Everyone at school gave congrats on her latest victory. “You’re pretty cool, Nicole,” one boy said, “almost as rad as your old man.”
Nicole just shrugged, reconciled to their fascination with her father’s Ferrari. There was always a chorus of “Ews” and “Ahs” whenever it roared past. Still, there were no complaints as she toweled herself dry after swim practice. She was back on her competitive form, studies were doing well, and he hadn’t touched her in weeks.
Thanksgiving was only a week away. Nicole jumped in the family sedan and motored away with windows down. There was rock music on the radio in the brisk fall air. The terrible secret was behind her. She smiled and swayed to the beat. Out of sight and out of mind.
Two errands to run on the way home. Groceries and car service. With her mother gone, Nicole was stuck with the cooking. Lynette always whined about going to McDonald’s. Well, that prima donna is eating Brussels sprouts tonight, Nicole resolved, as she browsed the aisles at Safeway.
And that spoiled brat is visiting her mother on Thanksgiving, come hell or high water. Nicole furrowed her brow and pulled into the Jiffy Lube. Across the road was a Ferrari dealership. While she was waiting for the lube change, she spotted a familiar red shape.
She walked over and peered into the garage. “That’s my father’s car, isn’t it?” she asked the mechanic.
“Yup. Sure is, Nicole.” He gave her a gap-toothed smile and wiped his forehead with a shirt sleeve. “Some beauty. Dr. Larsen is a fine man with a fine taste in automobiles.”
“What’s he having done this time?”
“New wheels, tires, and some touch up work.”
“Touch up work?” Nicole frowned. “Has the car been in an accident?”
“Oh, no! Of course, not!” He laughed nervously. “Dr. Larsen would never do a thing like that to his beauty.”
“Look, ah . . . Jim,” she said, noting the tag on his greasy shirt. “Would you mind if I had a look? I’d love to see the work you’ve done.” She fixed him with her baby blues.
“Certainly, Nicole!” He beamed. “More than happy to show you.”
“Are those the old tires over there?” She pointed to a stack of wide-treads on the cement floor. The Ferrari was hoisted at eye-level, with two new tires yet to go on.
“Yup. Those are them.”
“Hmmm.” She ran her fingers over the grooves. “They’re not very worn. Funny.”
“That’s Dr. Larsen for you. Always wants the latest and greatest.”
“What else has been done to my father’s car, Jim?” she asked.
“Well, there’s . . . the cosmetic work . . .” He blushed under her stare. Though only a few years older, he was not in her league.
“Where?”
“I think it was . . .” He fumbled around for a work light and trained it on the front fender.
“Could it be here?” Nicole indicated a spot of fresh paint.
“Yup. That’s it.” He stooped over for a closer look. The body work had been done in the shop next door. “Hmm . . . interesting . . . they said it was only scratches . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“Just listen,” Jim said, tapping around the fender. “Can you hear the difference, Nicole? Where it sounds hollow and solid?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The hollow areas have been filled in with bondo,” he said. “Here, let me show you.” His hands shook as he guided her finger. “Just curl it back like so . . . and use the knuckle . . .”
“Hey! What the hell’s going on?” An officious looking man in a sport coat and tie approached them. “No customers in the garage. You know that, Jim.”
“Sorry, Mr. Cellini.” Jim dropped her hand and stepped back. “I was just showing Nicole her dad’s car.”
“Ah, Nicole Larsen, the swimmer!” His features lit up. “I’m Bob Cellini, sales manager. Your dad and I go way back.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nicole said.
“Pleasure’s all mine. Sorry about this but insurance and all.” He held out his hand in a preemptive gesture. “How about waiting for your father in the lounge? We have soft drinks, magazines and television.”
“No, that’s ok. My car’s across the street. I’m sure Jim can show me out.”
“Certainly, Nicole. And when you’re ready to own your very own Ferrari, just give old Bob a call.” He presented his business card, flashed an angry look at the mechanic and hurried off.
“Thank you so much, Jim,” Nicole said, as they headed outside. “I learned so much!” She placed her hand lightly on his arm.
“Oh . . . it was no problem . . .” He stammered. “In fact it was . . .”
“Can I ask you for a special favor?”
“Sure . . .”
“Would you copy the work order for me? I need it for my records cause my dad is giving me the car for graduation.”
“Will do!” The mechanic looked positively thrilled.
“Oh and let’s keep this a secret. Please don’t tell anyone,” Nicole whispered, playing off his infatuation.
“Yes . . . ah . . .”
“See you next week, Jim.” She left with a breezy smile.
