Turning A Corner
“How much?” He asked, and the salesman gave an oily grin.
“69,999,” came the response, and he felt his spirits sink. The car was beautiful, there was no question about that, but almost seventy thousand dollars was out of his price range. No matter what he bought, his wife was going to throw the words “mid-life crisis” in his face, but he still wasn't going to let himself be taken advantage of by some greasy moron in an ill-fitting suit.
He sighed. “Well, thanks for your time, but that's too steep for me. I think I'll go try Mansfield's over on 38th – I know a few of the guys there and I think I can get a better deal for my dollar.” That was a lie; he'd never even set foot inside the Mansfield dealership, but he knew that this place had a long-standing feud with them, and he saw the salesman's face darken as soon as he mentioned the place.
“Look – just, just wait here, OK? I have to talk to my boss.” He nodded, and let the short salesman slip by him. The “boss” would be able to offer a better price, he was sure of it, but it remained to be seen whether or not that would come out as worth his while.
He had to admit he really did want the car, especially the model and color in front of him. The Presumption came with sweeping lines and slick curves, along with a cherry-red paint job that was unlike any of the family vehicles he'd purchased in the last the years. Everything about it screamed “sexy”, and just for once he wanted to be the guy that was at the center of it all. He knew full well the thing wouldn't make him any more attractive; once he parked the Presumption and opened the door, anyone who'd “oohed” or “aahed” would know his secret – that he was just a middle-aged man with wife troubles, but he didn't really care. He wanted something for himself.
Of course, the predictive GPS didn't hurt the feature set; he wasn't much for technology, but had heard that the car could essentially drive itself, leaving him to stare out the window, play with the radio, or revel in the fact that he was one of only a few drivers in the city that owned one of the cars.
He shook his head to clear it as he heard the salesman's footsteps coming back. As much as he might want it, he had to keep his desire under wraps until he'd paid the price and was sitting in it. If the price wasn't right, he had to be willing to walk away empty handed.
“$65,499,” the salesman said quickly, and he found himself nodding. Almost five grand off was the best he could hope to get, and everywhere else in the city had these at half again the price. He tried to make his acceptance seem reluctant, but inside he cried out – he finally had something his wife couldn't ruin for him, couldn't take away. It was his.
Guilt about the money he was spending and things like the kids' college fund sprung up, but he shoved it down hard. He deserved it.
***
The first few blocks behind the wheel were heavenly. Responding to even the lightest touch, the Presumption thrummed with power and pulsed with possibility. He drove around the neighborhood near the dealership a few times, ripping up sidestreets and blazing around corners just to see how it felt in a machine that had the right kind of power to make it work. Finally, he decided it was time to head home. Sheila thought he had been at work all day; she was in for the surprise of her life.
Hate was a strong word for what he felt for his wife and the feelings that she reciprocated. The kids had driven a wedge between them, and her insistence that he could never do anything right pushed them farther apart. She claimed it was all in his head and that her expectations were reasonable, but he knew crazy when he saw it, and he was tried of playing the fool. The kids weren't old enough to get by on their own, and that left one choice – mutual unhappiness with a thin veneer of civility on top. Well, he'd see how well that veneer held up now.
Pulling onto the freeway, he activated the GPS and let the wheel go. The Presumption smoothly took over, guiding his car into the best lane to pass traffic and make the ride smoother. Saying his address out loud, and gentle female voice responded with “confirmed”, and then sped up to a rate that he wouldn't have felt comfortable going under his own control. Soon enough, they were at his exit and sliding down the off-ramp.
Oddly, they took a right turn at Salter street, but he knew that it was faster to go down Perch. The two eventually ran parallel, and from a distance, he could see construction all along Perch. Clever car!
More strange turns followed, each keeping him in the neighborhood, but keeping him away from his house. Taking the steering wheel, he took his next left and headed for home. Nothing was perfect, he supposed, but he was going to have to take the car back for service if it was going to behave like this.
“This is not the best route, owner,” the smooth voice said as he made the last turn onto his block.
“My house is right there!” He said aloud, pointing down the street as if the Presumption could see it.
“This is not the best route for you, owner.” He ignored the voice and pulled into the driveway.
The next few minutes were unpleasant, to say the least. Seeing another man with one's wife is never an easy pill to swallow, and Bill, his neighbor, was the last person he thought would interest Shelia. A broken chair and a wooden leg to the face later, Bill was down and the Presumption was firing up again.
“You tried to warn me, didn't you?” He asked, and the car purred in response. Sheila was screaming at him from the front door but he ignored it; Bill would be fine when he woke up, and he had a new car to try out. “Let's ride.”
- D
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