drive,” Kevin went on as if Michael hadn’t spoken. “I managed to rent this really amazing car, and I thought we could take it out for a little run.”
“I’ve got a car,” Michael objected. “Why can’t I take Liza for a drive?”
“Because I asked first,” Kevin replied.
Liza rolled her eyes. Here we go again.
“A drive might be nice—as long as you keep off the freeways.” Buck gloomily considered his own trip back to L.A.
Mrs. H. glanced back and forth between Liza’s squabbling suitors. “Well, Kevin did ask first. I’ll tell you what, though, Michael. Liza and I are supposed to go to this big dinner tonight. Why don’t you take Liza.” She turned to Kevin. “And you can take me someplace nice in this wonderful car of yours.”
That managed to restore the peace. Buck headed for home, Liza zipped back to her room to freshen up, and Kevin went for his wonder-car.
Moments later, Liza came out the front entrance of the hotel to see a long, low, streamlined shape roll along the drive, engine thrumming. A tinted window rolled down on the passenger’s side, and Kevin waved out at her. “What do you think?”
“A Porsche?” Liza said. “Very Hollywood.”
“A Porsche Carrera 911.” Kevin proudly expanded on the subject.
“This must have knocked you back a hefty amount, even for a weekend rental.” Liza eased her way into the seat.
“When I saw it was available—well, I always wanted to drive a spy car.”
“And they didn’t tell you anything about how it would help you pick up girls?” Liza asked.
Kevin smoothly pulled away. “There may have been some mention of that.”
Liza looked over her shoulder. “Not much room in the backseat there, though.”
“I believe there’s a dingus that lets the front seats go flat,” Kevin said.
“Don’t even think of it,” Liza told him. “This is a rental car. Who knows what’s gone on in here?”
From the look on his face, Kevin obviously hadn’t thought of that.
“Don’t worry,” Liza tried to reassure him, “I think I have some hand sanitizer in my bag.” She settled back in her seat to enjoy the view—and Newport Beach offered a lot to enjoy. Like any upscale Southern California town, the main drag had been landscaped within an inch of its life. Even the medians were manicured as they rolled past a very high-end mall in the obligatory Spanish colonial style.
Kevin drove on, then pulled into a gas station, impressing the resident motorheads as much with his female passenger as with his ride, Liza noticed with a grin. He had a moment of doubt and fear, looking for where the gas went in. The door for the fuel intake was in the right front fender, in front of Liza’s seat. Kevin fumbled for a moment to get the door open. But he quickly unscrewed the gas cap and topped up the tank, and they resumed their progress.
“Thanks for showing me off, but now they’ll know we’re tourists,” she told him.
“Because of the gas tank thing?” he asked.
Liza shook her head. “Because our windows were down. If you want to look like you belong around here, you have to use your air conditioner.”
Kevin shrugged, tapping the button that brought the windows up. “By all means, let’s look like natives.” The AC came on with a blast of cold air that Kevin quickly moderated.
Now they were getting out of the more built-up area, climbing up into the hills, trying a little more speed on the emptier roads. Liza didn’t talk, noting Kevin’s concentration behind the wheel. Well, he was more used to an SUV. A sports car would be a more responsive, finicky beast . . .
The engine rumbled as Kevin accelerated up a long rise, then made a sharp left.
And then suddenly he was wrestling with the wheel as the Porsche went fishtailing along the pavement!
7
“What the—?” Kevin got no further, saving his breath for his battle against the Porsche’s wild shimmy, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Liza clung to the
“I’ve got a car,” Michael objected. “Why can’t I take Liza for a drive?”
“Because I asked first,” Kevin replied.
Liza rolled her eyes. Here we go again.
“A drive might be nice—as long as you keep off the freeways.” Buck gloomily considered his own trip back to L.A.
Mrs. H. glanced back and forth between Liza’s squabbling suitors. “Well, Kevin did ask first. I’ll tell you what, though, Michael. Liza and I are supposed to go to this big dinner tonight. Why don’t you take Liza.” She turned to Kevin. “And you can take me someplace nice in this wonderful car of yours.”
That managed to restore the peace. Buck headed for home, Liza zipped back to her room to freshen up, and Kevin went for his wonder-car.
Moments later, Liza came out the front entrance of the hotel to see a long, low, streamlined shape roll along the drive, engine thrumming. A tinted window rolled down on the passenger’s side, and Kevin waved out at her. “What do you think?”
“A Porsche?” Liza said. “Very Hollywood.”
“A Porsche Carrera 911.” Kevin proudly expanded on the subject.
“This must have knocked you back a hefty amount, even for a weekend rental.” Liza eased her way into the seat.
“When I saw it was available—well, I always wanted to drive a spy car.”
“And they didn’t tell you anything about how it would help you pick up girls?” Liza asked.
Kevin smoothly pulled away. “There may have been some mention of that.”
Liza looked over her shoulder. “Not much room in the backseat there, though.”
“I believe there’s a dingus that lets the front seats go flat,” Kevin said.
“Don’t even think of it,” Liza told him. “This is a rental car. Who knows what’s gone on in here?”
From the look on his face, Kevin obviously hadn’t thought of that.
“Don’t worry,” Liza tried to reassure him, “I think I have some hand sanitizer in my bag.” She settled back in her seat to enjoy the view—and Newport Beach offered a lot to enjoy. Like any upscale Southern California town, the main drag had been landscaped within an inch of its life. Even the medians were manicured as they rolled past a very high-end mall in the obligatory Spanish colonial style.
Kevin drove on, then pulled into a gas station, impressing the resident motorheads as much with his female passenger as with his ride, Liza noticed with a grin. He had a moment of doubt and fear, looking for where the gas went in. The door for the fuel intake was in the right front fender, in front of Liza’s seat. Kevin fumbled for a moment to get the door open. But he quickly unscrewed the gas cap and topped up the tank, and they resumed their progress.
“Thanks for showing me off, but now they’ll know we’re tourists,” she told him.
“Because of the gas tank thing?” he asked.
Liza shook her head. “Because our windows were down. If you want to look like you belong around here, you have to use your air conditioner.”
Kevin shrugged, tapping the button that brought the windows up. “By all means, let’s look like natives.” The AC came on with a blast of cold air that Kevin quickly moderated.
Now they were getting out of the more built-up area, climbing up into the hills, trying a little more speed on the emptier roads. Liza didn’t talk, noting Kevin’s concentration behind the wheel. Well, he was more used to an SUV. A sports car would be a more responsive, finicky beast . . .
The engine rumbled as Kevin accelerated up a long rise, then made a sharp left.
And then suddenly he was wrestling with the wheel as the Porsche went fishtailing along the pavement!
7
“What the—?” Kevin got no further, saving his breath for his battle against the Porsche’s wild shimmy, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
Liza clung to the
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