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“Maybe this isn’t such a great idea?”
Jordan was amused, leaning on the hood of his blue Camry. His keys spun around his index finger. Dylan had given him directions to park in front of the side entrance of the house. He’d only ever come in the front door before, on his few past visits to Hughes Castle.
The side entrance was less intimidating than the main entrance. It was almost easy to forget it wasn’t a regular house. Dylan sat on a set of steps, flanked by black wrought-iron. He was wearing a pair of pink chino shorts and a white polo shirt with a little flamingo stitched on the left breast. He had forgone a razor since the last time Jordan had seen him. The thin coat of facial hair made his face look almost gritty.
Jordan resisted the temptation to rub his fingers against the stubble. Kyle was naturally smooth-skinned; ironic given how hairy his father and brother were. Dani had always been self-conscious about her facial hair and had been getting it lasered off for the last two years. He’d been careful to hide his disappointment.
“We’re not even going to leave the property.”
“Yeah, but that’s a real car. I’ve literally never even so much as backed one out of the garage before. I have people to drive me places. What do I need a car for?”
“Seriously?” Jordan didn’t mask his disappointment. “You’re never going to get out on your own?”
“I mean...” Dylan looked uncomfortable. “I don’t have to. I’m rich.” He motioned vaguely at the incredible mansion behind him, and the near mile-around estate that surrounded them.
“Rich people drive cars, Dylan.” Jordan held out the keys to him. “We’ll start slow. Just sit behind the steering wheel.”
Dylan grumbled, standing up from the stoop. “What if I gave you a tour of the house instead? I don’t think you’ve ever seen anything besides the ballrooms. We have a theater, you know. I’ve got the newest superhero flick. Hasn’t even hit theaters.”
“Car first.” The keys jingled. “Then you can show off.”
Dylan heaved a sigh, snatching them. “Fine. If I wreck your car, I’m only paying for half the damages.”
“You won’t do anything to my car. Besides, it’s paid for and I’ve been thinking about trading it in.” Jordan told him. “Go on, get in.”
Dylan dragged his feet as he circled to the driver’s side. Jordan was already in the passenger seat, looking as relaxed as could be.
“I’m taller than you, so you’ll need to adjust the seat,” Jordan began. “It’s on the side. Push it forward to move forward, lift it up or down to adjust the back of the seat.”
Dylan stretched his legs out, finding the two pedals before he pulled the seat forward a few inches. Then he looked over at Jordan. “Now what?”
“How familiar are you with various car functions? I don’t want you to think I’m talking down to you.”
“Explain it to me like I’m five,” Dylan suggested.
Jordan laughed. “I’m not going to make vroomy-vroom noises at you.”
“Like I’m ten then.”
“Better,” Jordan said. “Put the key, the one with the black cap, in the ignition. It’s the slot, right here.” He reached over, tapping the opening. “Don’t start it. Just stick the key in.”
Dylan had to lean over to see the slot but managed the task. “Done.”
“Steering wheel, obviously,” Jordan tapped the wheel. “The lever on this side is the windshield wipers. It’s not raining, so don’t worry about them for now. The lever on the other side is your turn signal and the headlights.” Jordan motioned. “This is an older car, so the control panel and dash are basic. The big circle on the left is your rotations per mile. The right is your speedometer. Since we’re just in your driveway, we’ll keep it under fifteen miles per hour.”
“Fifteen? That seems fast.”
“Dylan, the speed limit in Manhattan is between twenty-five and thirty. Some of the highways in the US are seventy. I think there’s one in Texas that’s ninety.”
Dylan shifted in the seat. “Fine. Fifteen miles per hour.”
“The other dials on your console are your gas gauge –I just filled up, so no worries there, and your temperature gauge. The needle usually sits somewhere in the middle on that one.” Jordan put a hand on the shifting column. “This is your shifter. The Camry is an automatic, so it’s a no-brainer. We’re in park, then neutral, then drive. Don’t worry about the other stuff.”
“What does neutral mean?”
“Neutral means that the car can move when the brake is released, but it won’t go anywhere when the gas is pressed.”
“What good is that?”
“Uh, well, most people probably go into neutral when they need to push their car out of a ditch.”
“Maybe don’t remind me that going into a ditch is a possibility.”
“Right. The last thing is the emergency brake. Don’t pull it. Ever.”
“If I can’t pull it, why is it an emergency break?”
“You use the emergency brake as a back-up when you’re parked on a hill. It is not going to stop you from getting into an accident.”
Dylan gave him a firm nod of understanding.
“Any more questions?”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go watch a movie?”
Jordan laughed. “You’re already in the car. One lap around the property. What could go wrong?”
“That’s usually when the world says hold my beer.”
“I’m right here, the whole time,” Jordan assured him. “I’m not going duck and roll on you, I promise.”
“What are the buttons over here?” Dylan motioned toward the radio. “Do I need to worry about any of those?”
“Good question. For today, no. We’ll leave the radio off, and the windows are down, so we’ll leave the A/C off too. Otherwise, these adjust the temperature and the airflow of the vents.”
“Got it.”
“Now, I need you to adjust your mirrors. You should check those before you start the vehicle, every time you get behind the wheel.”
“How should I adjust them?” Dylan reached up, wiggling the rearview mirror. “Should I be able to see myself?”
“Absolutely not. You want to be able to see as much out of the rear window as you can with that one. Your side mirrors –those are the buttons over on the side there, should be adjusted so you can see the rear door handles.”
“Can you lean back?” Dylan asked. “I can’t see the passenger side mirror at all.”
“Sorry,” Jordan leaned back in the seat. He reached over, adjusting the seat to a slight recline. “How’s that?”
“Better.” Dylan was quiet for a moment, making some micro-adjustments. “I think I have them in the right spots.”
“Then you can turn the car on.”
“What?”
“Start the car.”
“You’re sure? There isn’t anything else you need to tell me about?”
“Break is on the left. Gas is on the right.” Jordan folded his hands in his lap, turning to stare out the windshield. “Start it up.”
Dylan gulped, reaching for the key. He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen, but a sense of relief washed over him as the engine purred to life without any problem.
“Hands on the steering wheel. One on each side is ideal, but the old ten-and-two analogy is up to you. I prefer nine and four myself, but I’m a lazy driver.”
Dylan put his hands at three and nine. The center seemed like a good place to start.
“Foot on the break.”
“That’s the left. The vertical one.”
“Yup.”
“Okay. Now?”
“Shift to D.”
“If that isn’t a song title, I don’t know what is,” Dylan joked. He reached over, putting a hand on the shifter. “I push this little button?”
“Uh-huh, you got it.” The shifter clicked down to the illuminated D. “Now, release the break –not too quickly.” The car lurched forward anyway. “That’s okay. You get used to adjusting that. Now, very lightly press the gas. Again, not too much! Just enough to get a feel for how the car moves.” He grunted, jerking forward as Dylan tapped the gas a little too hard. He panicked and went immediately for the break, throwing him back against the seat again. “Hold the brake again.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing,” Jordan insisted. “I forgot one thing. Shift into Park.”
Dylan sheepishly did as he was asked, then released the break again. “Okay?”
“Put your seatbelt on.” Jordan reached for his own, clicking it securely into place.
Dylan blushed, reaching for the seatbelt. His too clicked into place. “Start again?”
“When you’re ready.”
This time, releasing the break went a little more smoothly. The car slowly rolled forward. Jordan pointed him to the side road that would take them on a well-kept circuit around the property.
“Is a dirt road like this good for your car?”
“Don’t worry about the car. You can pick up a little more speed.”
“No, I don’t think I can.”
“You’re going five miles an hour.”
“There’s a curve coming.”
“That curve is a quarter-mile away.”
“I’ll need to slow down for it.”
“Dylan,” Jordan laughed, “you could take that corner at fifty, easy. It’s not sharp, at all.”
“I’m good at the speed I’m at, thank you.”
“All right,” Jordan folded his hands in his lap again. “You do you. How does it feel?”
“Am I pale? I feel pale.”
“Let up on the steering wheel. Your knuckles are going white.” Jordan leaned back against the headrest, turning to look at him. “You said you had a scooter. This can’t be that different.”
“We’re surrounded by glass and metal. If I crashed my scooter, I was out a thousand bucks and I’d only hurt myself. If I hit that tree up there, I’m liable to kill both of us.”
“You’re not going to hit the tree. Even if you did, at five miles an hour, the most damage you’d do is denting my bumper.”
“There would go your resale value.”
“You’re doing fine,” Jordan assured him. “Would you be this nervous if we’d started with the motorcycle? Those definitely aren’t that different from the scooter.”
“Probably,” he admitted. “I rode with Dad as a kid. I’m not sure I understand how shifting works.”
“You took the curve. Now, will you pick up some speed?”
“This is working really well for me.”
“The faster you do the lap, the sooner I’ll let you call the lesson over.”
Dylan scowled, but let his foot drop more firmly against the gas. “Did you decide if you wanted to buy that car, by the way? What was it? A fish?”
“The Barracuda,” Jordan reminded him. “I decided to pass on it. After talking to you, I think I want to switch gears and buy a bike again. For myself. It could be fun to fix up something vintage.”
“My Dad might have one he’d be willing to part with. He buys them with the best of intentions, but he’s got about eight in various states of repair.”
“I don’t want to suggest taking another man’s project.”
“We can stop in the garage when we’re done here. I think he said he was going to tinker this afternoon.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing his car collection,” Jordan admitted.
“We can look at those too. What kind of motorcycle are you thinking of getting?”
“Japanese bikes are the easiest to repair. Parts are plentiful and they adapt well to customization. I do like some of the older Indian models though. But, then, you know...racism with a brand called Indian Motors.”
“You gotta watch that kind of shit,” Dylan agreed. “If it’s what you like, you should go for it.”
Jordan leaned forward, pressing his hand against the dash as Dylan turned sharply into the next turn. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“No. Was that too late to turn? It felt late.”
“Just a little. You’re doing fine though. Honest.”
“Are you regretting this plan to teach me to drive?”
“Not at all.”
“Not even a little?”
Jordan reached over, putting a hand on his thigh. “Are you faking it?”
“Faking what?” Dylan’s eyes left the road, just for a second to look at Jordan’s hand before flicking back upwards. His hands tightened on the wheel. “It’s dangerous to touch a driver like.”
“Like what?” Jordan’s fingers squeezed lightly. Dylan inhaled deeply.
“Okay, fine, I’m not that nervous about the car,” Dylan admitted. “This is extremely low-stakes driving. I’m more nervous about you.”
“You can go faster than,” Jordan leaned over to look at the speedometer, “nine miles an hour?”
Dylan’s foot adjusted again. The needle lifted. “There. Are you happy? Fifteen miles an hour.”
“Good.”
Dylan glanced back down at his hand. “Can you move your hand now? It’s distracting.”
Jordan pulled it back to his lap. “You’ve been behind the wheel at least once before?”
“I’ve sat in cars. I understand how they work,” Dylan said. “I really don’t care to get my license, Jordan.”
“You should anyway,” Jordan told him. “Just in case.”
“To take a test, I’ll have to go out there,” he waved ambiguously at the horizon. “I’m fine driving circles on the estate.”
“Are you holding out for self-driving cars? I know they’re supposed to be coming soon, but they’ve been saying that for a decade or more.”
“Until then, I have a paid driver, at my disposal.”
“What about when you move out? Or are you staying here forever?”
“Funny you should say that,” Dylan lifted his foot from the gas, letting the speed drop down slightly again as he came up to the last turn. “Mora offered Jack and I an apartment that opened up.”
“That was cool of her. Are you taking it?”
“Jack needs me to make his independent living dream come true. We already signed the rental agreement. We move into the new place in about two weeks.”
“Sounds like you’ll need a way to get to your studio on the regular. A license would sure come in handy.”
“I could get another scooter.”
“I looked it up. You need a driver’s license for a scooter.”
“Fuck.”
“Actually, you needed one in California too. You’re lucky you didn’t get a ticket.”
“Seriously? No one ever said anything. I bought it online and it was delivered. Dakota handled getting a plate on it. I didn’t even think to ask how he did it.”
“So, getting your license is a great idea. Besides, with a scooter, what are you going to do come winter?”
Dylan grumbled. “Fine. I’ll figure out how to get a permit or whatever. Find a class or something.”
“You’ve got an instructor right here,” Jordan reminded him. “Unless this experience has scared you so badly? I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Shouldn’t I learn from a professional?”
“I’m a certified mechanic who has spent at least a third of my life under the hood of a car. If I can’t teach you to drive, no one can,” Jordan insisted. “Why pay money to a class when you can just learn from me, study a manual, and take your tests?”
“Tests make me feel queasy.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“You’re leaving for your tour soon. If I don’t wait for you, I could have it by the end of the summer.”.”
“That is a valid point. Are you in a hurry now?”
“No,” Dylan admitted. “As I said, I have a driver at my disposal.”
“Thirty minutes to pick you up, thirty minutes to get you back here. Then another thirty minutes to bring you back home...”
“I could always take a train to the Upper East Side. They could pick me up there. Then it’s only like ten minutes.”
“You, on the subway?”
“I’ve been on the subway before!”
“Uh-huh.”
“I have! Jack made me take it once when we went to the Natural History Museum.”
Jordan laughed. “Careful, you’re veering toward the fountain.”
“Shit!” Dylan corrected his steering while hitting the brakes. Jordan groaned as the seatbelt cut into his chest. “Sorry!”
“Why don’t you park us somewhere. I’m not sure where your parents prefer guests park.”
“Wherever is fine,” Dylan told him. He lifted his foot from the gas again. The car pulled around the corner of the house, near the garage doors.
One of the doors was open. Upon hearing a vehicle, Peter Montgomery stepped out into the sunshine. He was looking unusually grubby in a pair of worn-out jeans and a ragged Aerosmith t-shirt. He was rubbing something metallic in a blue shop towel. His eyes widened as Dylan got out of the driver’s seat.