Chapter 2 #2
Lindsey
That sounds beautiful! How real is the money?
Melody
Five grand?
Lindsey
Shut the front door! Five thousand dollars?
Coco
Nobody says ‘shut the front door’ anymore, Linds.
Lindsey
Just because you don’t say it doesn’t mean nobody does.
I’m about to sign off when Coco turns the conversation to me again.
Coco
How’s the rideshare going? Picked up any serial killers yet?
Lindsey
I’m following her on Life360, so I know right where she is, Canal Street about to cross Royal. Where are you going?
Melody
Call from the JW Marriott. I expect it’s some rich conventioneer separated from his group.
Coco
Have you gotten lost yet?
Melody
Nope! GPS leads me right where I need to go every time. You were right. I don’t need to know anything about the city to be an Uber driver.
From the start, Coco has been against me “driving strangers all over a dangerous city at all hours of the night” (her words), but Lindsey is my biggest cheerleader.
She’s also my roommate, and we’re both picking up any and all the gig work we can while we try to get the show going and not lose our shirts… or our cute little uptown rental.
Lindsey hates driving in the city traffic, but I don’t mind it. My biggest fear is I’ve only lived in New Orleans a short time. If anything goes wrong, I have no idea where I’m going.
I’ve only just memorized the route from my apartment off St. Charles Avenue to Cooter Brown’s Tavern—alcohol was on the line!
So far, however, she’s been right. As much as I hate artificial intelligence, “Siri” (as I call the rideshare app) has not steered me wrong yet. With another cheery order, she directs me into the circle drive of the massive, luxury hotel on the city’s main drag.
I’ve just stopped when I see a tall, dark, and handsome fellow rolling a carry-on suitcase in my direction.
I crack the window and smile as I verify the name. “Eddie?”
His blue eyes narrow, and for a moment he stares at me confused, like he forgot his code name.
I’m not complaining. It’s enough time for me to get a good look at him, and he’s sinfully handsome.
Tall, perfectly toned muscles stretching a black tee across his broad chest, round biceps straining the sleeves.
Lightly faded blue jeans stretch over his thighs, and the hem of his shirt rises as he lifts his carry-on into the backseat. He turns, and I catch a glimpse of his ass. It’s tight and square.
Scratch lawyer. This guy’s clearly an athlete.
His dark hair is neatly trimmed but still longish on top in a way that has me wondering what it would feel like to thread my fingers in that silky mane. Stamina. I shiver imagining how he would feel between my thighs.
The blue eyes are what send me. They’re sapphires, sparkling and focused, and briefly confused. He’s in a hurry, but when our eyes meet, he gives me a light smile.
“Oh, right.” He huffs a laugh as he slams the door. “Eddie Rabbitt.”
I put the car in drive and follow the cheery voice guiding us to Interstate 10.
“Would you say you love a rainy night?” I’m teasing, but he doesn’t miss a beat.
“In this city? Definitely,” he quips. “Better than driving my life away.”
My lips press into a smile, and I shrug. “Just looking for a better way.”
As if on cue, a thick bolt of lightning cuts through the inky night followed quickly by thunder that vibrates the car.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
“Scared of storms?” I glance at him in the rearview mirror.
“I can’t miss this flight.”
We’re on the interstate now, and it’s been several minutes. I haven’t been driving for the rideshare service long, so I haven’t made this trip enough to tell. Still, it feels like we’ve gone too far.
That’s when my eyes flicker to the map screen, and I realize it’s frozen. It still shows us sitting in front of the Marriott. Shit!
I reach over and frantically tap the screen, but nothing happens. My eyes fly to the windshield, searching frantically for a big green sign that will tell me where we are.
When I see the one with the little white airplane, it’s too late. I drive right past it.
“You missed your turn.” Eddie’s voice grows forceful. “I’m already cutting it close.”
“I’m sorry! My GPS froze. It must be the electrical storm.”
“You need GPS to get to the airport?” His voice rises. “It’s right off the interstate. Now we have to go to the next exit and double back!”
My heart beats so hard against my chest, I might be sick. Last thing I need is to lose this job, too.
“I’ll get you back there A-sap.” I tap the screen again harder, but it’s still frozen.
No, no, no… I say a silent prayer to the mythical witches who founded my hometown. Fireside Ladies, help me… Unfreeze this stupid computer!
Those hookers must all be out drinking tequila, because it does not unfreeze. My palms slide over the steering wheel as I do my best to follow the green road signs. Only, they’re so few and far between.
My insides are literally shaking, and I can feel the growing anger rippling off my passenger in waves.
“I can’t lose this trip and the game,” he growls. “If I don’t make this flight, I’ll miss my connection.”
Suddenly it clicks. Eddie Rabbitt is Knox Bradford!
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bradford…”
His blue eyes snap to mine in the mirror. “How do you know my real name? Is this some kind of sabotage? Are you intentionally trying to make me miss my flight?”
His voice rises with each question, and I shake my head fast. “No! I would never—”
“I should’ve known when I booked this…” He glares at me. “Are you working for the paparazzi?”
“No!” I answer too fast.
“You’re going to miss another turn! Right here… Fucking… GOD—go left!” He’s full-on shouting now. “LEFT!”
I scream, turning the wheel and almost send another car into the ditch. “I can’t just change lanes like that!”
“You have one job,” he growls. “Stay in the right lane. RIGHT!”
He’s shouting every direction at me like I can’t read the massive airport signs overhead.
“Why are you even using Uber?” I shout back. “Don’t you have a car service?”
I’m shaking all over, and I can’t get to the terminal fast enough. My breath is coming in pants, and I pull up to the curb as he flies out of the door, taking his suitcase with him. He doesn’t even stop to look back or ask if I’m okay.
The door slams, and I drive shakily to the cell phone lot where I kill the engine and take a minute to breathe. I hope my screen will reset along with my rattled insides. I feel like I might be sick or cry, which I am not going to do. I have real things to cry about, not some absolute asshole.
A few deep breaths and a few minutes later, everything comes back online, including the GPS, but I’m done for the night. I switch off the app and make the drive back to our cute shotgun duplex.
Peniston Street is a tiny road off the bigger St. Charles Avenue, where two universities, Audubon Park, and all the stately old mansions from The Princess and the Frog are located.
I love that movie. I consider watching it tonight and getting some hope that I might make it through this difficult time… without having to go through scary voodoo encounters in the bayou or face the Shadow Man.
“You’re home early!” Lindsey meets me at the door with a bowl of popcorn and a concerned expression.
“The storm messed up my GPS.”
“Dang. Well, that’s okay! We can watch American Pickers, and you can tell me if these people are getting robbed.”
“I need a shot first.” I pass her, going straight through the house to the kitchen in the back.
Her frown returns, and she follows me through the living room. “What happened? Did you pick up a weirdo? Dammit! I’m going to have to pay Coco twenty dollars.”
“Are y’all betting on my safety?” I call from where I’m taking a bottle of tequila from the cabinet above the refrigerator.
“No!” Her voice goes high, and I know they absolutely are. Lindsey’s a terrible liar. “She just bet me twenty dollars I’d be sorry for encouraging you to take this job.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know I’m fine.” I throw back the shot and squint through the burn as she walks back into the living room.
“Oh no, Annabelle!” Lindsey hops onto the couch.
On the screen, a couple is holding up an ancient doll, and the judge turns it side to side, inspecting its little sailor outfit.
“That’s not Annabelle. It’s Raggedy Andy.” I draw up my legs as I sit beside her. “He’s more expensive because so few of them were made.”