“That’s Bob,” the kid said. “Girt sent him for you.”
But Robin had already moved past Bob and was paralyzed by the sight of the two salvaged captain chairs, propped up in the bed of the truck against the cab, facing backward. “Ohmigod,” she muttered, frantically wondering how in the hell she would ever get in the back of that truck, much less ride in it. There was no amount of bubble wrap in the world worth ruining her Versace suit, and Styrofoam peanuts damn sure weren’t worth the humiliation. Oh no. Nononono—
“Deep breaths,” Jake reminded her.
“No way,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t ride in that. I won’t get near that!”
“Come on, it’s not the end of the world—”
“Yes, it is!” she whispered, frantically grabbing his arm. “Yes yes yes, it is! I can’t do it! I can’t! I’m wearing Ver-sa-ce!”
“I am sure you can dry-clean fur sashi,” Jake said in all earnestness as he attempted to peel her fingers from their death grip of his arm.
“I am not riding in that,” she said again. “I won’t do it!” She whipped around to the kid in the red baseball hat. “YO! There has to be another way into town. A taxi service? A rental car?”
“Bob don’t mind taking you.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, letting go of Jake’s arm and marching to where the kid was standing. “I can’t ride in that truck.” He looked confused. “Okay, look at that,” she said, gesturing insistently to the truck, “and look at me. Do I look like I belong in that truck?”
“Lady, you don’t look like you even belong in this state!”
“That’s right!” she cried, relieved. “So how else can we get into town?”
“Bob’s all we got.”
Robin gaped at him, unable to absorb it, unable to see herself in the back of the pickup truck, no matter how hard she tried, not even on acid. Never. Not doing it.
“Robin, you’re making a bigger deal out of this than it is.”
Oh fine. Fix-it Fred thought she was just being a big baby. What did he know? “Jake. I am not dressed to ride around in the back of a pickup truck.”
“Before you get your panties in a wad, I’m sure ol’ Bob intends for you to ride in the front with him. I’ll ride in the back.”
He had to be kidding.
“It’s not that big a deal,” he continued. “This isn’t Houston. Sometimes you gotta go along to get along. And I’m not afraid of ruining my fur sashi.”
She wished he’d quit saying Versace like it was some sort of synthetic fiber.
Bob, a long and lanky fellow, was now walking toward them, his hands in his pockets.
“Now listen,” Jake added, wrapping his hand around Robin’s wrist as the kid started to drag the stairs away from the jet, “let me offer a little piece of friendly advice. If you don’t have anything nice to say about a man’s truck, then just don’t say anything at all. If you dis the truck, you dis the man. Got it?”
“Huh?” she asked, but Bob was upon them and Jake was already extending his hand in greeting.
“How you doing? Jake Manning. And this is Miss Lear.”
Bob took his hand, shook it vigorously. “Bob Lamke. Girt asked me to give you folks a ride into town.” He shifted his gaze to Robin. “Bob Lamke,” he said again, offering his hand.
Grease was caked beneath his fingernails; Robin quickly hid her hands, ignored Jake’s dark frown, and said, “Thanks for coming to pick us up.”
“Oh . . .” Bob dropped his hand. “Well, if you’re ready,” he said, motioning to the truck.
Robin nodded mutely. Jake slipped his hand over hers, gave her a hard squeeze, leaned over as they fell in behind Bob, and whispered, “You better step down off your little pedestal, girl.”
Whatever. She was not going to start making deals in the bed of an old pickup truck, no matter how natural that might seem to Handy Andy.
Surprisingly, Bob’s truck was not nearly as filthy as Robin had imagined—Jake was right; it appeared Bob took great care of it. On the inside, there were two different captain chairs with a large console between them, which, judging by the look of it, had been modified in someone’s backyard. From Bob’s rearview mirror hung a Christmas tree odor eater, and on the dash, a bobble-head New Orleans Saints football player smiled at her. The seat was actually clean, and Jake complimented an openly proud Bob on his redo of the bed before jumping effortlessly over the side and settling into the captain chair directly behind Robin.
Bob pumped the gas a couple of times, then started the thing up. “Girt asked me to drive you through town,” he shouted over the muffler-less engine. “We’ll take a little tour of the plant after we’re through this afternoon.”
“Through? Through with what?”
Bob looked at her in surprise. “She didn’t tell you? Saturday’s bowling day!”