is. We saw your Nevada plates, so we thought we'd ask who did the work for you, honey," says the round-faced guy. "Somebody around here?"

"Wait'll you see the engine," I say, and reach inside to pop the hood. Tossing the keys to Lloyd, I tell her, "Start `er up." Open the hood as Lloyd starts the engine. "Three ninety cubic inch," I tell them. "This is an M-code block so it has the three Holly deuces and dual exhaust."

"Listen to that baby purr," he says in admiration. "Bet it has at least 10-to-1 compression."

"Ford increased the compression on the M-code and Z-code engines from 9.6:1 to 10.8:1 mid-production year, so the dual exhaust came stock with the high performance engines."

"Arnold James, ma'am. Go by Arnie. Partner here's Rudy. We didn't mean no disrespect back there."

We shake hands. "Jill Price. Don't worry. I get that shit all the time."

"Now you're gonna tell us you did the work yourself," says Rudy, talking to my tits.

"Of course she did, Rudy," says Arnie. "Don't mind him, Jill. Got no manners." He gets a sharp look from Rudy.

"She was in great shape when I bought `er," I tell them. "Up on blocks and covered with a tarp inside a shed."

"How many original miles?" asks Arnie.

"Under three thousand." Leaning around the hood, I tell Lloyd to shut off the engine.

"No fuckin' way," says Rudy.

"Will you keep a civil tongue in your head in front of the lady, you mutt? Go look at the odometer if you don't believe her," says Arnie. "Sorry," he says to me while Rudy walks around to look inside. "Like you said, she's a beaut. Are you interested in selling?"

"Sure, Arnie. The Sports Roadsters cost just over fifty-five hundred off the line and I paid five even. Put about three grand in for custom wheels, tires and some parts, which puts it at about eight. I'd take twelve to put `er in a good home."

"Gotta talk to a guy. Get your number?"

"You know Walter, has the junk yard out at Mound House?"

"Sure, I know Walter and Emmett both. Good friends of mine."

"Walter and I used to run the streets together about fifteen years ago. I see him about once a month. You can get in touch with me through him."

"You must be the gal he talks about," he says, looking at me in awe. "You and him and Lars used to. . . . Oh, shit."

"Don't worry, Arnie. Statute of limitations on those actions ran out years ago. Besides, they never, ever caught us, did they?"

Arnie laughs, "No, they sure as hell didn't. And I'm glad I stopped to look at this T bird. Otherwise I'd have missed meeting the legend."

Rudy steps up and says, "She weren't lyin', Arnie. They's 2,812 miles on the odometer."

Arnie rolls his eyes at me, and says, "Thanks, Rudy. Well listen, Jill, I'm glad we met. If you're ever in the neighborhood after five, stop by the Z-bar just down the street. Buy you a beer."

Shake his hand. "I'll bring my '53 Chevy step side. You'll like it too."

"Be still my heart," he says, hand on his chest. "I love those ol' Chevy trucks." He waves as they climb into his pickup and drive away.

When I'm in the driver's seat, Lloyd says, "Everything alright? I was hoping those guys wouldn't give you any trouble. That Rudy, he was a little brusque."

With a chuckle, I say, "They're friends of a friend." We pull out and drive home. The brakes feel fine whenever I touch them—no more pull to the left.

After a light lunch, Lloyd drives back to the office. Sit down with my thesis most of the afternoon. Later, I pull on the headset to take a call from Margaret, who has my doctor on the line. He asks for an assessment of my recovery. Specifically, he asks how much sleep I'm getting, how much strength I've recovered and how much pain remains.

After giving it some thought, I tell him I'm sleeping all night and I don't take naps any more during the day. Thinking back to how I sat out this morning's session at the dojo, I tell him that I have regained probably sixty percent of my strength. As for the pain, my shoulder is worse than my leg. Ignore the constant ache and occasional agony when I make an unusual or sudden move. Ask him how long this will last.

He explains that recovering my strength may take six months to a year of steady exercise. Hopefully, the pain will subside sooner. Ask for an assessment from the physical therapist. Call if I have questions.

Probably pissed at me for refusing pain meds, but pleased at the progress of my physical therapy. Call the physical therapist and ask her to stop by on her way home to provide her own assessment. She agrees to stop by after five because she is covering a shift for someone.

Since I have the headset on, I call Liz to see if she is ready for tomorrow. She reports that they have been practicing all day today, even though they felt ready yesterday.

Tell her I'm looking forward to it, disconnect and call Louise.

"Pretty quiet," says Louise after hearing my status report on the magazine and preparations for the morning meeting. "Peter called to confirm he'll be here."

"Anything out of Phil, Paul, Kerry or Max?"

"No," she says. "I can't believe those guys. They leave for lunch halfway through the morning, and they don't return until late afternoon. For the rest of the day, they walk around with belligerent attitudes, deliberately finding fault and stirring up trouble. This has been going on for days."

Their behavior must be getting bad for Louise to criticize executives to an underling. They probably don't care if Peter fires them now. My guess is that they will announce their resignations November first, unless Peter throws them out beforehand. Tell her I'll see her in the morning and disconnect.

Hearing Lloyd chatter with Soji, I remove the headset and walk out to the kitchen. They are discussing the arrival of the ankle biters on Friday evening. Lloyd tells me that she picked up the second Buick, drove it and it seems fine. Tell Soji that the therapist will be here some time after five. He nods politely and goes on talking with Lloyd about the kids.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License