“What did that evening cost?” she asked in a small voice.
“What do you mean?”
“What did it cost? Total. Is that a hard question?”
“Tickets, dinner, drinks. Oh, I’d say about two twenty-five. But it’s a legitimate expense that can be deduc—”
“When do you have to go to Dallas?”
“It’s set up for next Tuesday.”
“First-class air out and back? The very best hotel? Room service? Bonded bourbon and steaks two inches thick and the biggest rental car on the lot—”
“It’s always that way. We can’t afford to give the impression of cutting corners. Actually it’s a public-relations and promotion expenditure, and I’m not exactly loafing, you know.”
“This dress,” she said in a dreary voice. “I’ve put the hem up and down so many times I feel like I’m wearing an elevator. And we decided it would be so jolly and unusual to just stay home for our vacation this summer. All I had to do was cook for five and keep house. No more cleaning woman one half day a week. I wonder how scraggly I dare let the lawn get before I hire Gus to cut it. You come home so bushed, I haven’t the heart to ask you. We can’t afford to entertain the people we really like very often, so we have to turn down invitations, which at least saves sitter money.” She sighed heavily. “It’s a double standard, that it is. You take trips and live like Aly Khan and then you come back to your well-mortgaged home and listen to your wife whine.”
“Ginny—”
“It must bore you stiff.”
“We have to hang on. That’s all. This is a bad time. We just have to get through it.”
She turned back toward him, this time with earnestness. “But don’t you see, darling, that there should be more to life than just ‘getting through it’? These are supposed to be the good years. We don’t have any fun. Neither of us sees enough of the kids in the right way. Oh, I know. You’re the fair-haired boy, and things will get fat in the future, but what if we’re so beat down by the time things do get good that it won’t mean much?”
“Should I quit?” he snapped.
“Typical,” she said in anger. “Typical! You get all defensive and won’t even talk about it.”
“I’ll talk about anything constructive you care to bring up.”
He knew he was driving a little too fast, and dared her mentally to make any comment about it. The grim silence threatened to continue all the way to the house, but a mile after they had made the turnoff toward Lawton, the motor began to make an odd sound, a combination of grinding and clanking. He slowed down quickly.
“Is that little red light supposed to be on?” she asked.
The very moment he noticed it was the oil-pressure light, the car acted as though he had stepped on the brake. He put it in neutral and used what was left of the momentum to coast onto the wide shoulder. The motor was dead. He tried the starter and the starter would not turn it over.
“What is it?” Ginny asked.
“No oil, I’d guess. I wasn’t watching the heat.”
He got out and opened the hood. The heat that came off the block felt much like that of an open fire.
“Do we have to get oil?” she asked.
“No, we do not get oil.”
“Don’t bite my head off. I just don’t understand these—”
“The moving parts were operating without oil. Friction created great heat. The moving parts expanded and that increased the heat. The main bearings were the last thing to go, and they didn’t go quick enough so I ran it too long and it heated up beyond the melting point of the moving parts, and now the motor is frozen.”
He looked at her face in the pale moonlight and the reflected glow of the headlights. She looked puzzled and blank.
“Frozen?” she asked. “But you can feel the heat coming off it!”
And that was the very end. He whooped and gasped and staggered, and the tears ran out of his eyes. After baffled moments she joined in. They clung to each other.
When he could catch his breath he said, “Ruined! Got to buy a new motor!”
“Luck of the Weldons,” she gasped, and they were off again.
While they were still fighting for control, a police car stopped and Ben arranged for them to send a tow truck back. The disabled car was given a $25 tow into Lawton, three miles away. They left it in the agency parking lot and took a taxi home, and sent the sitter home in the same taxi.
Ginny phoned him at the office early the following afternoon. She had been to the agency. They had checked the car. The motor was shot. The estimate for putting in a new one was $770. It seemed that something had bounded up off the road, possibly flipped up by a front wheel, and had with devilish neatness sheared the drain plug off the bottom of the pan.
“They said our insurance couldn’t cover a thing like that,” she said solemnly.
“No. It wouldn’t cover that.”
“Billy suggested we trade it, but he said he couldn’t give very much, the condition it’s in.”
“How much?”
“Seven hundred dollars.”
“What! That was a thirty-eight-hundred-dollar car eighteen months ago!”
“Well, that’s what he told me.”
“I better talk to them.”
“What am I going to do for a car, Ben? You know I run a taxi service with these kids. I have to have a car. Should I rent one?”
“Can’t you borrow one?”
“I asked Billy, but they have a rule. Something about their insurance. I could try Alice, though. Stu is away for the whole month, and she can’t use two cars. But I sort of hate to ask her.”
“Give it a try, will you, honey?”
“O.K. How did it go with... last night’s companion?”
“About the way he wanted it to go. I’d hoped he’d be guilty and hung over, but he came out strong.”
“I got a call from Saks a little while ago. They were checking the address to mail a gift certificate. They said I’ve got a two-hundred-dollar credit all of a sudden, and they wouldn’t say from whom. So I guess he remembered slopping drinks on my dress. What should I do about it?”
“Honey, you might just as well use it. Get a dress.”
“No, sir! I’ll use it, all right. I’ve got uses for it. Bras, slips, nylons, blouses, skirts. Next time you get me next to a tycoon, I’ll joggle his elbow, believe me. ’By, darling.”
Ginny was able to borrow the neighbor’s extra car, and as soon as Ben had a chance he went to the agency. They would not go a penny over $750 unless, of course, he wanted to buy their biggest model, loaded with extras. Then they might go a couple hundred higher. He shopped around briefly, but he was handicapped by not having the car to show. He could only describe it. He had just finished the payments on the disabled car. Without cash, his only option was either to have the car repaired, and then refinance it to pay the bill, or to trade it and finance the new one. Billy pointed out the significant difference in the equity of the two vehicles one year from date. He said they would make a very special deal on a 1964 model.
Ben looked over the stock list and bought the cheapest ’64 station wagon in the warehouse. He dispensed with the usual extras — the only one he bought was the heater-defroster. It had been previously serviced and was ready to roll. They pushed the papers through quickly. Ben drove the gray wagon home, any pleasure in the new car well muted by the knowledge of being another $2200 in debt.
The third option, the one he had not let himself think about, was to purchase a good used car, something sturdy and reliable right off Billy’s used-car lot, for possibly $1200. It could be one year older than the disabled car. The $500 difference could be financed readily.
But at this station in life he occupied a certain recognized position. All public actions had to be consistent with this position. In so far as vehicles were concerned, he had already taken the risk of a slight inconsistency by owning only one. The house had a two-car garage. The typical Ridge Road family had one reasonably new Detroit product and a second car, usually an import, for the wife. It was not in good taste to have two spanking-new cars. The second car could be bought used, and it had character if it was slightly battered and noisy.