Driving Lessons: A Novel by Zoe Fishman Read Free Book Online

associate just up and quit yesterday. I mean, talk about kismet. I didn’t even have time to put a sign up and here you are! I just love it.” She clapped her hands enthusiastically. “So, what’s your résumé like? Have you worked retail before?”
    “Yes, in college. I worked at a Gap.”
    She eyed me quizzically. “Not to be rude, but somethin’ tells me that college was not exactly yesterday. Am I right?”
    “You are right,” I replied, blushing. “To be honest, it’s been a while, but I’m a fast learner, and I actually, well, my former career in marketing is not so distant from retail work.”
    “What do you know about jewelry? And purses? And can you hawk spawrkle?” She looked me up and down.
    “I can do sparkle.”
    “Do you really want to work here, or are you just desperate for a job?” She took another sip.
    “Well, it’s a little bit of both, to be honest. I’m at a crossroads of sorts, and new in town, and I—well, I need a reason to get out of the house.”
    “Tell me how you really feel! My goodness.” She pursed her lips. “Sarah, you know what?”
    “What?”
    “I’m gonna hire you. Lord knows, I appreciate some honesty, even if it reads a li’l sad. Because life can be sad, you know? That’s why we need spawrkle.” She winked at me. “When can you start?”
    “As soon as you need me, Mitzi.” I extended my hand to shake the softest hand I had ever grasped in my life. It was like shaking the arm of a mink coat.
    As we settled the terms and I filled out the requisite paperwork, my enthusiasm waned. Yes, Mitzi was entertaining, but how was I going to work here? I could not have been more out of place—like a cactus in the rain forest. All around me, baubles in every color of the rainbow garishly sparkled as Mitzi adjusted and then readjusted each display, leaving a trail of vanilla and almond in her wake.
    “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked Mitzi as I handed her my sheaf of papers.
    “Yes, ma’am. You wouldn’t happen to own any makeup, would you?”
    “What?” I blushed, embarrassed by her bluntness. “Uh, yes, of course I do.”
    “Good. Wear it.” She patted me on the hand. “Now, go enjoy your last day of freedom.”
    I waved and walked into the shimmering heat. Using makeup in these temps was like attempting to ice cake batter. What was the point if it was all just going to slide off of my face anyway? I meandered back toward the bench, wondering how exactly I was going to get to work if just the idea of getting behind the wheel gave me a panic attack.
    As I dug in my bag for my phone to call Josh, what appeared to be a giant mouse mobile pulled into a parking space. Two huge, furry ears were strapped to its roof and a tail protruded almost obscenely from its bumper. I moved closer to get a better look. DON’T BE A MOUSE BEHIND THE WHEEL! CALL MINNIE! a chartreuse-and-black sign plastered across the driver’s side yelled. Her number followed.
    A giant man emerged from the car. At around six foot three and easily two hundred and eighty pounds, I wondered how he fit into it to begin with. His head was shaved and tattoos ran up his left arm in a dizzying maze of black squiggles. He lumbered toward the door of the coffee shop as I watched curiously.
    Mitzi had said that kismet was responsible for my landing the Bauble Head gig, and now, here it was at work again, in the shape of a mouse mobile driven by a tattooed lumberjack. Who was I to deny kismet?

6

    If a person has had more than one drink an hour, one hour of “sobering up” time should be allowed for each extra drink consumed before driving.
    I eyed the clock. The lumberjack driving instructor’s name was Ray, and he would be idling in my driveway momentarily. Already I was terrified. On cue, I heard a car and nervously peeked between the blind slats. The Mouse Mobile was here.
    As Ray emerged, I released the blinds and hugged the wall with my back. “What are you doing, idiot?” I asked