Chapter Ten

Emily’s Afternoon

Emily felt a great pressure to solve her admissions problem once and for all. The University would enter a Spring Break period, starting March 7^th, which entail a total closure of the campus and its facilities. Today was March 2^nd, which meant that she had very little time to get the campus her SAT scores. After her interview with Helen, she decided to wait if The Radical would have any effect on the administration. Helen hadn’t spoken to Emily since the interview, other than to mail her a copy of the newspaper. With little news come her way, and the deadline for applications being March 18^th, Emily decided to visit the school the last week before Spring Break.

She arrived into the parking garage, and parked in the motorcycle section. The school was too cheap to implement a parking pass for bikes, so it didn’t matter if she wasn’t a student at school. She got to park for free unlike the schlubs who drove cars to school.

She parked the bike in the dark recesses of the garage, among a group of other motorcycles. She got the impression that there weren’t as many bikes as there were a month ago. She took off her neon orange helmet, with red flashing lights inset on the sides and rear. Her hair, the color of dark blonde mixed with strands of black and brown, fell out. She shook her head and pulled out hair that her leather jacket had caught when she put the jacket on. The garage was notably cooler than it was outside, so she left the jacket on. She carried with her a backpack of books, but more importantly it had her copy of the SAT scores, sent from the testing center, dated and signed by more than enough officials, as well as her applications, a checkbook, and three different forms of ID.

Emily had walked through the halls of the University enough times that she stopped paying attention to the poor lighting and graffiti. The fluorescent lights flickered more this time, but that was the only change that caught her attention. The rest of the school seemed just like it was last time, but people were starting to wear lighter jackets instead of winter coats, and students seemed more interested in the upcoming Break than anything educational. A Frisbee flew overhead and struck a part of the wall. Some people cheered. She kept on walking.

The public service area of the administration was in a nice, atrium-like space, which served as the main entrance. She thought that it was strange that the first thing that people saw, if they entered through the main entrance, was the staffing operations. If she didn’t know better, she thought that it was a bank, with younger-than-average clients and workers everywhere.

The wait in line was shorter than last time, so she walked up to the clerk chipper than usual. “Hello, my name is Emily Santiago. I’m here to hand over my SAT scores.”

The clerk typed something into the computer, and asked, “Is your last name spelled S-A-N-T-I-A-G-O?”

“Yes.”

“All right, what’s your social?”

She gave it to him. He responded after typing it in and tapping some more buttons. “You’re already in our system…your scores are here.”

“Oh! That’s great! I thought you guys wanted my scores in paper, plus my applications…”

He shook his head. “No, it’s all here. Registration begins April 18^th. Schedules will go on sale…the 11^th.”

“OK, thanks.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, can you print off a verification that I’m in the system?”

“Certainly. One moment.”

He typed some more, and walked away. He came back carrying some papers with him, and placed them on the counter. “Here you go. Anything else?”

“No, er, that’s it.”

“Thank you. Have you a good day.”

“You’re welcome…you, too.”

She walked to the center of the public service area, and sat down in the atrium. She had budgeted two or three hours for jumping through hoops, but this experience had been not only quick, but almost pleasant as well. That feeling, in and of itself, disturbed her.

With so much free time on her hands, and not seeing any reason to return to school until tomorrow, she tried calling up her friend who worked at the car dealership. She dialed the dealership’s number, and got the exchange. “I would like to speak to Ram Cosa.”

The switch board person, or secretary, or whatever her title was, responded, “One moment, please.”

“Sure.”

Muzak played. For almost twenty minutes. She daydreamed, and in the middle of it, Ram picked up, “Ram Cosa.”

“Hey there, it’s Emmy.”

“Oh hi, Emmy! What’s up?”

“I’m here at school again, and there’s nothing to do.”

“How’s the paperwork test score thing go?”

“Really well, if you can believe it.”

He coughed. “That’s great.”

“Yep, say I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Same as usual, selling cars.”

“Got any new models?”

Someone’s voice came in through the background, and he spoke quickly to it. He then answered, “Well, some. It’s just March, so right now we’re still closing out on all of last year’s models.”

“Oh come on…”

“You know, you sound just like another woman that I see more often than usual.”

“Is she my competition?”

“Hardly. She’s twenty-two years old.”

Emmy had to think on that for a while, then realized. “Oh, you mean that nobody would think it’s illegal for you to be seen with a woman that old.”

“Well…”

“You know, the statutory rape age thing was raised to twenty-one last year or so…so maybe…”

“I’m wondering why we’re having this conversation.”

“No, I’m wondering if you did all the same scandalous things to her that you did to me.”

“Like what? Eat lunch? See movies?”

Emmy had to think some more. “They were…sexy movies.”

“They were PG-13. You need an imagination to see much beyond what’s allowed at that level.”

“Are your co-workers staring at you yet?”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

“Guess that’s a no.”

“Yeah, right.”

She smiled. “Guess I’m coming up.”

“OK. See you in a bit.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

She closed her phone, and pulled out her verification that she was enrolled. She looked at it closely, to make sure that it was real. She had a student ID number and everything. The only thing to do next was fill out the Financial Aid forms, and register for classes.

As she walked out of the public service atrium area, she looked back at the row of clerks serving people. She expected one of them to look at her and hiss. When that didn’t happen, she left the school.

Emmy left the garage, and zipped down the access road to the Wurzbach Expressway. She took the ramp headed northbound and drove in the lane just next to the left, so she skipped all the stoplights. At the Blanco Expressway, she took the northbound ramp there, and drove for thirty minutes. Like almost all the other expressways, they were configured to skip the cross-street intersections. If the expressway was straight, and you hung in the left two lanes, you would experience an up-and-down sensation as you blew under intersections at sixty miles per hour.

However, this was San Antonio, where no road could possible be built in a straight line for very long. This was also the town that didn’t bank the curves where the expressway curved underneath an intersection. This meant that Blanco, which was nothing but curves north of Loop 410, forced Emmy to slow down to forty-five and lean more than she was usually comfortable with.

It was all strip developments, office parks and three-story apartment complexes through and past Loop 1604, all the way through a progressively hillier and more posh suburban development, until she saw Loop 211. Well, no one actually sees Loop 211 at Blanco Expressway, because the Loop is at a lower grade than the expressway. You would have to look up and over the barrier walls to see the two-by-two lane freeway underneath you. There were no signs for Loop 211, because it was built as fast as it was planned, and a new Amendment in the Texas State Constitution made signage a County Responsibility. Blanco Expressway and Loop 211 met at what used to be Blanco Road and Highway 46, in Comal County. Comal County passed the buck to the town nearest to what used to be Blanco and 46: Honey Creek.

Emmy exited to the access roads of Blanco, made a right turn onto 211, drove a quarter mile, and made another right turn onto Honey Creek Autos and Repair (former site of the town of Honey Creek). Every time she came here, the stock of cars was different. They sold quickly, which helped Honey Creek Autos in their lawsuit with Comal County, who claimed that since the dealership purchased the entire town, they had to pay for the signage. The lawsuit was still pending when Emmy parked her bike.

The cool wind prompted her to keep her jacket zipped up. She carried her helmet in her right hand, as she walked confidently to the front door of the Sales Department. When she opened the door, a swarm of car salesmen descended upon the eighteen-year-old, asking her if she would to test drive a new truck. She walked past them, and they got out of her way, but kept talking. When she got close to the secretary, they pulled back. The secretary was busy receiving calls, and putting everyone on hold. After a minute of this, Emmy abandoned her and walked back to the pack of salesmen. One fellow began his speech. “Hi, miss! Have you ever-”

“Where’s Ram?” Emmy interrupted.

“I’m sorry…”

“Ram. Ram Cosa.”

She felt their collective hopes for a commission sink. One of them said, “He’s working in Acura today.”

“Good. I was afraid that I would have to drive over to the Volvo section.”

They didn’t like the jab. She left the Sales Department and began hiking to the Acura Section. Honey Creek was famous for selling virtually every new car that was legal to sell in the US, and used cars of all ages, restored to like-new conditions. They had 1950s Volkswagen Beetles with all the modifications required by law. Model T Fords? OK. Toyotas from the 1960s? A mile-and-half to your right, down the hill to Toyota Neighborhood. The whole place was organized alphabetically, so Acura came first.

Twenty minutes of walking later, she came across a church that was now called the Holy Shrine of the Even Higher-Quality Division of Honda: Acura. She knocked on the door, and a chubby forty-year-old man in a white shirt and shiny brass name tag answered it. “Emmy!”

“Ram!”

They hugged. He looked very excited in that safe sort of way. “How are you? How was the driving?”

“Fine, it was OK. Long and bumpy.” She began making “b-bump” noises and bobbing up and down. He laughed. “Watch it! You’re going to make my stomach hurt worse!”

“Oh, you sick?”

“Nah, I’m just dehydrated. HC is slow in getting air conditioning in this place.”

“Maybe it’s a curse from God, for desecrating divine land.”

“Divine? This church was a tobacco shop when HC bought the town.”

Emmy smirked. “OK, so it carries on.”

“Right, well, what you are up to?”

“Not much, got done with applying for University of San Antonio.”

“Oh, did you get accepted?”

“Yep. All that hassle from earlier just, poof! Gone!”

He walked back to his desk. “I wish my day was that great?”

“Oh? Why?”

“It’s been a slow week. Still unloading last year’s models.”

Emmy glanced back at the door. “How can you tell? The cars don’t change that must.”

“Well…the ones we wanna get rid of have Discount written all over them.”

“Isn’t this whole place all about discounts?”

Ram shrugged and held up his hands.

Honey Creek Autos was the merging of the minds of MegaMart and AutoPlace. MegaMart gained notoriety for out-doing Wal-Mart in terms of price and size of stores and parking lots. AutoPlace outdid AutoZone, because AutoPlace actually made it a point to stock a complete set of parts for all cars registered within ten miles of the store. This new business arrangement would purchase whole towns or subdivisions, convert the streets, lawns, and yards into parking lots, while keeping the buildings as offices, repair shops, what-have-you. The first one opened up in the Houston area, when they purchased half the town of Stafford, voted to throw out the zoning laws, and proceeded to build the biggest auto dealership in Texas.

The Plano dealership in the Dallas-Fort Worth area came next, and now Honey Creek. There was one in the works for Pflugerville, near Austin. The bigwigs were still negotiating the buy-out of the residents.

Ram asked, “You hungry?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“There’s a Derby’s on the access road.”

“Can we ride in one of your discounted cars.”

“No, they GPS’ed them. The folks in Houston would wonder why a car has parked itself in the parking lot of a Derby Burger.”

Emmy sighed. “OK…we can take your car.”

Ram smiled briefly, and got up. He pushed a call button. “Ram here. I’m going to lunch. Send someone to Acura.”

He let up on the button before someone could respond, and began walking to the door. She followed him, and the bright sun of a March afternoon hit them. While they were walking to his car, she noticed how the land sloped to her right, and that if she tilted her head, the world would seem level again. She came out of her daydreaming by bringing conversation back to Ram. “Anything new?”

“Nope. Just car sales and TV.”

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“I guess I just haven’t looked hard enough.”

“Watching TV isn’t trying. You’re not looking at all!”

His pace seemed to pick up, which made him seem to struggle a bit more to walk across asphalt. “You’re right.”

Emmy didn’t stop. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I bet you’re gay.”

He laughed so hard that he had to stop and lean over to catch his breath. He supported himself by resting his hands on his knees. Emmy thought that his belly would cause his shirt or pants to bust open. Then she thought that would be nauseating and bad for his job. Still, though, maybe she was actually flirting? She remembered something she read about Sigmund Freud, about projecting.

When he caught his breath and resumed walking, he said, “That is the funniest accusation that I’ve ever heard!”

She replied, “Some would think that they just got insulted.”

“Maybe I am doing something wrong, if women think that I’m gay!”

“I don’t think that you’re gay, but that you’re not trying very hard to get a woman to fall in love with you. I was just…putting out the idea that maybe…you were closeted?”

“If I’m gay, then why not ask if I’m not looking for men?”

“Maybe you are.”

They approached his car. “Maybe I’m actually looking for women, then.”

The thought actually disappointed Emmy.