Twenty

"You're next in line," the mechanic had said, wiping his grease stained hands on a red shop rag. He reminded Andrea of her father.

"When do you think that might be?" She relaxed a bit and smiled at the man. Comparisons to her father quickly faded when Andrea caught the man's eyes wandering to her breasts.

"In an hour or so," was all he would promise.

Andrea felt trapped and asked to make a call. The man pointed outside to a pay phone. She fumbled in her purse for a quarter and found the number for the Walford Plaza on the hotel receipt. She tried to call Torry.

"Mr. Bridges isn't answering," a woman's voice said after ringing his room several times.

Andrea guessed he was taking a shower or had gone for a newspaper.

"He hasn't checked out yet, has he?" she had asked. If he had, there would be no way to contact him.

He hadn't, so Andrea tried again twice in the next half hour, finally leaving a message when she ran out of quarters.

"Tell him Andrea called and I'm having car trouble. I may be coming back to stay another night if it takes too long to fix the problem. I should know before long, so don't let him check out without giving him my message, okay?" She had given the clerk the telephone number printed on the pay phone, before returning to her van to wait.