Two
His butt had barely settled in the seat good before Franklin started in on him with the technicalities of the situation.
“Now I'm just gonna be real with you,” Franklin said, pulling onto the highway. “That bike you saw on TV was the real deal, ain't no denying that. But that bike had to be at least 1000 cc. You try to drive something like that and you'll find yourself wrapped around a tree somewhere.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” Greg said dryly.
“No problem, buddy,” Franklin replied and gave Greg a heavy-handed pat on his back. “Get you something with that same design but shoot for 249 cc, maybe 449 at the most. And we're gonna look at the V-twins only, no I4s. Boy, those I4s are like driving a horse! All that power in the headâit ain't for beginners, you feel me?”
“I'm not a beginner,” Greg reminded him. “I do have my license, and I've been riding bikes for years. I just never owned one.”
Greg usually rented a bike every couple of months. He stuck to highway riding or familiar biker trails. He hadn't rented any bikes since getting married, because Shania didn't know he had a motorcycle license.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Franklin increased the volume on the radio, nodding and singing off-key to a throwback song from the Commodores. Then he lowered the volume and said, “I can't believe Shania's actually cool with you getting a bike.”
“Who said she was cool with it?”
Franklin lifted his eyebrows, then jabbed Greg's side with his fist. “Let me find out my boy has a little heart! But when you bring that bike home, let's see how long you keep it before she makes you bring it back.”
“Who said I was bringing a bike home? I said I would
look
at it. I didn't say I was going to buy anything.”
“Oh, you'll buy,” Franklin said, nodding. “You wait until you find that right bike, the one that you can see your reflection in. And you wait until you sit on that seat and put your hands on those bars, and feel as though that very bike was created for no one else on this earth but you. And I guarantee you'll buy.”
“Okay,” Greg said and popped his lips. “We'll see.”
“Oh, we will see.”
Though he tried to conceal it, Franklin's words sent a flood of excitement flowing through Greg's veins. It was bad enough that he was even considering window-shopping for a bike, but at the thought of feeling that bike beneath him, fitting his body so perfectly, and owning it forever, he began to create drafts of a budget within his mind. As long as it wasn't more than twelve thousand, he'd at least
consider
buying it.
His fascination for bikes began a long time ago, on one drafty summer day when he had stumbled upon something covered in tarp near the back of his father's barn. Curious, he had lifted the tarp, and when he saw his father's old polished motorcycle gleaming like a forgotten gem, his seven-year-old imagination had run away with him. He had hopped atop that bike and pretended as though he was zooming through a motorcycle marathon; he'd won first place at that marathon and then switched into his imaginative leather gear and taken a cross-country tour. He was halfway across the United States when the barn door flew open, and his mother's frame appeared at the door, her face twisted in an almost comical expression of horror. She had given him the butt-whooping of his life, and he never got on his father's old bike again.
After his mother told his father about the bike incident, Greg just knew that his father would give him another whooping on top of what he'd already received from his mother. But instead of beating him too, Mr. Crinkle brought him a load of biker publications and looked through them with him, giving him insight on the different bikes and answering any question that his son posed.
Unbeknownst to his mother, Mr. Crinkle would gather him and his brother, and they would go visit the local bike shops. He never understood why his dad wouldn't indulge himself and get a newer bike; and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why his father wouldn't take the bike he had out of the barn, fix whatever was wrong with it, and go riding down the interstate.
It wasn't until Greg was a senior in high school and begging for a bike as a graduation gift that his dad confessed to him that he had actually owned a bike for many years before getting married. However, when he married Greg's mom, at her urging, he gave up his biker lifestyle in exchange for a wife and kids. To keep peace in his relationship, he hadn't ridden a bike since.
“You ain't listening to a word I'm saying, are you?” Franklin said, snapping his fingers near Greg's face.
“Yeah, yeah, I was listening,” he said, and he wasn't completely lying. Even while lost in thought, he could still hear his friend's ceaseless, never-ending, go-on-for-daysâeven if not a soul was listeningâchatter.
“All I'm saying is this,” he said and put on his turn signal as he waited for traffic to pass so he could turn into the dealership. “Money talks. If you pay cash, you can talk them down on the price, at least ten percent.”
“Okay, Frank, I'll keep it in mind.”
They pulled into the dealership and went inside with Franklin's mouth still running a mile a minute. The salesman that approached them didn't get a chance to speak a word to Greg before Franklin took over. But to Greg's relief, his friend at least switched to proper grammar, for sake of propriety.
“Listen, sir, uh . . .” Franklin moved the man's collar out the way so he could see his name tag. “Kyle. My man here is looking for a bike. Now, he's a new rider, not real experienced, but not a total newbie either. What do you have that's not too torquey, not too much top-end horsepower? But look, though, if you show us the V-twins, don't show us something that's going to vibrate like crazy when he pushes seventy.”
“Okay, okay.” Kyle nodded at Franklin, then said to Greg, “I have a few things you might be interested in. Just let me know the type of bike you're looking for, throw me a price range, and we'll make magic happen.”
They followed Kyle into his office, where Greg filled out some paperwork; then Kyle grabbed a set of keys and told them to follow him outside. A look of wanderlust appeared on Greg's face as they walked behind Kyle, watching and listening as he pointed at the bikes and gave them a brief, but succinct explanation of each. The moment his eyes landed on the sparkly black BMW motorcycle with shiny chrome, he knew it was the bike for him.
“Excuse me,” Greg said, getting Kyle's attention. “I don't mean to cut you off, but tell me about this bike right here.”
“Yes,” Kyle said, nodding, “she's a beauty, isn't she? She catches a lot of eyes.”
While Franklin bombarded the man with the specifics, Greg walked circles around the bike, admiring its sleek design and the detail that was put into its manufacturing.
“Can I?” Greg asked Kyle and motioned at the bike seat.
“Sure, not a problem.”
Greg steadied himself on the handlebars and flung one leg over the bike. When he slid back onto the seat and let one foot slide atop the pedal, he felt like he had meshed with a half of him that he never knew was missing. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought about Franklin's earlier words. He was right. There was no way that he could walk away from this dealership without this one.
“That's the one,” Franklin said, smiling at Greg's face and nodding. “It's all over your face, boy. That's your baby.” He turned to Kyle and said, “How big of a dent are we looking at here?”
“Well . . .” Kyle shoved his hands into his pockets and straightened his back. “That one's sixteen.”
“Thousand?” Franklin and Greg asked at the same time.
Instead of answering their question, Kyle nodded his head and said, “But I guarantee you, it's worth every penny.”
Franklin put a hand on Kyle's shoulder and leaned in close. “Listen to me, bro,” he said, giving Kyle's shoulder a little shake. “You can tell my man really likes this bike, right? So what if he gives you big faces right now, twelve fresh ones straight from the bank? You think you can shave some off that asking price?”
“Uhh . . .” Kyle's face didn't seem optimistic. “I don't know if I can do that . . .”
“Yeah, you can do it,” Franklin assured him. “If Greg drives out of this parking lot with a bike that
you
sold him, that's commission, baby. Your money doesn't come from a paycheck. It comes from making sales. Don't you want to make a sale? I'll tell you this much. Twelve in the hand is better than sixteen in a bush.”
“Well . . .” Kyle's face seemed a smidgen more optimistic. “Let me go talk to my boss. Then I'll tell you what we can do.”
“And while you're in there,” Franklin called after him, “bring the keys to this baby so he can take her for a test ride.”
Once Kyle was out of listening distance, Greg slapped hands with Franklin, then gave him their brotherly handshake that they'd been doing for years. “Man, you are good!”
Franklin grinned and popped his collar. “Yeah, yeah, I'm a'ight.”
“See,” Greg continued, “that's why you don't ever have to worry about Mutual Living letting you go. Boy, you sell people insurance like you're selling them chocolate cake.”
“Oh, you heard the rumor about the possible downsizing too?”
Greg sat back on the bike and crossed his arms. “Who couldn't have heard the rumor? That's all everybody's been talking about at the job.”
“Are you worried?”
“Nope.”
“You sure look worried.”
Greg sighed and uncrossed his arms. He leaned forward and held on to the handlebars, pretending to rev up the motorcycle. “Maybe a tiny bit. But you know what?” He didn't wait for Franklin to respond. “As much as I like the stability of having a nine-to-five, I wouldn't be opposed to starting my own business.”
Franklin stood there in thought; then he put his hands in his back pockets and leaned against the glass siding of the dealership building. “We're children of God, right?”
Surprised at his words, Greg looked over at his friend and frowned, then nodded. “Yeah, we are.”
“Then we ain't got nothing to worry about.” He pointed up at the sky, at a black bird that was coasting just below the clouds. “If He takes care of the birds . . .” Franklin held his hands out and shrugged.
Greg knew his friend was right, and though he tried his best not to think about the possible downsizing, the question always seemed to linger somewhere in the nether regions of his mind. But before he could ponder the situation longer, Kyle appeared with the motorcycle key, and his smile was blinding.
“Here's the key, and I think we can go down on the price some,” Kyle informed his potential customer.
“Twelve is good,” Franklin said.
Kyle pinched his lips and said, “Twelve thousand, five hundred.”
“Okay,” Greg added in. “I can do thatâ”
“No, you can't. Either twelve thousand, or no deal. We'll look at something else.”
Greg looked at his friend, ready to ram him through a window. Twelve thousand five hundred for a bike that was originally sixteen? He couldn't beat that.
Kyle turned red from his neck up; then finally he shrugged his shoulders and passed Greg the key. “Okay. Twelve thousand it is.”
Greg felt light-headed at the sound of Kyle's words, and he looked over at Franklin, who wore a very confident smile. With his eyes, Franklin said. “Told you, I'm bad.” Greg had to give it to him. His man knew what he was doing.
They left to go to the bank, and Greg took the money out of his account. But when they returned, Kyle was working with another customer. So Greg and Franklin went back to Greg's choice bike and stood around it talking, waiting for Kyle to finish.
Franklin's cell phone started ringing, and Franklin held up one finger and stepped to the side. Once he ended the call, he said to Greg, “Hey, birthday boy, I'ma have to catch you later.”
Greg frowned. “Why?”
Franklin's smile filled his face. “Remember the lady I met at church last Sunday, Sister Catherine, the one with the really bigâ” He motioned at his chest, and his eyes expanded.
Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. “You mean the one with three kids and five different babies' daddies?” he joked.
Franklin threw up his hand. “Oh, Greg, come on. We've all sinned and fallen short of His glory. And besides, I know Shania and you have plans for today.”
“Yeah, well”âGreg gestured at the dealershipâ“how am I supposed to get home?”
Franklin grinned. “Ride your bike.” Still grinning, he started to walk off.
“Frank, get back over here.”