Dinner at Castellanos
by M. M. Vaz
part 1
It was a morning like any other morning; the alarm rang at 6 a.m., and Anne brewed the coffee while Dave jumped into the shower. Gazing out the kitchen window, sipping her coffee, Anne hoped to find some temporary distraction from the dullness of what lay ahead, but none came.
“Good morning,” said Dave in his typically cheerful fashion.
Anne rolled her eyes, “What’s good about it?”
“Oh, is it that bad?” he replied.
“No. Actually, I’m looking forward to another day of torture.” She smirked.
Dave nodded in recognition of her sarcasm; Anne had made it clear to him for quite some time that she hated her profession and everyone and everything associated with it. “I’m just so sick of it all, the phonies and backstabbers. I want to quit so badly.”
“Now, Honey,” sighed Dave, “We’ve talked about this before. Why should you let yourself be so unhappy over a job? If you want to quit, quit. I’ll support you.”
It was true that Dave had no problem with Anne’s quitting; it was also true that Dave could be unrealistic about their financial situation. Anne, on the other hand, was realistic about virtually everything in her life. She knew that without her income, things could get rough for them.
Ignoring his kind but naive offer, she replied, “I can hardly wait to retire.” Her tone was one of frustration.
“Just four more years,” said Dave.
“Ugh, I know. It’s just that right now, that seems like a lifetime. Besides, who knows if I’ll even make it to retirement.”
She turned towards him, and he could see the sadness in her eyes. “Shush,” he said, “you know I don’t like it when you talk like that. You will make it to retirement, and we will do everything we’ve planned to do.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said sarcastically, “until we both die together, peacefully, in our sleep at the age of 98.”
“Yes,” he affirmed, “now let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
Anne sat down at the kitchen table; she poured cereal and skim milk into two bowls, which was the routine. She stared blankly into her bowl while she waited for him to join her.
Sensing his wife’s worsening mood, Dave sighed, “I see you’re in a ‘good mood’ this morning.” He began to rub her shoulders, “Let’s see, how can I make you feel better?”
“Oooh... this massage is a good start,” she whispered, smiling. Dave could always make her smile, no matter how cranky she was.
“How about I leave work an hour early today and take you to dinner at your favorite restaurant?” he said.
Her eyes lit up. “Castellanos? Really? You mean it?”
It had been months since they’d last been there; her work simply had not allowed her the time. Her job’s demands were to work well past 7 p.m. most evenings, and her employer expected her to meet those demands or else.
She thought, ‘Oh well, I guess that’s what befalls those of us who work for others: a life of pseudo-slavery.’ But she kept those thoughts to herself, not because she did not wish to share them with Dave, but because she had shared them with him so many times. He deserved a break. Besides, tonight, the conference was set to end at 4 p.m. sharp; the rest of the evening would be her own.
“Yes, pumpkin, of course, I mean it,” he replied, smiling as he gently kissed her hair.
Anne looked up from her coffee and into his warm brown eyes. “You know, you really know what to say to a girl.”
Feeling satisfied that he had worked his temporary magic on her mood again, his smile widened. “Well, how else am I going to get lucky?”
“Oh, I see,” she said, now giggling, “an ulterior motive.”
Dave tapped his temple with his index finger, smiling as he munched on his cornflakes.
Anne glanced at the microwave and noticed the time on the clock. “Oops,” she said, “I’d love to hang around with you a bit longer, but I’d better get dressed. I’ve got only 20 minutes before I miss the train!”
Dave interjected, “I don’t need to be at the studio till 10 a.m. today. Why don’t you let me drop you off at the conference? That will give you an extra 15 minutes to get ready, so you won’t have to rush.”
Anne leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, you are definitely getting lucky tonight,” she said.
Dave chuckled. “Works every time.”
* * *
A half-hour later, they were both dressed and ready to go. Dave wore his customary joggers and sweatshirt, Anne, her usual business attire.
“You look great, honey,” he said as they walked out the door towards the car.
“Thanks!” she beamed. “But, you know, I’d rather wear what you’re wearing. I get so tired by the afternoon walking around in a skirt and heels.” She added, “Wanna trade places?”
“Sure,” he replied as he started the car, “but only if I get to wear a miniskirt instead, so I can show off my legs.”
Anne burst into laughter at the thought, and Dave followed. He tended to laugh at his own jokes. That was one of the things she loved most about him.
* * *
Minutes later, they found themselves on I-95 surrounded by the noise, the fumes, and the occupants of a multitude of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and whatnot machines all needing to get somewhere, who knows where, fast. Despite their need for speed, the volume of machinery entering the freeway would not allow it, causing teeth to grind and fingers to grip tighter and tighter around steering wheels.
The pace of the traffic seemed especially slow to Anne. Anxious, she turned to Dave for confirmation, “Wow, Dave, am I losing it, or does the traffic seem especially heavy this morning?”
He replied in his usual carefree manner, “No heavier than I would expect on the Friday preceding a long holiday weekend.”
“Oh my gosh, I completely forgot that Monday is Memorial Day! I was so wrapped up in preparing for the conference that I lost track of time,” she responded, embarrassed at forgetting a national holiday yet reassured that she was not ‘losing it’ about the traffic situation.
The relief, however, was short-lived as the prospect of being late to the conference and the subsequent hell that her boss would unleash upon her in the weeks to come flooded her consciousness with a growing sense of impending doom.
Sunken, she turned to Dave: “I’m not going to make it to the conference on time. You know what that means. I’m so stupid. It’s all my fault! If I had remembered this was a holiday weekend, I would have gotten up an hour earlier to allow time for all this crazy traffic!”
Dave sensed the despair in her voice. “Honey, of course, you are going to make it to the conference on time. Remember, it’s me, Dave, driving. I have a plan. We only need to stay on this freeway for a couple of miles. Then I’ll get off and use some side roads to get you there on time. Trust me.”
Anne realized he was right. Dave knew every inch of the city. He had been born and raised there, had a photographic memory, and had driven on every road in the county of 3 million-plus souls at least once. His detailed knowledge of how to beat virtually any traffic situation reassured her, and she began to relax.
“I do trust you,” she said, “and you know what?”
“No. What?” he replied.
“After thirty years, you’re still my ‘knight in shining armor.’ How does that grab you?”
“Very well, thank you. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But I prefer that you save most of your ‘grabbing’ for tonight after we get home from dinner,” he replied, moving his eyebrows up and down to emphasize.
Now laughing wildly, she cried, “Oh, Lordy, Lord! You just ‘kill’ me!”
She leaned over to plant a kiss on Dave’s cheek, but the sound of screeching wheels came before she could reach him. Startled, Anne turned in the direction of the noise. The traffic before them was at a standstill. Yet, the screeching grew louder. What was happening?
Dave looked instinctively into the rearview mirror and murmured, “What the heck?” as two SUVs jetted past their car, striking and shattering the mirror on its righthand passenger side. Anne screamed in shock.
“Gezus!!!” exclaimed Dave. I’m gonna follow them to get their license plates on our dashcam!” Dave maneuvered the car into the emergency lane. “Anne, are you okay?” he asked.
Anne shook her head affirmatively.
“Good,” he said. “But they can’t get away with that. They could have seriously hurt someone!” as he gave chase.
Less than a quarter of a mile ahead, Anne spotted the SUVs. “There they are!” she said excitedly, forgetting the deadline for the start of the conference that was quickly approaching.
Entranced, Dave and Anne watched the vehicles, which appeared locked in some sort of grotesque dance. The vehicle in front repeatedly brake-checked the one behind, and the one behind prodded the rear bumper of the one in front whenever it sped up to get away. Both vehicles swayed to the limits of the emergency lane’s left and right.
“That’s so scary. Are we close enough to get their license plates on the dashcam?” Anne asked.
“For sure. They’re in for a big surprise when the cops come knocking on their doors,” said Dave, a triumphant note in his voice.
As he finished uttering those words, the skidding of wheels followed by a thunderous “Boom!” was heard. Turning to the noise, Anne and Dave could scarcely believe what they were witnessing. Both SUVs were now stopped. One SUV had evidently struck the other in the rear with considerable force, crushing its hood and destroying the other’s bumper.
A man emerged from each vehicle. First, a tall, fit, dark-haired man with a tan emerged from the vehicle with the destroyed bumper. Brandishing an aluminum baseball bat, he began screaming obscenities at the man in the SUV with the crushed hood.
The man in the SUV with the crumpled hood returned the obscenities. As he stepped out of his vehicle, one could see that he was stocky with light hair and a sunburned, ruddy complexion. In his right hand, he held a machete.
Still, the tall man did not notice as he drove his bat into the other vehicle’s front windshield, shattering it with such force that the splinters resembled confetti. The stocky man began swinging his machete wildly above his head as he hurtled toward the tall man and the vehicle with the crushed bumper.
The tall man quickly escaped towards the front of his car as the stocky man swung the machete down repeatedly on the SUV. Down he swung on each back tire and again on the left rear window.
“Quick, Anne, call 911! This is getting extremely ugly. If we don’t do something, one of these guys may not make it home tonight!”
Anne did precisely what Dave asked. Hands trembling, she dialed 911 on her cellphone.
“Yes, hello. I’d like to report an incident of road rage. There were two guys in SUVs taunting each other all over the road, and now they’ve crashed and gone at it with weapons in the emergency lane. One has a baseball bat, and the other a machete. Where? Oh, yes...just after the number 49 on-ramp going north on I-95. I have it on dashcam video. Yes, you can contact me for the footage at 433-688-7946. Please hurry before one of them gets hurt!”
As she hung up with the 911 operator, the police arrived, their arrival expedited by prior calls from other drivers who had witnessed the mayhem. The officers emerged from their vehicles and immediately instructed the enraged men to drop their weapons, to which they instantly complied.
“Should we stop and talk to the cops?” asked Anne.
“No, it looks like our work here is done. Just make sure the footage has downloaded to your cell phone,” observed Dave.
“Got it!” she confirmed.
“Good,” replied Dave. “The police have your number. I’m sure they’ll be contacting us soon for the footage. Now, let me take you to your conference,” he added.
“I’m going to be in so much trouble,” she sighed.
“Not too much trouble,” replied Dave comfortingly. “Remember, you’re with Dave, the master of shortcuts. Besides, do yourself a favor for once, and instead of worrying over being a few minutes late, think about something to look forward to, like dinner at Castellanos.”
Smiling, she replied, “You’re right. I will focus on ‘happy thoughts’ for the rest of the day. Castellanos...I wonder if they still have the penne in vodka sauce with broccoli. You know that’s my favorite.”
* * *
Copyright © 2024 by M. M. Vaz
