It's all about the . . .

*

Saturday, Oct. 12

Isis was sitting on the couch, channel-surfing, when Pete came home. "How'd it go?" he asked, dropping down beside her. "Can I have some?" He picked up her half full glass of water.

"Crappy. And yeah, drink on. You don't have to ask, just don't finish it. I'm sorry I let you down. You feel up to going to Metropolis today? I asked Uncle Mark and he said it'd be okay."

"Why don't we wait till Monday. It's Columbus Day and, you know, no school."

"I thought you might want to hang out with your friends."

"Friends schmends."

"Peter!"

He laughed. "Joking, joking of course."

"Well I have an interview on Monday, but if you really want to do it then, I can postpone till Tuesday."

Pete stood up. "Nah, let's do it now, before something else comes up."

Isis jumped up and let out a shout. "Now that's my bro! Woo woo woo!" She yipped and yelped all the way to Metropolis, while Pete looked out the window, making faces and generally pretending he was more embarrassed than he was.

"Okay," she cautioned him as they stepped out of the family car, "they're gonna want to sell us the lot hooptie, especially if I go in there first. So-o, not only am I wearing sneakers, i.e. you get to be taller than me for once -- don't get used to it -- but you get to do all the talking."

"What?" Pete whipped around. "Are you crazy? I don't know anything about luxury cars!"

"Yeah, right. Because you didn't list every accessory and do-dad and gadget in the Benz, in like five seconds, as soon as you saw it."

"Well . . ."

"Well nothing. So you're choosing the car, okay? Anything you want. My only restriction is that it has to be four-door. Unless you want to explain to Chloe and Lana why one of them has to be folded up in the back. Again." Pete shook his head vigorously. "S'what I thought. And my second restriction . . .it has to have a red color option."

"Isis."

"What?! I'm paying for it. And every car comes with a black and silver option, but not always a red. Black-cherry red. Or merlot, or wine or--" Pete shook his head and headed inside. "Hey," Isis called after him, "I mean it!"

Pete had already talking to one of the dealers by the time Isis made it inside. She'd forgotten to pay the meter. "This is my cousin, Isis." She gave her best shy-smile, wrapped an arm around Pete's waist and waved at the dealer.

"Nice to meet you Isis. My name's George, but everyone calls me Reynolds."

"Like the foil?"

He laughed, but she could see he didn't appreciate the connection. "Something like that. So, Peter," he said, giving Isis all the attention one gives a turd, "did you have anything in mind?"

"Um," he glanced at Isis at his shoulder, "we were looking for something with four doors--"

"And red," she reminded.

"And red," he repeated with a smirk.

Reynolds led them to his desk. "Ah. Many of our cars have red as a color choice."

"Can we see them?" Pete asked. Isis pinched his side. "Later," she hissed in his ear when he threw an evil look her way.

"Sure. This way."

As they followed Reynolds out his office, Isis commanded Pete to: "Stop with eager-beaver! Especially after he shows you the local put-put."

"He is not! Stop being such a pessimist, Isis. This isn't Gotham."

"No, it's Metropolis," she mumbled to herself, but they were out on the showroom floor, in front of their "dream car," a la Mr.. George Reynolds.

Stepping aside to let them see the wonder-car he started listing its attributes. Pete and Isis were too busy staring openmouthed. Reynolds, unfortunately, got the wrong impression. "Great car, I know. It's a perfect first for a young student wanting to get around the city. And, of course, it does come in red. Now we have very low, no interest financing. It does--"

Isis turned around and laughed. Hard. A bend over and rest your hands on your knees kind of laugh that gave Reynolds the impression that she was a few cents short of a dollar. "Is your cousin all right?"

"Um . . ." How exactly to answer that one? "Yeah. She's fine. I guess. I'll be right back. Isis," he hissed.

"Tell me it isn't funny."

"It's . . . It's not. It's not fun-" He covered his mouth as a snort escaped him.

"Oh no. Oh no. Don't start. Okay, looks like I get to handle this one." She grabbed Pete's hand and strode back to the dealer. "Reynolds right?" He nodded. "Um, the car we're replacing is worth more than this, with damage. Which it is. Damaged. You've got to have something better."

"Well looking at your financial sta--"

"What financial status? You haven't even checked our credit. You just assumed. You do know what happens when you assume, right?" Pete pinched her before she could continue. "We want a car, remember?" he hissed.

Leaning into his ear, she whispered, "Tell him the magic words, Peter."

"What 'magic words'!" he hissed. Isis rubbed her finger together in the age-old symbol of cash. "Oh." Pete turned to Reynolds: "Money is no object." Who then had the audacity to laugh himself. "Check our credit," Pete threatened. Isis ribbed him. "Er, her credit. Isis is paying."

She smiled sweetly. Which didn't fade when her credit came back approved. For anything on the lot. One of everything if she wanted it. "How about we go look at the cars again?"

Pete thought it sounded like a plan. Reynolds trailed behind, properly whipped. "What about that one?"

"A BMW 430," Reynolds supplied.

Isis turned and looked up at him, "But wouldn't that be a comedown from what we had?"

"What did you have?"

"Mercedes-Benz CLK 430 Cabriolet."

Reynolds nodded, feeling more at ease as they got into car-talk. "The 5-series might be good for you." He walked them over.

"What do you think, Pete. It's your choice, bro."

Pete walked around the cars studying them. "I don't know. Too big. What're the features." Reynolds ran them down for him. "Is there anything else?"

"There's the 745i."

"Let's go." Pete's and Isis' eyes widened as they eyed the squared, silver monster.

"It's so not sleek," Isis said, turning her head sideways as if that would change the car's shape. "It's a little scary even. Pete, do you like it?"

"If I say yes, that wouldn't be horrible, would it?" Isis shook her head. "What's this one do, Reynolds?"

He looked down at his clipboard. "Just making sure this is the one that comes with an instructor."

"An instructor!" the cousins spat out together.

"And a twenty-four hour access to a technician accessible within the car or over the phone."

Isis dragged Pete down the line. "Hey," he protested, "I thought I got to choose."

"You're not the one who has to live with this thing! I did not float through my college career just to have to write a paper on my ride. Shoot, I'll buy you your own car when you graduate."

"Really?"

"I'll think about it. Okay, Reynolds, what else you got for us? And please say no more teachers are involved."

He chuckled. "No more, I promise. Let's get away from the BMW's then. How about a Jag?"

"Ooh," they said together. "You wanna?" Isis asked. Pete nodded enthusiastically. "Gotta love a Jag, Peter. They're the eternal head turner, at least in the States. Probably in Europe too." She turned to Reynolds for confirmation. He nodded. "Although," her brow wrinkled, "I took a ride in my friend's and, though pretty, not as comfy as a Cadillac STS . . . which is what he had before."

Pete stopped and turned to his cousin. "Am I choosing the car or are you?"

"You are."

"Then shuddup!"

Isis stuck out her tongue. Pete made a move to cut it out of her mouth.

"And the Jaguars are this way," Reynolds moved between the playful bickerers. The cousins made faces behind his back. "The one to Peter's right is an S-type, the one in the middle is an X-type and the one to Peter's left is one of the new XK-types."

Pete turned to Reynolds, "What do you think? Any preferences?"

"How about a test drive?"

During the twenty-minute drives around and through Metropolis, Reynolds explained the various points and features of each kind of car. Pete decided he liked the X-type best of the three. "Besides, the XK's a sports car, and we're looking for a sedan."

"So," Reynolds asked, "shall I draw up the ownership papers?"

"Not so fast, Reynolds." Isis stopped him. "This is the only test-drive we've done Pete. Let's at least try something else. What else have you got?"

Reynolds led them on as he talked. "There's always the Mercedes-Benz 5-series."

"I thought we looked at those."

"No, those were the BMW's," Pete told Isis.

"Why didn't you show us these before?" she asked Reynolds.

"I thought you might want a change from the Benz."

"Peter?"

He shrugged. "It can't hurt to look at them." So they did. Five steps or so moved them from low sleek England to even sleeker Germany. "They look nice."

Isis nodded. "Real nice," she agreed. "You wanna drive it?"

Reynolds went to fetch the keys for the models in the garage. The cousins trailed him slowly, talking between themselves. "So what's up with you, Pete?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, girlfriend . . .school . . .people you want I should make an example of," she said with a bad Mafia accent. "You know, normal stuff."

"We went over all that. What about you? Boyfriend . . .work . . .people you need me to beat up," he said, pounding his fist into his palm.

"No boyfriend, I'm working on work and I got my own stinkin' bodyguards if I need someone pounded." Pete's raised eyebrows asked if she were telling the truth. Isis only grinned. "But thanks anyway, bro. Sometimes I wish you were my brother."

"Same here. But my sister."

"When did that change? I thought Sarah was sister enough."

"Are you guys ready?" Reynolds asked. "The car's out front."

Twenty minutes later Pete and Isis had almost made up their collective mind. They climbed out of the car beaming at each other. "I like it? Do you like it?" Isis asked.

"Like it." They reentered the dealership. "That car was aweso-"

"What?" Pete redirected her attention across the showroom floor. "Oh. What're those?" she asked Reynolds.

He followed their pointed hands. "I'm honestly not sure. Those just came in today. You guys go have a look and I'll get a print-up of the specs."

The cousins pushed and shoved to get to the cars first, while trying not to run and seem even more immature. "Pete they're pretty."

"They're hot."

"They're phat."

"Let's get one."

Isis turned to look at him. "Okay! . . .Which one?"

"Oh."

" 'Oh' is right. It's up to you Peter."

He walked around the two cars, eyeing them, kicking the tires, squatting to check on nothing in particular. "Which do you like, Isis?"

"I like'em both."

"But which is your favorite?"

"Doesn't matter. It's up to you, remember. Which is your favorite?"

Pete checked the ticket prices. "Well this one costs more."

Isis smiled. "It's not what costs more that's important, but what you like. Do you like the more expensive one better? Or do you like the other one?"

"I bet this one does more," he pointed to the more expensive one.

"But which one can you live with being driven to school in every day?"

"Here are the specs," Reynolds said as he returned. "That one's the AMG-series E55. The other one's the AMG-series C32, both by Mercedes-Benz. But you could see that," he pointed to the cars' hood ornaments.

Pete turned to him. "I've decided."
"Already?"

"That one."

"I'll draw up the papers." They followed Reynolds back to his desk. Sounds of the other salesmen working filled the space of their silence as he worked. Isis had already explained that they needed the car by Monday, no later than Tuesday morning, eight a.m. Shipping costs were no problem.

"Hey."

"What?" They both said, surprised by Reynolds' outburst.

"Another car's been added to AMG-series. Would you like to see it?"

Isis muttered, "Too many cars, too many cars!" even as Pete gave a wholehearted, "Yeah!"

He turned his computer monitor so they could see the pictures and specs on his computer. "It's a bit more expen--"

"I want it," Pete blurted out. He looked at Isis. "I want it. Can we get it?"

Isis turned to Reynolds. "How hard is it to change the title papers?"