(Noon, Thursday, May 14)
The headlights and grille of Andy’s Electra seem to follow me through the parking lot, smiling gratefully, as I walk to my car. Freshly waxed and meticulously shined up, the owner agreed to bring Andy’s car to Bo’s before noon in the same condition he bought it. At the price he charged me, it’s the very least he could do. The guy didn’t really want to sell the car. He said he’d been looking for one like that for as long as he could remember. That’s never a particularly good situation for the buyer.
I still can’t believe I was able to track it down. I called a friend with software to locate recent property sales and used-car transactions. But the retitling must have not fully gone through yet. He couldn’t find a thing for a 1970 Electra in all Southern California. Then it dawned on me that I could check out Web sites of Electra owners. It’s crazy. There must be two dozen sites! For a car that hasn’t been produced since I was a boy. After combing through discussions about tail fin heights in various years and the comparative merits of particular muffler housings, I finally stumble upon it. A guy’s bragging about locating and purchasing the car of his dreams.
“This baby is incredible! A pristine 1970 Buick Electra. She’s a cherry-apple red convertible. A convertible! What are the chances of stumbling onto one of those? You never see ’em anymore. Killer! And to top it off, a previous owner installed front-seat tuck-’n’roll upholstery from a car of Cary Grant’s. Cary freaking Grant!”
I knew I had found Andy’s car… . I also knew it was probably gonna cost me more than my Mercedes to get it back. And I didn’t care. I was so excited to find it.
As I drive back up the coast, I am filled with this incredible sense of satisfaction. I don’t think I can remember ever doing anything like this—in maybe my entire life.
Where have I been? How have I missed this kind of life?
Andy taught me this. He’s been waiting for me to learn it so I could pass it on. I’m sure he never thought it would come back around to him like this. Go figure.
It is a phenomenal drive back to work. I can’t stop smiling.
It’s time to take Andy up on his offer to get back together. I decide so say nothing about the car. I’m dying to. But I don’t want to mess things up. I’ll wait until he says something. The essence of our e-mail interaction went like this:
Andy,
Hello, friend. So much to talk to you about. When we were last together you asked me to write once I was ready to have you come pick me up. I think I’m ready. Except I’d like my wife to come along, if you don’t mind.
Sincerely,
Steven
Steven,
Well, well, well… So Lindsey wants a ride in the old Buick, eh? I tell you, the ladies love the old Electras. Hard to explain. They’re not as sexy as your GTOs or Barracudas. But something about that cushiony drive shaft just seems to hit ’em where they live.
So, Thursday at 11:00 a.m.?
Andy
Just honk, and we’ll come right out. Thanks for everything, Andy.
Steven
So, just wondering. Is this the thanks you were gonna wait on until you saw how things went?
Andy
Yeah, I think it’s that thanks.
Steven
Then, you’re welcome.
Andy
And just when I’m thinking that’s it—that he’s not going to mention the car:
Hey, Steven… ?
Yes?
Thank you, my friend. I’m not sure what to say. Thank you….
Andy