Truth or Consequences

The office looked and smelt like every other Les Swab waiting room she’d ever been in, except for two things: One, this wasn’t a Les Swab and two, there wasn’t a M&M vending machine. The room was white and grey, and smelt like the love child of a car tire and a bottle of Windex. There were the expected grey chairs aligned against the wall next to the coffee machine, and car tire promotion posters hung up on the walls. There were two doors, besides the one that Beatrice had just walked through, in the room, one to the bathroom and the other connecting to the garage. A medium, wooden desk was in one corner of the room, with a woman who was probably in her early thirties sitting behind it. She was typing something on the desktop computer on her desk, and didn’t hear Beatrice come in.

“Uh, hi,” Beatrice said as she walked up to the desk. The woman behind it looked up from the computer screen. “My car was just towed here..”

The woman smiled brightly, “Oh, yes, you’re Beatrice. Right?”

How does she know my name? “Uh, Yeah.”

“Sam called in over the CB and told us to expect you.”

Oh. “That was nice of him…” He must have called after he left.

“I’ll go get Michel so he can look at your car,” the woman told her, spinning around in her chair before getting up. She walked through the door connecting to the garage, and came back with a man who was probably only a few years older than Sam was. The man, who Beatrice presumed was Michel, was tall, well muscled, dressed in a t-shirt and well fitting jeans. His brown hair was cut short. He wore glasses, which made Beatrice rethink her image of “mechanic.” She always thought that mechanics wore jumpsuits, had mullets and wore baseball caps.

The woman went back to her desk, while Michel walked up to Beatrice. “I’m Michel,” he said holding out his hand for her to shake. Beatrice looked at him for a second, having a brief moment of déjà vu, then took it.

“Beatrice,” she replied, even though he probably already knew her name.

“Let’s go look at your car.” She followed him back out the door that she came in through and to her car.

“2002 Honda Accord?” he asked.

Beatrice was stunned, “Yeah, it is.” This man knew his cars.

He popped the hood and started looking around, “What happened before it stopped? Was it coughing? Did any lights come on? Did the engine just cut out?”

She tried to remember what exactly happened, but was having a hard time because everything between getting away from that creep in Las Cruses and breaking down was a blur. “I think it coughed, like it was running out of gas, before the engine cut out,” she answered.

“Okay. Then what happened when you tried to restart it?”

“It sputtered a little, but didn’t start.”

“Okay, thanks.” He didn’t ask any more questions, so she went back to the waiting room to wait for the diagnosis. Beatrice sat on one of the grey chairs that always looked less comfortable than they were. Now all she had to was wait.

Waiting always meant having to think, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to think about anything. Her regrets might just catch up to her. She hadn’t felt anything until now. Things with her mom weren’t so great, and instead of working them out, Beatrice ran. They’d had an argument earlier that day, a nasty one that had been waiting to happen for months. And right after ward, Beatrice took her big duffle bag from the top self of her closet and started packing. Her mom didn’t even come in to check on Beatrice, because she was still upset and was cooling off. Beatrice wondered if her mom regretted any of the things she’d said.

She’d left shortly after her mom fell asleep and she didn’t look back. She made the decision to go to New York when she was half way to Phoenix. It would be far, far away, and a place her mom couldn’t find her. Beatrice was going to prove her wrong, and show her that she could do great things without a stinking college degree.

It was in Las Cruses where things started to go wrong. She had arrived in Las Cruses around five in the evening, which was a slightly more dangerous time to be out alone in the city. Especially for a 17 year old girl. She’d originally decided to stop there because an old friend of hers had moved there, and she wanted to visit her.

What Beatrice didn’t count on, was the fact that her friend had moved again without telling her. So when she knocked on the door of the house that she thought her friend would be in, Beatrice was greeted by a middle-aged woman who told her that she’d moved in a couple months ago. The woman didn’t know where Beatrice’s friend went, but she did tell her that she shouldn’t be out alone at night in this neighborhood.

It was at a convenience store a couple blocks down, where Beatrice really understood what the woman meant. She was trying to save a much money as she could, and was comparing prices. A man who was probably 15 to 10 years older than her, approached her. His hair was greasy and he was dressed a little too well for the area.

“Girls like you aren’t usually so stingy with their money,” he told her, trying to make his voice sound like a purr. His voice was husky and broken, a smoker probably.

“Well, I’m not like other girls,” Beatrice replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

“I bet you aren’t. Tell you what, I can help you out. I can help you get some more cash, so you can buy whatever you want.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” This man was starting to creep her out.

She started to walk away, but the man grabbed her wrist. “Come on now, girl. I can help you.”

Beatrice twisted out of his grip, “I don’t need your help.” It was after this, that she started to run. She ran out of the store and all the way to her car without even looking to check if he was behind her. She got in her car and drove until she found a rest stop a couple miles out of the city. It was until she stopped her car that she realized what that man had wanted.

He had wanted a new prostitute.

Beatrice slept in her car at the rest stop, and then headed out right after she woke up. She wanted to put as much space between her and Las Cruses as she could. Which lead her to her current predicament.

Oh, please don’t let it be the fuel pump. Please don’t let it be a fuel pump.

She was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of a door opening. Her head turned automatically to see who it was. Michel came in and walked over to her. “It looks like your fuel pump went out,” he informed her. Crap. He continued. “It’s rare for a fuel pump to go out on your type of car, but it’s not impossible, and it seems like you won the lottery of improbability.”

Gee, thanks. “So how much will it cost to get it fixed?”

“About five-hundred and fifty-five dollars,” he told her.

Beatrice’s jaw dropped, and her eyes just about popped out of her head, “Five-hundred and fifty-five dollars?”

“Yeah, and I’ll have to order in the part, so it might take a couple days to fix.”

“Five-hundred and fifty-five dollars,” she repeated as she went into shock. She did the math in her head. That would only leave her with ninety dollars. She wasn’t even sure if she could get a hotel room with that, and if it could, it would only be for one night.

Michel laughed, “With the way you’re handling this, I guess you qualify for the ‘damsel in distress’ discount.”

“And how much is that?” she asked with a slightly shaky voice.

“10 percent, so it’ll be four-hundred and ninety-five dollars.”

Beatrice did the figures in her head, and with the discount she was left with a hundred and fifty dollars. Not much, but it was a lot more than ninety. “Okay.”

“Great. Just give Margo your phone number so I can call you when the car’s done.”

“Okay.”

Michel went through the door to the garage and left her alone with Margo. Beatrice stood up and walked over to Margo’s desk. She was all ready to take down Beatrice’s phone number, pen in hand. Beatrice gave Margo her cell number and was about to leave when Margo stopped her.

“If you need a job, I have a friend over at Nell’s Diner who’s been looking for someone to help bus tables and wash dishes. I know it isn’t a very glamorous job, but it’ll get you some cash,” Margo told her. “It’s off of North Broadway, on South Foch St. So if you just continue to follow South Broadway, it’ll eventually turn into North Broadway.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“And I can watch any luggage you have until you find a place to stay,” Margo offered.

Beatrice took her offer, because she didn’t exactly want to tote her duffle bag all around town. She walked out to her car, opened the trunk and pulled out her large, yellow duffle bag. She dragged it inside, and Margo helped her stow it under her desk. Beatrice thanked her before leaving.

For a small town, Truth or Consequences seemed a lot bigger than it actually was. The reasons for this could have been because everything was spread out, or because Beatrice had a long way to walk before she made it to Nell’s Diner. For some reason, she felt more out of breath that usual, normally she wouldn’t have had any problems making a fifteen to twenty minute walk. She figured it must have been the heat that was getting to her. By the time she got there, she was out of breath and sweaty.

The diner was quaint and had a very western feel to it, even though it looked like every other diner Beatrice had been in. It was a bit roomier than most of others, and it wasn’t cramped like it had been planted in the narrow space between two buildings. Beatrice felt like a lost child when she stepped into the half-empty diner. She didn’t know the name of Margo’s friend, or if she would even be hired. Her work history wasn’t exactly the most impressing, or all that
expansive.

“Excuse me, but can I help you?” a waitress who looked to be in her mid-thirties asked, walking up to her with a couple of menus under her arm. She wasn’t wearing the lame diner uniforms that Beatrice had seen in the other diners and in the movies. The waitress was dressed smartly in trousers and a dark blue button-down shirt. She had a name tag attached to her shirt that read “Flo.”

Beatrice hadn’t realized how long she’d been standing by the door, “Um, yeah, actually. I was told by a woman named Margo that a friend of hers who works here is looking for a dishwasher.”

Flo smiled and held out her hand, “I’m Flo, Margo’s friend, and the manager of this diner.”

Beatrice shook her hand, “Bea.”

“Why don’t you come and sit down with me and you can tell me about yourself and why you’d be a good dishwasher,” Flo suggested as she gestured to a nearby booth. As they were sitting down, she asked, “I haven’t seen you around, how long have you been in town?”

“Like two hours,” Beatrice told her, “my car broke down.”

Flo chuckled to herself while nodding her head, “Well that would explain why Margo sent you. Where’d you break down?”

“Not far from the exit to Truth or Consequences, a guy named Sam helped me call a tow truck.”

“Tall, blond and attractive Sam?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“That would be Sam Reeves, I’ve known him a long time. Matter of fact, I used to be his
babysitter.”

“You’re the second person I’ve met today who’s known Sam for a long time,” Beatrice informed her.

Flo laughed, “This is a small town, so of course you’ll meet people who’ve known him.
Everybody knows everybody here. Where you from?”

“I came from LA, but I originally hail from Seattle.”

“You’re a long way from home. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what brought you to T or C?”

Beatrice grimaced, “You could say a detour gone wrong.”

“Detour? Where were you headed?”

“New York.”

Flo raised her eyebrows, “You chose quite an interesting route to get there. Most people take normally I-40 through Albuquerque, and not I-10 to go East.”

Beatrice didn’t want to tell her about her incident in Los Cruses, “I have to admit, I didn’t plan this trip very well, and now I’m stranded because of my cruddy fuel pump.”

“That’s an expensive repair, no wonder you’re looking for a job. So tell me about your experience.”

“Well I’ve bused tables and served people at a senior center near my house, during my senior year of high school,” Beatrice told her.

“What else?”

“That’s about it.”

Flo pursed her lips and nodded, “Well, it’s a good thing that washing dishes doesn’t take rocket science. Can you be here at 4:30?”

“This afternoon?”

“No, tomorrow morning.”

Beatrice’s eyes widened, “Oh, okay. Yeah, I can be here.”

Flo smiled and started to get out of the booth, “Great, see you then.”

Beatrice thought for a second and then said, “Oh, wait.”

“Hmm?”

“How much can I earn in a month?”

“Well, you’ll be working five, eight hours days,” Flo looked up at the ceiling and tapped her fingers on the table, “so that’s about twelve-hundred, but that’s before taxes.”

“Oh,” Beatrice sighed and began doing the math in her head. Flo got up and went back to work, leaving Beatrice in the booth.

Okay, so I get 1,200 a month, and after taxes, that leaves me with like 1,000 a month. I already know that I can’t do anything with a $1,000, because that’s what I left with. That means I have to stay here longer, and that means I have to get a motel room, because I obviously can’t live in my car. So that’s like eighty something a night, which really makes me stuck. Beatrice was starting to panic. She was stuck in a town she didn’t know, she was basically broke, and she didn’t have a plan. She made a mental list of priorities, and getting a place to stay was number one. Either she was going to have to get her hands on a phone book, or she was going to have to ask someone for directions.