Asking for Trouble by Rosalind James Page A

“It’s better for her to buy her own
car. As long as you’re not destitute, it’s better to be independent. But
somebody should go with you, Alyssa. Car shopping works a whole lot better with
two people. Not Alec, because he’s not a good enough negotiator. You’re not,”
she went on as he opened his mouth to object. “You either get impatient and pay
the money, or you get impatient and fire the person, or you walk out. I should
go.”
    “Or me,” Joe put in.
    “Hmm.” Rae eyed him speculatively. “Yeah. Even better.
Because I am a good negotiator, but
you know cars, and the car-dealership business has to be the last bastion of 1950s-style
male chauvinism in America. I could probably get the same deal you could, but
it would take me a whole lot longer.”
    “I’ll bet you are pretty
handy to have along,” Sherry said to Joe. “I’ll bet they take one look at you
and drop the price.”
    “Joe doesn’t want to take me car shopping,” Alyssa said,
having some more second thoughts about her choice of roommates. The apartment
was cheap, but the price was looking way too high. She’d always known Joe dated
other women, and it had always hurt. She didn’t need it shoved in her face. “He
already spent his whole weekend moving me. He’s supposed to spend next weekend used-car
shopping with me? Maybe Joe’s got a life.”
    “You got a life, Joe?” Alec asked him.
    “Nope.”
    So here they were, one week later, at their fourth
dealership of the day, having just done their third walk-out, and Alyssa was getting
more than grouchy.  
    “Is this about which car?” she asked Joe, wrapping her arms
around herself for warmth. “I could have told you which one I wanted without
coming all the way out here. The dark-blue one.”
    “We can get a better deal on the other one,” he said. “Only
got ten thousand more miles on the clock, a year older, and it’s sat on the lot
for three months, which means they want to get rid of it that much more.”
    “It’s beige,” she
complained. “Inside and outside.”
    “I think if you look at the sheet,” he said, a smile
threatening, “you’ll find that it’s gold, with cloth upholstery in—” He
looked down at the printed list of specifications he held in his hand. “Winter
wheat.”
    “Winter wheat my—foot. I know beige when I see it. And
I am not driving a beige car. I’m not poor enough yet to have to drive a beige
car.”  
    “All right. But I’m warning you, we’ll be walking out
another time.”
    And they did, but Joe ended up with a deal that the salesman
complained his manager had barely approved.
    “Good thing Ford’s paying you to keep the doors open, then,”
Joe said calmly, which made the salesman’s relentless good humor slip for a
moment. And then Joe negotiated her trade-in, and refused to allow the finance
guy to even go into his spiel for undercoating and “stain protection,” which
Alyssa appreciated even more, because she was hungry and tired and ready to be
done.
    And at the end of it, she had a new car, and it wasn’t even beige.

Not a Date
    “I’ve got a new car,” Alyssa said, standing next to the
dark-blue compact, reaching a hand out to stroke the hood as if she couldn’t
help herself. She laughed, and the happiness in it rang out loud and clear. “I
honestly wasn’t sure it was going to happen. You had me convinced we were walking out without it.”
    “It was always going to happen.” He had to smile back, she
was so excited over this boring little sedan. Well, it was a major improvement,
although if he’d had his way, he’d have put her into something a whole lot better.
Well, if he’d had his way, he’d have put her into his own car, and he’d have
kept her there.
    He’d showed up as agreed at ten that morning to take her car
shopping, had rung the bell down at the street, waited a while, then rung it
again. At last, he heard her voice on the intercom. “Joe?”
    He spoke into the brass-plated grille.