I’m too busy trying to weave my way through traffic in this huge behemoth of a vehicle, so I try to block it out. And I’m somewhat successful, that is, until the shouting starts and scares the shit out of me. Someone yelling about letting it go.
What the fuck is this? I press the button again, this time for the satellite radio, and still the fucking song about letting it go is playing. The voice gets higher and higher. The music gets louder and louder as I desperately try to turn it down.
Unable to silence this current Lauren-induced nightmare, I grab my phone, dialing her number, still trying to turn down the volume but having no luck.
She picks up after one ring.
“Yes,” she answers, obviously annoyed that I’m bothering her if the tone of her voice is any indication. Well, good, I’m annoyed, too.
“Something is wrong with the car,” I yell into the phone that I’m holding in my hand as I tap the screen, putting her on speaker.
“Well, whatever you did, undo it,” she advises then continues, “I told you before you took it that if you break it, you pay for it.”
I breathe out an aggravated sigh. “I didn’t break anything. I can’t get the radio to shut off.” Meanwhile, the song has started—again —the voice breaking in with the fucking letting it go.
“Oh that, yeah, I know. I have to get it checked. It’s like it’s frozen,” she says and immediate starts laughing at herself. “Get it? Frozen?”
I look at the phone, wondering if this is really happening, if I’m really having this conversation. “I don’t get it,” I huff while the lady sings about the cold never bothering her anyway. “How the fuck do I get her to shut up?” I shout over the music.
“Oh, yeah, I don’t know. I tried to Google it, but nothing came up.” I hear her typing like this conversation isn’t even bothering her.
“You ‘Googled’ it,” I deadpan and then repeat because surely, I heard wrong. “You Googled it?”
I can practically hear her eyes rolling. “Yes, I Googled it. What else would I do? Google knows everything.”
“Lauren, I’m about to puncture my eardrums if I have to keep listening to this girl go on and on AND ON about letting it go and the fucking cold never bothering her. How do I turn this shit off?” I touch every single button on the screen.
“You aren’t the only one. I just don’t know what to do. I guess I have to call the dealer.” Her voice is flat.
“You should call them the minute you call impound and find out how the fuck to get my car back,” I snap, right before the radio yells ‘let it go’ again.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it. Is that all you called for?” She is brushing me off. Just when the piano drift starts again.
“That’s all,” I grumble. “Thank god, I just got to my meeting. This fucking song is the soundtrack from hell, I’m sure of it,” I state before disconnecting and turning off the car. Of course, I’m shocked and dismayed that I can still hear it playing. It isn’t until I open the door that the radio finally shuts off. I’m hoping—praying, really—that it resets itself. Grabbing the keys and my phone, I shut the door and don’t even bother to lock it, thinking Lauren would be lucky if someone stole it.
When I open the door to the restaurant, the smell of wood and paint hits me. This is my favorite part of my job. Creating something. I may not be good with my hands, but I have the gift of vision and conceptualization, which is what I get paid for.
Denis walks up to me, wearing his regular cargo pants and construction boots. “Hey, you look much better than you did last time.” He holds out his hand to shake mine. No kidding, I almost died the last time he saw me. I just nod to him and head over to the bar area where the plans are spread out.
I look up seeing the staircase coming along nicely. I notice that the glass blocks are installed exactly as I intended them to be, so that when patrons head up the stairs, they can see through them to the downstairs area. The rounded booths will be great for a group of friends who want some privacy; each booth can be seen from downstairs as well. I can’t wait until the draping comes and is installed, completing the look that I was going for—like a cozy fort. A sexy high class but still cozy fort, obviously.
I look around to see the tables that will be scattered throughout the middle of the vast space are all stacked up in the corner. “You also got some high-top tables, right?” I ask as I look around for them.