An hour and a half later, they were sitting in Charlotte’s car outside her parents’ house. Rose was a nervous wreck. She had been in fights, towed the cars of some very scary people, had been kicked off a soccer team for having sex with a teacher, and had been abandoned by her own parents by the time she was eighteen. And none of that had made her as jittery as meeting this girl’s parents. And to make matters worse, Charlotte had talked a little bit about them on the way over. Her father, it would seem, was a federal judge and a card-carrying member of the NRA who enjoyed hunting when he had the chance. Her mother was a high-priced defense attorney who belonged to a book club and enjoyed knitting and watching John Wayne movies. One thing kept running through Rose’s mind on the way over. ‘I’m gonna die!’
When they got to Charlotte’s house, Rose’s eyes were opened wide. The house was enormous. It was one of those houses that actually had a six-foot tall brick wall all the way around and an intimidating-looking iron gate. They pulled up to the house and parked beside a BMW 330ci convertible and a Jaguar S-Type R. Rose found herself drooling looking at those cars, particularly the Jaguar, dreaming about its supercharged V8 engine that could go from zero to sixty mile-per-hour in less than five and a half seconds. Charlotte actually had to snap her fingers in Roses face to bring the girl back to reality.
They went through the massive front doors into a parlor bigger than Rose’s house. A maid ushered them into the dining room where dinner was being laid out. Mrs. Annabel Webb was seated at one end of the table while Mr. Jonathan Webb was at the other. Only two other chairs were left at the table, conveniently on opposite sides of the table. Oh well, it was to be expected.
Mrs. Webb was a very proper looking woman with short blonde hair, dressing in a 3-piece suit at what Rose had been hoping would be an informal dinner. Mr. Webb, handsome for his age (even to Rose), was a little more laid back in his tan slacks and white golf-shirt. It was hard to read either of their faces, and Rose was worried that might be intentional.
Things started civilly enough. There were comments about the weather and traffic. But it didn’t take long for Rose to notice something was amiss. Mr. Webb didn’t do much talking. Rose couldn’t help but think he was analyzing her, waiting for her to “screw up” somehow. But at least he was polite about it. Mrs. Webb became less polite. Initially all she did was talk to her daughter or husband directly, but never seemed to address their guest. When Charlotte realized Rose was being excluded, she brought up a few things for Rose to talk about, like knowing each other from high school, her business classes, her knowledge of cars and her desire to open her own garage.
Down the line, Mrs. Webb managed to put down all of things that had been brought up. In regards to knowing each other in high school, she pointed out that she was glad HER daughter had been able to finish all her years at the same school she started at. Rose had a feeling that Mrs. Webb was familiar with the story and reason for her departure from that institution. As far as her business classes go, the older lady’s exact response was, “Community college? How quaint.” Roses knowledge of cars was referred to as ” . . . hardly seemly of a young lady,” and her dreams of owning and managing a automotive center for domestic vehicles as ” . . . suitable for one of her academic standing.”
At that point Rose was staring directly at her plate trying not to scream and fighting back tears. This wasn’t going as she had hoped. In fact, she likened it to hell. Charlotte was obviously confused and distressed by her mother’s attitude and her father’s silence. In attempt to defend her guest, she mentioned how incredible Rose was for having accomplished all this on her own with no help from her parents. Rose knew instantly that Charlotte had made a mistake, but her mother had already pounced on it.
“Hmm. Ostracized by her parents? I can hardly see why.” The bitch actually sounded smug, like she had just scored the game-winning point. Maybe she had, thought Rose.
Rose put her napkin on the table and pushed her seat back.
“Rose . . .” started Charlotte.
“Young woman, it is impolite to leave the table without an ‘excuse me’.”
“It is also impolite,” said Rose through clenched teeth, “to be so blatantly rude to a guest that YOU invited into your home.” Mrs. Webb started to open her mouth, but Rose was in no mood for it. “No, you listen while I talk. I have been looked down on by better people than you. I’m only here because your daughter asked me to be, and because you requested it. I’m not sure what your plan was, but I don’t have to sit here and take this crap from you. He . . .” she said pointing at Mr. Webb who had raised his eyebrows at the start of this confrontation ” . . . doesn’t seem to be interested in getting to know me at all. And you, you heinous and overdressed ice-queen, aren’t interested either, as the facts of my life might just interfere with your narrow-minded, asinine demonization of me. Now if you will all EXCUSE me, I have a ‘quaint’ life to get back to.” She looked at Charlotte who was on the edge of tears herself and said, “I’m sorry hon. I just . . . I just can’t be here,” and she stormed out of the house. She had taken as much as she could, she had made a stand, and she hadn’t let them see her cry. Other peoples’ opinions of her had never bothered her before. But this was the first time she had wanted other peoples’ approval and she had been slapped down. As she walked hurriedly down the drive, she realized that Charlotte had driven her here. She was standing next to the iron-gate, realizing that she somehow had to scale the wall or gate and then walk the nine-mile journey home when the tears began to leak out of her eyes. For a moment, all she could do was grip the bars of the gate and cry.
At some point she realized that someone was behind her. She turned, almost expecting Charlotte, but instead found Mr. Webb. He had pulled the Jaguar down the drive (damn that car ran smooth), and was leaning against the side. “You, young woman,” he said with a smile that didn’t seem hostile at all, “really need to learn to control that temper. I don’t think my wife has ever be dressed down like that, except maybe by other attorneys, particularly in her own home. But I was impressed with your choice of words, by the way. You have a fairly good vocabulary!” This actually got a chuckle out of Rose before he continued. “First of all, I should apologize. My wife isn’t normally like that. Charlotte’s announcement took us a little bit by surprise. I think Annabel was already planning our daughter’s wedding reception and now, barring a major shift in the political spectrum, that probably won’t be happening. And I should apologize for myself. I was trying to figure you out, which I find easier to do when listening than when talking. I didn’t mean to let things get that far out of control. Hell, I wasn’t even expecting them to GET out of control.”
Rose was beginning to believe him. His voice carried no malice in it. Rather, he sounded genuinely remorseful.
“As for myself,” he continued, “I’d be lying if I said this is how I pictured my only child would be at this stage of her life. But something I noticed after talking with my parents, my wife’s parents, and parents in general is that nobody’s child turns into exactly what they expected. I have faith in my daughter’s judgement. If she sees something in you worthwhile, I’ll believe her. And from what I’ve seen, her faith in you seems somewhat well placed. Now why don’t you let me give you a ride home? I figure if you live near the university, that would be a hell of a walk.”
Rose wasn’t sure what, if anything, she should say. She was emotionally exhausted, and still slightly in the mood to be pissy, but how could she say no? First of all, he seemed to be a genuinely nice person trying to make amends. And secondly, it was a chance to take a ride in a supercharged Jag. She made her way to the passenger side and he unlocked the door. He was smiling when she got in.
“It was the car, wasn’t it? Nobody shoots down someone driving a Jaguar, do they?”
“Not unless they’re idiots,” whispered Rose somewhat weakly.
“There’s the voice. I wondered what happened to that. We’d better get going. I don’t where my daughter picked up that kind of language, unless she joined the navy and didn’t tell anyone, but she was cursing up a storm when I left. She told me she’d be by to see you later, but she had ‘a few things to say’ to her mother first.”
On the trip home, Rose opened up a little bit. She talked about Mr. Webb’s car, giving him all the specs (which he probably already knew) and the history of the model. He very politely inquired about her relationship with her parents, as that was the thing that had set her off back at the house. She told him about how her father had run off when she was sixteen with another woman and her mother had run off when she was eighteen with another man. Mr. Webb actually seemed disgusted, but not with Rose. “How could anyone call themselves a decent human being much less a parent after running off like that? And so you’ve been supporting yourself for three years?”
“Yeah. I wanted to apply for a loan, but a friend told me it would be unlikely I’d get one because of my age. So I keep with the towing. Sometimes I’ll do some jobs at one of the garages when they’re short staffed. They pay me in parts sometimes.”
“Parts?”
“Yeah. I’m trying to restore a ’69 Roadrunner I’ve got out in my garage. I mean, I like Jags just fine, but give me an old-fashioned muscle car any day. And . . . and you must think I’m the biggest geek on the planet.”
He was looking somewhat thoughtful. “Actually, I was thinking of something a friend of mine told me when we were golfing last week. He sells high-end cars, but also restores classics. I think he just lost one of his guys. I’d be happy to put in a good word for you if you’re interested.”