a short story

Kinny scowled at the steering wheel and jerked us around a vicious zigzag in the road. Was the damn fool trying to lose my Chevy? He moped along for the next twenty miles without a word.

"Okay." I finally told him. "You can ride with me down the winner's strip. If I win anything."

Next morning we settled in them original leather seats I'd sweated over with special cleaners and softeners. I'd put a big towel on the passenger side to make sure Kinny didn't get no grease stain on the leather. We tooled along that hilly Parkersburg street after taking second place again. The judges claimed the tires wasn't just right. I wrote the specs down after I collected my prize money and left the show office.

Noticing a State Lottery billboard, I remembered I hadn't bought any tickets. I walked across the street to where the rollback was parked at a Shell service center/food shop. I climbed up to get the mileage off the '57's odometer. Kinny came around the end of the rollback bed as I stepped down to the asphalt.

"Just checkin' the chains." I waved and went on to the store entrance and inside.

We didn't plan on going back to Tennessee 'til next day, so I watched the balls drop on the TV in my motel room. At midnight, I became a millionairess. My ticket with the odometer numbers took the three million dollar West Virginia State Lottery jackpot. I beat my pillow and put my face in it and whooped and hollered. I didn't get much sleep.

After that win I had my sights set on some really big money, the Southeast MultiCombo. Ten southern states participated in it and the pot was up to 30 million dollars. If nobody hit it this week or next it would probably hit 50 million. I'd just have to cross my fingers and hope nobody took that pile of dough in the next fourteen days. I'd entered the '57 in the Suwanee River Classic in Florida two weeks after the Mountain Vintage.

I was beginning to get an idea how this odometer deal worked. When I used the numbers before a show, the ticket didn't win. But when I used the reading after I drove the '57 in a winners' rally, the ticket won. Only trouble was, the MultiCombo drawing was the same day as the car show. And the show organizers didn't announce the show winners until late in the afternoon. I'd have to hustle to buy my ticket before ticket sales were closed. Assuming, of course, that my car would be in the winners' parade on that palm lined Suwanee Main Street.

Next morning, Sunday, we sailed through the clouds along the Turnpike again, but I was flying even higher. Kinny looked over at me. "Man, Cora. Taking second place again was good, but you're acting plumb intense. What's going on?"

"You act like you won the lottery." I could tell he didn't believe that, but his forehead was all screwed up like he was trying to figure something out. "You did have a hand full of tickets when you come out of the store last night."

"Easy come, easy go." I decided I better try to come down to earth a little. Kinny'd probably claim he deserved a part of my winnings since he brought me and the car to West Virginia.

Monday I rented a car, drove myself back to Parkersburg, and presented my winning ticket. The TV and other reporters was covering it, of course, so I knew Kinny would know about my riches before long.

Afterward I went on a shopping spree. First stop was the best jewelry store in town. Duke never even bought me a gold wedding band when I married him. The owner pulled out an estate five carat marquise diamond ring and I had to have it. Then to the local BMW dealership. I bought a sporty red convertible on the spot. Kinny's rollback cruised across them Turnpike mountain tops, but that little red car soared all the way back to Tennessee.

Satellites beam electrons even faster and news of my good fortune got home before I did. Cops, Kinny, and about half the population of Stonesboro was in front of my house when I drove up.

Kinny and the cops helped me push through and get one of the double garage doors up and the BMW inside. The '57 Chevy, canvas covered, occupied half of the garage, good thing the Honda was in the shop. We went in the kitchen. I dropped in a chair, laid my hands on the table, and tried to catch my breath.

Kinny leaned against the door, arms folded, glaring at me. "You coulda told me."

I ignored his tone. "There's a bottle of Jack in the car. If you'll get it, we'll celebrate."

"Mine to spend. Okay, I'll get the Jack." I started to get up, but he pushed away from the door and opened it.

I hadn't eat anything since breakfast and I don't drink much plus I'd just driven four hundred miles so the Jack hit me good. Either Kinny could hold his liquor, or he wasn't matching my shots. He seemed cold sober as we toasted my luck and I gabbed about what I could do with all that money.

"Gone win that Su-Suwaneeeee car show in Florida." I raised my glass again.

"God, Cora. You must be drunk. Thinkin' about enterin' more car shows."

"Got ta win - " My words trailed off and my memory with them. He must have guided me to the couch when I passed out. When I woke up, fully clothed, thank God, he was gone and my head felt like maybe my new convertible was sitting on top of it. What had I told him? I knew I talked about the car show in Suwanee. Did I tell him how I got the winning numbers? About the MultiCombo? Why did I have to act like a damn fool?

I managed to get to the bathroom before my stomach decided it didn't want the Jack anymore. I laid on the bed for hours with a wet washrag on my head. When the phone wouldn't stop, I cut the ringer off. Late in the afternoon as I was finally gettin' some tomato juice to stay down, somebody banged on the door.

"Cora? Cora? You all right?" Kinny hollered through the little window.

I opened the door. People were still hanging around outside so I pulled him inside and closed it. "Yeah. Am I supposed to thank you for not taking advantage of me when I was drunk?"

The look on his face before he turned away didn't flatter me, but I let it pass. I needed to know what I'd told him last night.

I got down a mug. "So what did I babble about while I was in my cups?"

"Ah, you said something about you was still gonna drive the '57 in the Suwanee show. I figured it was the Jack."

"Nope. I am goin' down for the show. Can't let a little money change my life." I tried for a real serious look.

"Guess you'll be gettin' somebody with a fancy car hauler to take the car down though." He gave me a hard look, then seemed to remember he ought to look disappointed and his expression softened.

"I said I couldn't let a little money change my life. Sure I still want you to haul my car, Kinny." If I'd been half smart I would have done just what he said.

We touched up and polished every inch of the '57, including underneath, for the next couple of weeks. I held my breath each time the MultiCombo numbers were drawn. Nobody won. The week of the show, it had reached sixty-six million dollars.

The day before the show, we left Stonesboro, cut across the Carolinas and hit I-95. I had the top down on my BMW, a silk scarf holding my new frosted hair out of my eyes. I tried to decide if I needed an Infiniti more than the most expensive Winnebago. Ah, I'd just get both. Kinny was a few miles behind me with the '57 Chevy, my passport to any cars, condos, and cruises I desired.

Signs beckoned as I passed exits to resort cities I'd never seen, Charleston, Hilton Head, Kiawah Island. I could almost smell the salt water breeze off the ocean and taste the shrimp cocktails. I promised myself I'd return to sample all the delights each place offered. Savannah I promised to come back to for a month or more. Finally I crossed into Florida and then reached I-10, turning west. I checked with Kinny on the cell phone and he was still close behind.

Traffic thickened as I-10 approached the north-south corridor of I-75. I hoped Kinny was taking no chances with the rollback and my '57. Finally reaching Suwanee I pulled into our motel parking lot. The heat and humidity were fierce so I waited in the lobby and watched the street.

Thirty minutes later, to my relief, Kinny pulled the rollback through to the truck parking area. Several newer model trucks, some with open rollback beds and some attached to closed trailers, already occupied the lot.

I had to keep Kinny thinking the well-being of the '57 was my main concern, so I walked out to check under its canvas cover. "Any trouble?"

"We checked in yet? My damn air conditioner quit working a hundred miles back."

I handed him the key to his room. "I'm goin' to the show office. Call your room when I get back."

I registered, signed the credit card slip for the entry fee, and got the Chevy's spot location for the show. For once I wished the show was over so I could buy my MultiCombo ticket. Win, lose, or draw in the car show, I knew I would soon possess more wealth than I could ever have dreamed.

After we took the '57 over to the show site, I took Kinny to dinner in the motel restaurant, then both went to our rooms. A long relaxing bath soaked out the muscle stiffness from my long drive. I dried off, pulled on soft linen pajamas, and wandered to the window. Kinny had moved the rollback to the space where he'd first parked, right next to the exit. Another truck occupied it when we came back from the show site and he swore. He must have watched and when the other truck was moved, he went out and shifted the rollback to the space again. Funny.

Fixated on the millions I already considered mine, I hardly heard when the show MC announced my '57 Chevy took the Suwanee Classic Grand Prize next day. I drove it at the head of the parade of winners and wondered why Kinny hadn't insisted on being there. Arriving back at the show grounds, the promoters posed with us for pictures, then swept me into the office for more PR crap. A little while later I caught sight of a clock, seven-thirty. MultiCombo ticket sales stopped at nine o'clock. I broke away and hurried to my car's show slot. It was empty.

By then more people were crowding around. A news photographer came out of the office and started snapping more pictures. Somebody drove me to the motel. Neither Kinny's truck or my '57 Chevy was in the parking lot. No one had seen him or the truck leave.

"Guess you better call the police." The young desk clerk didn't sound too happy about the prospect.

I looked at my watch. Nearly eight o'clock. What chance was there the police could find my car before nine o'clock? Slim to none, I figured. How could Kinny do this to me? Why? He couldn't show the car or sell it. Especially now, after it was the Grand Prize winner in this show.

That fact also puzzled Police Detective Sloan, who had dark half moons under his brown eyes. But he put out an APB on Kinny and the car. "He won't get far. Maybe he's pulling a prank on you."

I gave him a picture of Kinny, the rollback, and my '57 Chevy, then went up to my room and sat cross-legged on my bed. Night darkened the window, then sporadic lightning flashes lit it. When my bladder insisted on a trip to the bathroom I turned on the bedside lamp. I saw the time on my travel clock, nearly midnight. Picking up the remote, I turned on the television set as the MultiCombo balls started dropping into their slots. I jabbed the TV off and threw the remote across the room.

After a sleepless night, I called the police at six am. There was no word on my car. All day I paced my room and called down tribulation and torment on Kinny. Around noon the desk clerk, an older graying woman, brought coffee and a stale cinnamon roll on a paper plate. She also brought management's regrets and hoped I wouldn't blame them, since my car had not been stolen while on motel property.

A long day and night later, and still no sleep, I tripped over the covers trailing on the floor as I left my bed . A complimentary newspaper was halfway under the door. The picture on the front page told me all I needed to know. It showed Kinny standing with the MultiCombo Lottery Commission Chairman. Each held one end of a blown up image of a check in the amount of forty million dollars. The s.o.b. took the cash option, just like I had intended to do.

Contact the Author - silverdoll@sylvianickels.com

Author Website - www.sylvianickels.com