Men Are Like Cars
by Mariana Reuter
Copyright 2013 Mariana Reuter
Cover designed by Diana Arellano Rojas “Deez”
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This short story was awarded by www.thenextbigwriter.com with the first prize.
Contest “Make Us Laugh”. Year 2013.
Table of Contest
Men Are Like Cars
Amber Eyes
Chapter 1 — June 27 and before
About Mariana Reuter
Men Are Like Cars
I work as college newspaper reporter; it’s one of my many jobs—a girl needs to pay for college. As such, I’ve had the opportunity to interview some very interesting people who have visited our campus. Months ago, for example, I interviewed Vice-President Biden… of Stranford’s Alpha-Phi Fraternity.
Last week, Avom Cosmetic CEO Sherry McPherson spoke before my college fraternities on the topic “Women as CEOs in American Corporations”. After thunderous applause and lunch with the rector and the deans, Ms McPherson granted me half an hour. The rector lent us his office and ordered coffee and tea for both of us. While I waited for her, I paced the large office biting my lower lip. I said to myself I shouldn’t be nervous. It wasn’t the first time I’d interviewed a celebrity—. After all, I’d already interviewed a vice-president. It couldn’t be that difficult: Open questions. No hesitation.Poker face.
I sat. Several times, I rubbed my hands down the legs of my pants. Then she entered the room: Fast strides. The I’ve-got-you look. Precise movements. She sat in front of me, leaving the little table with the coffee service between us. She smiled. On the wall behind her hung a picture of Margaret Thatcher. They could easily have been sisters. Same style, same hair do, same pearls. She could also be Dolores Umbrige’s sister, as played on screen by Imelda Staunton. Same I’m-a-bitch-and-I-don’t-care attitude.
“How can I help you, sweetie?” Her accent was heavily British. “I didn’t catch your name. It’s…”
“Gacela, ma’am. I mean… Mariana. Mariana Reuter. Gacela’s my nick. Nice… nice to meet you.” I extended my open palm.
“Nice to meet you too, Macela Reuter.” She didn’t take my hand, only my fingertips. Not exactly a handshake but something you could call a fingers-shake. “It’s always nice to meet young people. School newspaper reporter, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. I know you need to catch a plane, so I won’t take much of your time.”
“Don’t worry, Gariana. I’m used to all sorts of interviews, and reporters, even college girls with funny names. You may ask whatever you wish.”
I tried to pour some coffee for her but ended up spilling it.
“My newspaper,” I said after I managed to clean the mess under her inquisitive gaze, “would like to know what you think about the competency of men compared to women in the corporate world.”
Sherry rolled her eyes. “I extended on this topic in today’s conference, in case you missed it. You may prefer to watch the conference’s DVD. It’s $49.99 and available on my website.”
“Yes. The conference… of course”. I hated myself. My face burnt. “Okay, then lemme ask you something different: when it comes to personal relationships, how does success affect your life? How does being as successful as you are impact your relationships with boyfriends?”
For several seconds she stared at me. The gossip was that she dated, and used to have sex with, a caged gorilla. “Excellent question! I’m 51 and single. Did you know, Maricela? No? Never mind. Men cannot tolerate a successful woman in their beds; makes the little things between their legs even smaller.” She pointed a finger at me. “Let me tell you something: men are like cars.”
“Like cars?” My jaw dropped and I opened my eyes wide. She could have said “men are like cocophants” and I’d have been equally surprised.
“Indeed, when a girl like you is in college and is not lucky enough to get a scholarship, she needs a loan and has to work. Her first car is, therefore, a small, second-hand utilitarian vehicle, most likely Japanese—their engines consume little gas and require little maintenance. She can’t afford fancy accessories: no GPS, no sunroof, no leather interiors, no DVD. They only increase the insurance fees and offer only small advantages.
“A girl’s college boyfriend must be as utilitarian as her vehicle. Most likely, she has little time to spend with him. Thus, the guy needs to be a low maintenance stripling that doesn’t demand much time. He doesn’t need to be Japanese—any other foreigner would do the trick. Foreign guys are open to almost anything as long as they’re able to boast about the hot American chic they date when they return to their countries.”
Sherry fixed herself some coffee and sipped it. “The fella mustn’t belong to any of the college sport teams because dating football, hockey, or basketball players is like a car’s fancy accessories—they represent small advantages and high costs, and are as expensive as the insurance fees and as brainless as the guys who sell those policies.
“Years later, things change. After the girl is 30, she earns a solid mid-management position in a successful all-American company—Enron, Lehman Brothers, Arthur Andersen, you name it. She can certainly afford a larger car now, even an SUV. No more Japanese makes. A good old American car is what she wants—six to eight cylinders, a large grille, and proudly built in Detroit by dedicated American union workers.
“A successful, mid-30s girl’s significant other can be a fancier specimen than her old college-days boyfriend, just like her car. All American, no doubt, blonde, and Republican. Over six-foot tall, perfect abs, divorced, and with a house on a cozy private beach. It’s like a SUV, with lots of interior space where the girl can suntan naked—I’m taking about the house on the beach not the SUV. Any girl knows that a SUV is more expensive, guzzles more gas and requires more maintenance, but… what the hell! It’s hours of smooth and comfortable driving, a Tiptronic stick that changes gears with high, exiting precision, and extra power when a girl most needs it—I’m talking about the guy not the SUV.
“After 45, the girl’s superior intelligence and skills earn her a vice-presidency. Many of her greedy, macho, male co-workers gossip that she rose that high because she bedded somebody, but she doesn’t care. She knows that she earned it—by reporting her former boss for sexual harassment. The previous vice-president, by the way.
“It is time for a European car—a Bimmer, a Mercedes, an Audi A8, even a Bentley. And due time for that college football player too. Imagine the luxurious wooden interiors. The soft, warm, nice-to-touch leather—I’m now talking about the football player. Think about the seductive taillights—both the car’s and the football player’s. Picture an Afro-American driver in an olive green uniform with a cap—for the car, you drive the football player yourself. Fancy the perfectly polished, black, rigid stick—the car’s, not the driver’s. The back seat large enough for a threesome—the football player, the driver, and the girl. A luxurious beast suitable for parading at any Red Carpet—the football player or the driver, the girl’s choice.
“Both the car and the guy are expensive and require much care, but by then you’ll be able to afford it. You can even have the car washed by a group of naked cheerleaders on weekends—and also the football player. Both deserve it.”
Somebody knocked and Sherry interrupted herself. I got up and opened the door while she lit a Saratoga. It was Ferguson, our quarterback and the hottest guy on campus. He had three schol
arships. “Afternoon, Gacela. Is Ms McPherson still here with you? Oh, there you are, ma’am. Hope I’m not interrupting anything. They’re waiting for you. Your A8 is parked downstairs.”
Sherry got to her feet and approached us. “You’re not interrupting. Rastriana Meuter and I have just finished the interview, haven’t we?”
“Sure, ma’am,” I said. “Thanks for your time. Have you met Ms McPherson, Ferguson?”
“I attended her conference this morning and we chatted a li’l after it ended. She asked me to wash her car on weekends, and she also asked Vanessa and the other cheerleaders to come along and help me.”
THE END
Coming soon in March 2015, also by Mariana Reuter, a young adult full novel.
Amber Eyes
Amber Eyes
Running away from home, teenage Alexandra travels to her grandmother’s hometown only to unveil dark family secrets that will place her in mortal danger.
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