The Next Thing on My List (15 page)

The idea was that we’ d lie in wait until a car with more than one person pulled up to the pumps. Then-wearing our festive T-shirts and carrying balloons-we’ d run up and say, ‘ Thank you for carpooling& we’ re paying for your gas today!’  They’ d cheer wildly, the TV crews would capture the moment on camera, and it would be splayed over TV sets across Southern California.

Each team had a debit card with a thousand dollars on it, which should last most of the morning. I’ d talked with Brie before I left home, and she and Greg were there and ready to go.

I tuned in to K-JAM. Troy had promised to make mention of the promotion several times throughout the morning. True to his word, I heard him report a few traffic snarls, then he added, ‘ And if you’ re carpooling, today could be your lucky day. The good folks at Los Angeles Rideshare might pay for your gas. They’ re at secret locations throughout the city& so watch out!’

What a guy. I felt the free publicity go cha-ching! in my head.

When I picked up my cell phone to let Brie know I was almost there, I noticed I had several messages. Hmm. Must have had it on vibrate.

The first call was from Brie: ‘ We have a problem here. Call me.’

The second call was from Brie: ‘ Shoot. We got a lot of people here. You need to call me.’

The third call was from Brie: ‘ I told you to hold on-June, where the hell are you?’

In fact, every message was from Brie, and her language grew progressively worse with each one. I was still picking up desperate messages from her when my phone vibrated in my hand. ‘ Hello?’

‘ Where you at?’  It was Brie. ‘ I don’ t know what’ s going on here, but we got a mess. There’ s a million people lined up screaming for their free gas.’

What was going on? ‘ I got stuck on the 405,’  I lied, pitiful as it was to do so, ‘ There must be some sort of-’

‘ Well, get your butt here as fast as you can. I don’ t know what to do. It’ s crazy. Everybody’ s saying we owe ‘ em free gas. Traffic’ s blocked on Ventura Boulevard, and some guy told me it’ s backed up to the freeway.’  Away from the phone, she shouted, ‘ Hey, I said hold on.’  Then she was back. ‘ Greg is pumping gas as fast as he can. But people are getting ugly, and we’ re running out of money, so he’ s telling them they can have five bucks’  worth each and that’ s it. Your man Armando is pissed.’

‘ Any TV crews?’  I asked meekly.

‘ Yeah!’  she answered, suddenly excited. ‘ Channel Two is setting up, and the Channel Four truck is trying to get here, but it’ s tough with all the people& Hold on. Lady, I don’ t pump nobody’ s gas& . Yeah?& Well, don’ t make me tell you what you can do with that pump.’

‘ Hold down the fort,’  I urged. ‘ I’ ll be right there.’

I reached Burbank in minutes, and I parked a few blocks away to avoid the traffic backup. From there, balloons in hand-no telling why I grabbed them, probably clinging to the vestiges of the joyous day it was supposed to be-I started to run to the station at a pretty good clip, thanks to the training I’ d been doing with Martucci.

Oh no. Martucci.

He picked up on the second ring. ‘ How’ s it going?’  I huffed, still running, balloons bouncing against one another above me.

‘ Fuckin’  nuts,’  he said. ‘ But it’ s handled. Phyllis made a sign that says ‘ No Free Gas.’  We coned off the entrance, and we’ ve got cops here directing traffic.’

‘ Cops? There are cops?’

‘ They gave us a ticket. The fine’ s eight hundred bones, but at least the crowd’ s under control now.’

‘ I don’ t understand why this is happening& .’

‘ Some guy told me they’ re broadcasting the locations-all the channels. They’ re telling people to grab a friend so they have a carpool and head on down to get in line for their free gas. I’ ve got entire fucking families here. A guy drove over from El Monte-that’ s twenty miles for a damn tank of gas.’

‘ They were supposed to keep it a secret!’

‘ It ain’ t a secret no more, babe.’

As I neared the gas station, cars were lined up so deep that they were nearly stacked on top of one another, and each had more than one person in it. The honking was deafening. The gas station had two islands with four pumps per island-all were busy. News trucks for Channels 2 and 4 and Fox News were parked at odd angles at the periphery of the property and were filming the mayhem. Armando furiously directed traffic in and out of the station.

‘ Hey, lady,’  a man yelled, leaning out of a pickup, ‘ I been waiting for forty-five minutes. Can’ t they pump faster? I’ m late for work!’

Brie sidled up to me. ‘ We don’ t need balloons. Looks like everybody knows it’ s a party.’

‘ This is a disaster,’  I moaned.

‘ Not yet, ‘ cause Lizbeth’ s not here. Then it’ ll be a disaster. But hey,’  she said, ‘ plenty of TV coverage!’  A TV camera pointed at irate customers while a reporter held a microphone to interview them.

‘ How much money do we have left?’

‘ Beats me. Greg took a bunch of candy bars and gum from the snack stand-he’ s handing them out and begging people to go away. I saw him crying at one point. Them artist types are pretty delicate.’

I understood how he felt.

‘ Thanks for handling this, Brie. These people are insane. It’ s only free gas! You’ d figure we were handing out diamonds!’

‘ Folks like to get something for nothing. And don’ t you worry. I’ ve been doing Tae Bo, so nobody better mess with me. But you need to handle it fast. When Greg runs out of candy bars, we could have a riot on our hands.’

‘ Tell you what,’  I said. ‘ Go find something that you can use to make a sign. Write ‘ No Free Gas’  in big letters and then stick it by that tree. And here-’  I handed her the balloons. ‘ Start giving these out to the kids.’

‘ You got it.’

I grabbed my cell phone from my pocket and called Susan, who was still at home getting ready for work. ‘ You need to help me,’  I blurted when she answered. After explaining the situation, I told her to get on the horn-I actually used those words, ‘ get on the horn,’  that’ s how crazed I was-and tell the TV stations to stop broadcasting the locations. The gas giveaway was over.

As was my career, probably, but first things first.

Then I marched over to where the news vans were parked. I was in charge here, and I needed to start acting like it. Crystal Davis, a reporter for Channel 5, stood patting her face with powder. She’ d been with them for about a thousand years; her face was amazingly preserved, and I don’ t think that hair would move in a monsoon. I introduced myself, then quickly said, ‘ You need to tell people to stop coming down.’

‘ Are you the one in charge here?’  she asked.

It wasn’ t easy to admit. ‘ Yes.’

‘ Good. We need an interview. Ready?’

‘ No& um& yes& um& Give me a second.’  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Lizbeth surveying the situation and appearing-grrr, not angry or panicked, which would have at least preserved my dignity-but utterly delighted. Her face said, Gee, all this fun and it’ s not even my birthday! I hated her with a white hot heat, but only for a second. Then I remembered that as the senior staffer here, it was her job to do the interview. The thought of her having to clean up my mess cheered me immeasurably.

‘ Be right back,’  I told Crystal, and trotted over to my boss. ‘ Lizbeth!’  I said breezily. ‘ Channel Five wants to talk to you about-’

‘ Not a chance.’

‘ But as the-’

‘ I wouldn’ t want to deprive you of your big moment. Lou Bigwood showed all that confidence in you-didn’ t even feel the need to check with me before assigning you the project. Too bad it seems to have gone awry.’

If she wasn’ t going to take the heat for me, I sure wasn’ t going to put up with her insults. I spun on my heel and headed back to Crystal Davis. As I did, I passed Greg, who was working his way down a line of cars, pleading, ‘ Free gas is over. Here’ s a Butterfinger. Please go away.’

‘ I’ m ready. Hit it,’  I said to Crystal.

She faced the camera and said, ‘ We’ re here where a promotion from Los Angeles Rideshare to give away free gas has drawn hundreds of carpoolers eager to get a free tank of gas. With us we have June Parker. June& did you expect this sort of response?’

Every fiber in my being wanted to say, No, you twit& and if I ever get my hands on the moron who leaked the station locations&

Glancing over at Armando breaking up a fight between two motorists at the pumps, I said brightly, ‘ We knew people were angry about high gas prices, but no, we had no idea how much.’

‘ Are these people going to get their free gas?’

I answered with an even brighter smile. I’ m sure I looked like one of those awful clowns they hire to terrorize children at birthday parties. ‘ We’ re doing all we can& but the good news is that anyone who rideshares saves money on gas!’

Before the interview was over, I managed to squeeze in our 800 number, and I did my best to use my body to shield the view of Greg nearly sobbing against a pickup truck. Then I repeated the exercise with Channels 7 and 4, plus two radio news programs and the Los Angeles Times and Press Enterprise. As much as I attempted to put a positive spin on things, the fact that each one then went to talk to disgruntled carpoolers was a bad sign.

The police arrived at nine o’ clock and shut down the station, slapping me with another fine.

Lizbeth had slithered away at some point. I attempted to make it up to Brie and Greg with promises of all the hotcakes and sausages they could possibly consume& my treat, of course.

Armando stepped away from his negotiating with the police long enough to make it clear to me he intended to sue for lost revenue. His crimson bloated face told me that there was no shirt in the world tight enough to placate him this time around.

EVERYBODY KNOWS that the food at Max’ s Grill is lousy and overpriced, which was the reason I chose to go there for lunch with Susan. The less chance I had to bump into someone I knew, the better.

‘ I wish I knew what happened,’  I said, twirling overcooked spaghetti onto my fork. ‘ I don’ t think it was Phyllis. She swears she only had time to call one of her contacts before all hell broke loose.’

Susan sneered at her meal. ‘ I don’ t know why you made me eat here. I tried to order the safest thing. Who can mess up a burger and fries?’  She lifted the top bun. ‘ Ugh. Is that mayonnaise and Thousand Island dressing?’

I continued, ‘ Besides, it wouldn’ t make sense for her to sabotage the event. She was working at a gas station, too, so she’ d be screwing herself. Whereas Lizbeth had nothing to lose and every reason to hope I’ d fail. I’ ll bet she did it.’

Susan held her plate toward me. ‘ Take a look at this. I can’ t tell if that’ s the pickle or the meat. What do you think?’

‘ I made every one of those press calls myself. There’ s no reason it should have gotten so out of hand.’

‘ I mean, it’ s green like a pickle, but it’ s awfully big.’

‘ For crying out loud,’  I snapped, ‘ can we focus here? My job hangs in the balance and you’ re worried about a pickle.’

‘ Sorry.’

‘ And I believe that’ s meat.’

‘ Oh, yech, I was afraid so.’

I’ d spent most of the morning after returning from my apology breakfast with Greg and Brie calling news desks, hoping I’ d get a clue as to what went wrong. How did we go from ‘ Maybe we’ ll send a camera to film you’  to ‘ Hey, carpoolers, head on down for your free gas!’  And for a bunch of people who ask questions for a living, reporters sure are evasive when the shoe’ s on the other foot. The best I managed was a guy at Fox News who thought he remembered seeing a fax at one point-but he didn’ t have it anymore, and he couldn’ t say who made the decision to air the locations. But hey, there’ s no such thing as bad publicity, eh?

‘ At least you handled the interviews well,’  Susan said.

‘ Yeah?’

‘ Definitely. I flipped through the channels, and it was impressive how you managed to put things in a positive light-even if they did make it seem like complete bullshit. I mean, Crystal Davis shows you saying, ‘ We’ re excited to see so many people carpooling,’  and then she switches to some lady in an SUV about to burst a kidney because she’ s mad she has to wait for her free gas. As if she couldn’ t afford to pay for it herself.’

I sighed, and as I watched Susan take a cautious bite of burger, I finally asked the question I didn’ t want to ask. ‘ How bad do you think it is?’

Susan chewed, and I wasn’ t sure if her grimace was due to the food or my question. Being management, she has the inside scoop, and-even though we’ ve always had a ‘ don’ t ask, don’ t tell’  policy between us when it comes to work-I can trust her to be honest with me.

‘ First off, a little perspective: No one died,’  she said finally. ‘ You’ re lucky that Bigwood wasn’ t around-I hear he’ s at a conference in Fresno. So he’ s going to find out about it after the fact. It would have been worse if he’ d seen it as it was happening. Now what’ s done is done, and it’ s a matter of cleaning up the mess. Also, for some reason Phyllis seems to like you.’  And here she looked genuinely perplexed by that. ‘ I overheard her talking to that new receptionist about what a great job you did. Anyway, Bigwood usually listens to her.’

‘ He does what his secretary tells him to?’

‘ For as long as I’ ve known him. She must know where the bodies are buried. So that may help you. On the other hand, all those angry commuters-it didn’ t bode well for the company. And this gas station manager threatening a lawsuit is a problem. I’ m sure they can ward him off, but it could get pricey. What I worry about’ -she paused to wipe her hands on a napkin-’ is that if it starts to get expensive, they’ ll panic. Then they’ ll want a scapegoat.’

‘ Baa-aaah,’  I said.

‘ I’ m not saying they’ ll come down on you-and you know I’ ll do what I can to defend you if they do.’

‘ I appreciate that.’

‘ Still, not a bad idea to update your resume.’

Chapter 13

W hen I got to work on Monday, Dr. Death was waiting for me at my cubicle entrance. I shouldn’ t have been surprised.

Martucci had warned me on our morning run that his friend Armando wasn’ t backing down. He was claiming he’ d lost ten thousand dollars and that his gas station’ s reputation had been irreparably besmirched. ‘ I didn’ t know he knew words that big,’  I’ d grumbled, to which Martucci had replied, ‘ He’ s full of shit-if anything, the guy stands to make money. All that publicity. But he’ ll still try to squeeze what he can out of us.’  Apparently, he’ d been particularly offended that we’ d wiped out his snack stand. So I’ d spent most of the weekend fretting, although my fingernail biting wasn’ t limited to the demise of my career. Deedee and I mowed our way through an ice cream the size of an army tank at Coldstones while discussing her options and, to my frustration, getting nowhere. She seemed resigned to giving up her future. By the time Monday rolled around, seeing Dr. Death first thing in the morning was par for the course.