Laura

Brett rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 4:02. His alarm was set for 4:30 but he was so excited about today’s trip that he’d been laying there staring at shadows on the bedroom ceiling since 3:30 that he decided to get up.
He and his buddy Stan had been planning this trip for weeks. “You learn to ride that thing and we’ll go real early some Saturday morning, watch the sunrise.”
That thing, as Stan had referred to it was Brett’s 15-year-old dirt bike. The two of them worked at the same place and had lunch together almost every week. Somehow, Stan always turned their lunch conversations to dirt biking. Brett decided that maybe this was something he’d like to try and decided to buy a bike. “Let me know if I can help.” said Stan.

Brett recalled the story of the dirt bike.

He didn’t want to sink a lot of money into something he’d rarely use, and as a CAD designer for a homebuilder he didn’t have a lot of discretionary income. What he had, he spent on his collection of Classic LPs, and turn tables. He got interested in these rather geeky pastimes when he was high school as a result of gifts from his uncle.
As a committed DIYer Brett decided to tackle the purchase of the bike on his own. How complicated could that be? He did some research and decided a new bike was not in the cards, so he hit CraigsList and Marketplace looking for options. He had some idea of cost based on nearby dealers’ websites and when he saw a listing for a 15 year old Honda at less than half of what the dealers were asking that caught his attention. He messaged the seller, Dave, to check on availability.
It was still available, and he agreed to meet at Dave’s house the following weekend. Saturday morning came, and he and Dave exchanged messages again confirming the meeting. “8:30 is fine hon” The last word should have been a red flag for Brett, but he was looking at the online picture of the Honda CRF and skipped that detail.
He got to the residence, a well-kept smallish ranch in a neighborhood of similar homes, a little early. He rang the bell and the door was opened by an Ann Margaret look-alike wearing a pink top and light green shorts. “Hi, I’m Brett, here to look at the bike Dave has on Marketplace.”
She extended her hand, “I’m Laura, Dave’s soon to be ex-wife. Nice to meet you.”
Touching her hand gave him the tingles, this should have also raised a red flag but now all Brett could think of was. . . well let’s just say Brett’s mind wasn’t on the bike anymore. “Hi Laura, I’m Brett.” was all he could think of saying.
“Dave doesn’t live here anymore. I’m handling this deal.”
Brett’s brain was slowly getting back in gear, “Before I look at it, do you have a clear title? I should have asked that before I came.”
“Yup, I paid cash for it and my name, not Dave’s, is on the title.” After a short delay she added, “We don’t need Dave for this.”
It wasn’t what she said but how she said it that should have raised another red flag. Red flags galore, but Brett was already feeling several signs of love, or was it lust. He didn’t know.
“I’ll meet you by the garage door.” She smiled, stepped inside, and closed the door.
Seconds later the garage door opened and revealed Laura standing in front of a utility trailer, with a Honda dirt bike strapped to it.
“Is the trailer included?”
“It is if you want it.”
“How much more for the trailer?”
“If you want it, it’s yours.”
Brett had planned on hauling the dirt bike in the bed of his truck, but the trailer would make his life less complicated, and that was a bonus.
“Can I try the bike out?”
“You can if you can get it off the trailer.”
That was going to be a problem for Brett. The trailer resembled the town dump. Bicycles, parts of swing sets, all kinds of sports equipment and boxes of old clothing were all stacked up on the trailer.
“Can I move this stuff?” Brett asked.
Laura looked at him with her best helpless little girl face. “If it gets moved, you’re going to have to move it yourself. I’m not up to it right now.”
“Where can I put it all?”
“Let me move my car you can put the stuff there.”
Fifteen minutes later Brett could finally roll the trailer out of the garage. He was beginning to realize it would have been a lot easier to buy the bike from a dealer. The bike was well strapped onto the trailer, and it took a few more minutes to loosen the straps and roll the bike off. “Ya got a key?” Brett asked Laura who was busy sorting through the boxes of clothing.
Laura headed into the house and shortly produced a RedBull keychain with 2 keys on it. “Here. One’s for the trailer lock.”
It had been a while since Brett rode, and he was automatically replaying in his head all the steps necessary to start the engine. He straddled the bike, flipped the choke closed, put it in neutral, pulled in the clutch handle, and turned the key. He was met by the sound of silence. “How long since it’s been run?”
“Couple years I guess.”
He tried the kick starter, with no luck.
“Well, here’s the thing,” he said, “I ain’t buying it if it doesn’t run.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Put it back on the trailer and go home.”
“But I really need to sell it. Can we work something out?”
“I guess you could call Dave.”
She put an ugly frown on her face and snarled, “Over my dead body.”
“You know any mechanics?”
“Not really.”
“How about this. I can take it home, see if I can fix it, or maybe get my buddy Stan to fix it, deduct what that costs from what we agree is a fair price.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Well, how about you take a picture of my driver’s license?”
She hesitated and looked like she was trying to come up a sure-fire way to know she could trust him. “You got a grandma?” she asked.
“What’s that got to do with it? Sure, I got a grandma.”
“I could ask her if you’re trustworthy.”
“How ya gonna do that?”
“I could call her up.”
“OK, here’s her phone number. She’s gonna tell you she’d rather I didn’t buy another motorcycle.”
She smiled at that last remark. “OK, deal, let me take a picture of your driver’s license and talk to her, and maybe you can take it home.”
“My grandma’s name’s Mabel.”
She started for the house.
Brett just remembered something, “Laura, here use my phone, she won’t answer the phone for strangers.”
Ten minutes later she came out with a smile on her face. “Granmama said Brettie Boy was very trustworthy. She also asked for my phone number so if I wanted to call her back she’d answer the phone. Gimme your license.”
Fifteen minutes later Brett was on his way home with a dirt bike.

—————Here Starts Part Two—————

On the way home Brett thought a lot more about Dave’s soon to be ex-wife than he did about the bike.
Once he got the bike off the trailer and into his garage, he tackled the diagnosis like the seasoned DIYer he was. First, he pulled the battery and connected it to his charger, then removed the air cleaner and discovered the paper filter was covered with what looked like black mold. He knew black mold needed moisture to grow, and that wasn’t a good sign. Next, he pulled the spark plug and discovered rust on the electrodes, another sure sign of moisture. This bike had most likely been submerged, then put aside without being cleaned. No wonder Laura’s divorcing Dave, probably only has half a brain, Brett thought.
By the next weekend he’d received the parts he’d ordered online, cleaned the gas tank, rebuilt the carburetor, and changed the oil twice. He felt proud of himself for doing the whole thing without his buddy, Stan’s help. One kick on the starter and the engine came to life. Sounded as good as any one cylinder 2 stroke engine could. He took it on a short spin around the neighborhood and was happy with the way it drove. Time to call Laura. Finish the deal.
He got no answer on Laura’s phone, so he left a message for her to call him.
Then he called Stan to tell him the good news, no answer there either so he left another message.
Brett decided it was time to call it a day, so he put the bike away, picked up his tools, and used a stiff brush to scrub his hands at the basement sink. Then, after a quick shower and dressing in clean but old jeans and an original Darth Vader sweatshirt, he decided he should reward himself for a job well done.
Ten minutes later he was relaxed in his recliner. The stereo was playing a Glenn Miller LP. On top of each speaker sat a vintage Lava Lamp, gifts from his uncle years ago, one orange and one aqua. On the table next to the recliner was a glass of Guinness and a plate of designer crackers and habanero cheese. With his laptop he mindlessly browsed Craigslist and Marketplace. The LP had just started playing Pennsylvania 6-5000, when his phone rang. It was Laura.
“Hi Laura.”
“Hi Brett, what’s up?”
“Good news. Bike’s running.”
“Really!? That was quick. What did you find?”
“It was submerged, like underwater.”
“Pretty bad, huh? How much did it cost to get it fixed?”
“Seventy-five bucks for parts.”
“How much for labor?”
“Nothing, I did it myself.”
“You’re awesome Brett.”
“Thanks.”
“When you want to pick up the title? And can you bring cash?”
“Tomorrow? About six?”
“Great. See you tomorrow hon.” She was gone.
Brett reclined in the half light-half dark of his living room for another hour, getting up only for a couple more Guinness and to change the record, which was now Tommy Dorsey. He felt proud of himself for fixing the bike without Stan’s help. Now he was looking forward to the sunrise ride with his buddy. But he was even more looking forward to seeing Laura again.
In his mind he retraced the scene at Laura’s last week. He wondered about the instantaneous attraction he had for her. Several times during their brief meeting he felt warning signs but ignored them. How old was she, he wondered, did she have kids, he realized just how little he knew about her. When would she get divorced? He wasn’t going to have anything to do with a married woman separated or not.
He tried to put her out of his mind by thinking about the Honda. One more can of Guinness and he fell asleep in the recliner.
His next day at the office was full of mental distractions. The job he was working on ended up with a 100 square foot bedroom and a 300 square foot bathroom.
Quitting time finally came and Brett went home to refresh his deodorant and brush his teeth. By 5:30 he was headed to Laura’s with the cash she requested. On the way he decided he was going to ask her out for the next Saturday.
Turning onto her street he was surprised to see a cop car sitting in her driveway. As a law-and-order guy this caused him to rethink everything he’d done since meeting her. Feeling foolish for ignoring his red flags when they first met.
His grandma would say those were warnings from his guardian angel. He didn’t buy into any of that mythology, but why was the cop car there.
He parked at the curb and cautiously walked up to her door. Maybe this was a sting, he thought. He knew he probably looked suspicious looking over his shoulder, up and down the street, but couldn’t help himself. He mostly was afraid the cops would find the unregistered 9mm Beretta in his ankle holster.
He uneventfully reached the concrete slab that served as the porch. Trying to be on guard for the unexpected, he rang the doorbell.
In seconds, Laura answered the door showing about half the smile she had when they first met. Behind her, about halfway across the living room stood a cop. Brett immediately assessed him as being about 4 inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than him.
“You OK?” Brett asked Laura.
“Yes but I have some bad news for you.”
Now he was confused. “For me?”
“Yeah, Dave doesn’t want to sell it.”
“What?”
“Dave doesn’t want me to sell the bike.”
“Well, so what? You’re divorcing him, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore. We’re getting back together.”
Brett stood there, shocked.
Laura continued, “He wants you to bring it back.”
“So, that’s why you got the cops here, in case I got rough?”
Laura had a look on her face like a first grader who had just peed in his pants during recess. “Sorry.”
Brett’s mind was racing with options, none of which sounded very good.
Laura half turned to face the cop. “Dave, honey, this is Brett the guy who wants to buy your bike.”
Dave moved like big cops sometimes do, acting like he could twist your head off with one hand, and his right-hand hovering over where his gun would be if he were armed. “Best if you brought it back, sir.”
Brett could feel the adrenaline building up in his body. “Yes, I see what you mean. I’ll bring it back.”
It was quite obvious, Dave was now in charge. “When?” he asked.
“Tomorrow. Is tomorrow, OK?” Brett was now in full subservient mode, believing that’s what cops really wanted.
“That will be fine.” Dave closed the door.
On the way home Brett recalled all the lessons learned this week, one was how to fix a bike, the other was to ease into romantic situations.
He brought the bike back the next day, but not until after he and Stan took it for a spin at Wilderness Trail Motocross Park. He accidently tipped over while crossing a stream and didn’t pull the bike out until after they finished their campfire breakfast.