Chapter 3

Forty-five minutes later, we're leaving my apartment. "Remember, I'm only agreeing to look. I haven't agreed to purchase anything."

Josh hands me a stack of car brochures. "That's not at all true. You agreed to buy a new car."

I ignore his statement. "Where'd you get these?"

"The trash can next to your desk. You must've accidentally knocked them in there. I knew you'd want them," he says with a big smile. He is simply too excited to spend my money.

"Didn't I throw them in there yesterday afternoon when I told you where you and your brochures could go?"

"Ahh… yes," he says as though he's remembering it fondly. "Give me your keys, I'll drive."

"What?"

"I'll drive so you can read the brochures."

Oh shit. "I'm capable of driving, Joshua."

"Are you capable of driving and reading at the same time?"

Josh cannot drive my car. He can't. I go for misdirection. "Some people have multiple gifts. I can, for instance, listen to you bellow and type a memo at the same time."

"That explains the typos," he says as we both walk towards the driver's side of my car.

"You could always type your own memos. Toby doesn't have a problem typing his own things."

"His own things? Speeches you mean? The ones he types as he, you know, writes them?"

"Yes, those. And you could do the same thing with your memos." It's working! Now if I could just steer us back towards my apartment.

"But then how would you point out to me how I've messed up and force me to look at things from your very strange point of view?"

"The point of view you change the wording of and then use, you mean."

"Yes, that one. Now give me the keys." Damn.

Ok, re-group. "If you're so hell-bent to drive, why don't we just take your car?"

He stares at me for a second and takes the keys from my hand. "You'll need to trade in the crap-mobile," he says as he unlocks the driver's side door. Oh shit. I'm about to be in big trouble. I just think you should be warned in advance. Big trouble. Big. Huge.

"I'm only agreeing to look, I'm not necessarily going to buy," I say again as I walk to the passenger side and wait for him to unlock my doors. I don't have power locks, which he's currently looking for on the driver's side door handle.

He pokes his head over the car at me. "How the hell do you unlock the doors?"

"You pull up on the lock, you moron." He raises his eyebrows then finally gets in and reaches over to unlock the passenger door. I sigh heavily and sit in the seat.

"Start reading," he says, tapping the brochures on my lap.

"And anyway, it might take more than one trip to find the right car." See what I'm doing here? I'm stalling.

"Uh huh," he says with a grin. "And how many do you suppose it will take you?"

"Six or seven."

"Six or seven trips, I guess," he says sarcastically as he starts the car. At least, he tries to start the car. The Beast doesn't always start on the first or… you know, fifth try.

"Months."

He tries the ignition again, then stops and stares at the dash for a few seconds. "Is there a trick?"

"I told you, The Beast can hear you. You can't say mean things about her." I pat the dashboard. "Come on, Beastie."

"You talk to it?"

"Her, Josh."

"Oh for crying out loud," he mumbles, turning the key again. Magically, it starts.

"Told you."

"Read," he says, motioning towards the brochures while flipping on the left turn signal to pull out of the spot. Unfortunately, there's no left turn signal. "What the… Am I doing something wrong?"

I shrug and try to look innocent.

"You don't have turn signals?" he says, not quite shouting, but definitely in the neighborhood of shouting.

"I have a right one," I say tentatively.

He shakes his head. "You're getting a car this weekend, Donnatella."

"You know, saying my full name doesn't make you the boss."

He smirks at me. "Whatever you say," he says as starts to pull out of the spot. This is where the big trouble comes in.

"What the hell?" he nearly screams.

"What?" I ask innocently.

"Why in the hell is it so hard to turn the wheel?"

"It is? I hadn't noticed," I say, looking out my window at absolutely nothing.

"Donna!" he screeches.

"Hmmm…" Still going with the innocent routine.

"Donnatella Moss. How long has it been since you've had power steering?"

I shrug. "I can't pinpoint an exact date."

"Ballpark it," he says in a very serious voice. See, he's not taking this as cute and funny as I'd hoped he would.

"A year or two." Or five.

"Two years?" he yells.

"Or one," I say, sticking up for myself.

"Donna, it can be danger…." He stops and takes a deep breath, then talks softer. "Ok, ok. It's fine. We're going to look for a car with power steering and all its turn signals, ok?"

What the hell just happened there? "Oh... kay." He nods and finally pulls out of the parking spot. I know you think the 'me being in trouble' thing is over. Nope.

I start thumbing through the brochures Josh has given me. The first one is Volkswagen? I toss it aside and move onto the next one.

"Don't get them out of order," he says, shifting into third gear. As long as we go up in gears we're ok. Maybe I'll luck out and we won't hit any red lights.

I look over at him. "Out of order?"

"Yes."

"What order are they in, exactly?"

"Best to… not best."

"Worst, you mean."

"No. You're not getting crap. Best to the least best of what's still acceptable."

"To you."

"Yes, but I'm the one who's researched this little adventure, so I get a say in narrowing it down."

I raise my eyebrows. "It's not an adventure, Josh. It's you forcing me to spend money I don't have. I'm still paying off student loans, and shut-up. You have to pay them back even when you don't finish."

"Imagine that." The light in front of us turns red and he tries to downshift as he approaches it. Uh oh.

"Umm… you're gonna want to shift into neutral and then pretend it's automatic to stop."

He glances at me briefly and furiously before following my directions and stopping at the light. Once he's stopped, he looks at me again. "And this problem?"

"It's not a problem, per se. Just… an alternate way of coming to a stop."

"How long, Donna?" he asks me sternly.

A few years. "A few months. I was gonna get it fixed but my mechanic said it'd be about a thousand bucks and…"

"And?"

I look down at my lap and mumble. "And he didn't think The Beast was worth that much."

The light turns green but he's still in neutral, so when he steps on the gas, we don't move. He sighs, pushing in the clutch and putting it in first gear, then drives. "You are so lucky I've never borrowed this car."

I ignore him and look at the next brochure. "An Acura? I can't afford an Acura!"

"You don't even know what they cost."

I look through the brochure. Leather seats, six disc cd changers, all wheel drive, V-6 engine… "They cost more than I have, I'm sure of it."

"Exactly who do you think you're kidding? You're not half as broke as you'd like me to think."

"DC has one of the highest standards of living in the country."

"Yet you walk into the office every morning with a Grande non fat latte from Starbucks."

"I hate you."

"So you keep saying. What the hell?" Crap.

"It only does that sometimes," I say defensively. And that's true. I have to be going at least forty miles an hour for that to happen.

"The car just stalls while you're driving it?"

"Only sometimes," I say calmly again. He begins the process of starting The Beast again. "See, now you know why I'm late sometimes," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

He gives me a look of death. "Today, Donna. Today."