Taxi Tales: Lost Fares 
                       

     "Car 14 clear and heading for home," I say into the radio.
     "Car 14, Roger," comes the reply.  "Have a nice night, Dale."
     "Thanks, Jill."  Jill's the dispatcher.  A nice lady.  I
think she kinda likes me, but I don't know why.  It's the
cool of the morning, oh about 4:00 a.m.  Best time of the day:
traffic minimal; people mostly indoors, asleep; it's quiet.  
'Bout an hour or so from now and people'll start moving again.  
The city will wake.  I hope to be asleep by then.
     I pull the taxi into the parking lot.  It's mine for the 
night.  No one else's scheduled for it until after my shift
tomorrow.  Then they pick it up from the lot and return it.  
Perks for being senior driver.  
     Tiring day.  Some are good, some are bad.  This one
was tiring.  Too many drunks who wanted to argue about the fare,
too many people who wanted me to settle arguments.  That's not
my job.  Funny what people think a cabby should be.  Ah, well,
tomorrow would be better . . . . Or, maybe it would be worse.
Different, anyway.
     I get out of the car and lock the door, looking around.
Hadn't been robbed yet, but no sense not having your wits 
about you.  City can be dangerous for the unwary.  I stretch,
breathing in deeply of the scent of flowers and trees in bloom.
Like I said, best part of the day.
     It's a long walk up to the fourth floor.  Be nice if
they had an elevator, but they don't.  Put my key in the lock
and open the door.  Home.  Ain't much, just a bachelor pad, 
but it's where I live.  Home.
     I sit down at the small table and figure out my take for
the day.  Not as much as it could be, but more than I get on a
bad day.  Some people think cabbies got it good.  Sit down all
day, just drive around.  Think they take in everything on the
meter.  Ain't so.  We get a cut of the take, and it ain't enough.
Sometimes work a whole shift for less'n minimum wage.
     After the figures were entered in my log book, I relaxed.
Tips weren't too bad.  I declared some, but not all of them.  
Only a fool declares everything.  Only a bigger fool declares
nothing.  I'm neither.  So I declare a percentage.  It varies
day to day and the auditor will like the fact that I write it
down every day--if they ever audit me.  Haven't yet.  I'm tired.
Just sort the mail, take a shower and go to bed.
     Damn.  I forgot to check the mail.  I ain't walking down
four flights of stairs just to get the mail.  It'll keep.  I
put the undeclared tips in the can that's buried in the flour.
Quite a bit there now.  I'll count it someday.  Mad money.
     The shower is hot and feels good.  I want to stay in, but
I know the longer I stay in, the less time before traffic starts
up, and I want to be asleep by that time, so I don't stay in.
Instead I towel dry, brush my teeth and climb into bed.  Maybe
I'll have good dreams.

     "Good morning, Kate."  Kate works at the restaurant on the 
corner of 4th and Hill.  She has the 6 to 2 shift.  I try to
be on hand to pick her up when I can, which is fairly often.
It's nice having a lady like her riding in the cab.  Take her
home, sometimes, too.  She's a looker.  She's one of those
women who you just want to be around.  Cute, cheerful, willing
to talk to a fella.  Have her in your cab and it's a better
day already.
     "Hi, Dale.  How's life treating you?" she asks.
     "Not bad," I reply, "can't complain."  Well, I could,
of course, but it wouldn't do no good.  'Sides, she don't
want to hear it, less'n it's a legit complaint.  Like the
time I was driving her home that night.  I just heard my
brother had died in a car crash.  Then she was willing to
hear.  We talked some that night.  Wasn't busy, so I just
parked outside her place and we talked.  Found out some 
things 'bout her and told her some things 'bout me.  
     Funny that.  Mostly I don't like to tell nothing 'bout
me.  That night, though, I was feeling lonely and told her
some things.  She invited me in, you know, and I was tempted.
Only an hour to go on my shift and it wasn't busy.  No one
would have cared.  And she's a real looker.  Got her a body,
she does, as well as a nice face.  Probably could have made
her, too, what with her feeling sorry for me. 
     But I do that and she gets to thinking the next day and
I lose a regular fare.  Ain't worth it.  But I'll bet she's
real good in bed.  She moves real slinky like.  It's a treat
to just watch her walk, which I do.  She probably thinks I'm
a good guy, waiting 'til she gets inside before driving off,
but I'm watching her walk.
     She ain't talkative today.  "Thanks," she says as I
let her off.  Maybe I'll take her home tonight and she'll 
say something.  She got her a boyfriend.  Lady like her,
guess that's not hard to figure.  He works in the camps,
in one month, out two weeks.  When he's out he drives her
to work, mostly, but she still catches a cab back home.
     It's a busy night and I'm picking up and dropping off
a lot of fares.  After yesterday it's a good feeling.  Couple
of them good tippers, too.
     "Car 14 down for lunch," I radio in.
     "Car 14, Roger."  I wait.  "Dale, if you're in the 
neighbourhood, you mind picking me up the regular."  
     "Gotcha."  Jill likes fast food from the hamburger joint.
Burger, fries and a milkshake--vanilla.  I tell her she should
eat better, but she don't listen.  Make my own lunch.  Don't
cost as much and tastes better.  But I don't mind picking up
for Jill.  Then I take it in and we eat together.  
     Jill's a classy Lady.  Don't take no guff from us cabbies,
she don't.  She can give as good as she gets, so none of us
try to give her any, least not no more.  New guys, sometimes.
We older guys, we just wait for the entertainment to begin.
     "Hi, Jill," I smile at her and hand her her bag of 
poisons.  
     "Thanks, Dale."  She motions me to a seat, which I
take. 
     She looks at me funny, every now and then and I start to
wonder if she's got the hots for me or something.  Other guys
are starting to clue in to something or other and Fred, he 
winks at me as he passes through the office.  But I'm probably
reading something into nothing.  He probably thinks I'm trying
to put the make on Jill.  He ought to know better.  Anyone tries
to put the make on our Jill, and he's liable to get tossed on
his ear.
     But it's nice to have someone to eat with.  I don't like
to eat in the car.  I like a clean car.  So I get out to eat.
Sometimes I just sit on a bus-stop bench, sometimes I eat in
the park if it's early.  I like eating different places different
times.
     I think too much, I guess.  This time when I finish thinking 
I find Jill's been looking at me again.  I grin at her.  "Sorry," 
I apologize.  "You you say something?  My thoughts were somewhere 
else."
     "No, Dale," I like how she says my name, "I just like 
looking at you."  
     She looks like she's scared I'll make fun of her or 
something for saying that.  I won't.  Don't do you any good
to do stuff like that.  'Sides, if I do then I won't have anyone
to eat with.  I turn my head.
     "This is my *good* side," I tell her and she laughs.  Jill
has a nice laugh.  I laugh with her.  I'm almost sorry when I'm
done and have to go back on the road.  
     Jill's okay.  There are others, though . . . .  These two
ladies get in my cab.  I hate it when a lady wears too much
perfume and one, if not both, of these two are.  I'm not 
surprised.
     "Thanks for stopping, sport," the older one says to me
and gives me an address.  We drive along in silence.  They are
talking to each other and I try not to listen.  I don't need
to hear stuff like that.
     "Okay, ladies.  We're here.  That'll be $10.75."  They look
at each other and I groan to myself.
     "Tell you what, sport," the older lady says, "how about 
taking it out in trade?"  The younger one looks a little
embarrassed.  That'll wear off.  The older lady tries a smile.
"I'll give you a blow-job, right here.  Half price."  When
I don't say nothing, she continues, "If you don't like me,
how about Ashlee here?  She'll make it worth your while."
     Ashlee has the grace to blush.
     "Just get out of the cab."
     Ashlee is going to say something, but the other lady
pushes her out.  "Thanks, sport," she smiles at me then walks
away as if she hasn't just stolen money out of my pocket.
     Ashlee makes to follow, then turns back before I put
the car in gear.  I look at her, no welcome on my face.
     "I'll see that you get your fare," she tells me, which
surprises me.  "One way or another."  She takes note of the
cab number, then turns away.
     "Lady?" I make my voice smooth.  Don't want to frighten
her.
     "Yes?"
     "I'd rather you just get out of the business.  It ain't
for you and it ain't worth it.  You need bus fare back home,
you come and see me.  It ain't no life worth living."
     Ashlee looks at me all funny-like.  It's like she wants 
to trust but can't quite do it.  I just sit there, waiting.  
Finally she makes a decision.
     "Can you wait here two minutes?" she asks.  
     I nod and she turns and runs after the other lady.  It's 
closer to five minutes, but she comes running back, carrying a 
small suitcase.  She gets in quickly and I don't wait for an
address.  We're three blocks away before she gets up the nerve
to ask if I'm for real.
     "The Bus Depot?" I ask.  She nods.
     "I don't know when I can pay you back," she says, then
hesitates, "unless you . . . " she can't finish.
     "You're young enough to be my daughter," I tell her.  "If
I was your father I'd just be happy to see you back home.  I
wouldn't care whether or not you 'made it' in the big city.
You can always try again later.  Where you were heading, though,
it's hard to come back from.  Want my advice?"  I don't care
whether she wants it or not, she's going to get it.  "Don't tell
nobody nothing.  Just say you decided that you prefer it back
there.  Ain't nothing wrong with changing your mind.  Remember
that."
     She nods at me and I think she's going to start crying,
but she holds it back.  Kids.  I shake my head.  Think they
know everything and scared to admit they don't.  We get to the
Bus Depot and I ask where she's going.  She tells me.  It ain't
too far off.  Turns out she knows the fare.  I give it to her
with a little extra for something to eat.  I'm a sucker, I know.
She's probably just running a scam on me.  Easy money.  I'll know
better next time.
     A bus is pulling in when I let her off so I get in the
line.  Who knows, maybe I'll get a fare, get some of my money
back.
     I'm third in line when I see her walking out the front door.
Sucker, I tell myself.  She looks at the cabs, peering through
the windows.  Cabby out front gets out, figuring she wants a 
ride, but she waves him off.  She sees my cab and comes up to my
window.  She leans in and give me a kiss on the cheek which 
startles the hell out of me.
     "Thanks . . . Dale," she sees my ID card.  "My bus leaves
in 15 minutes.  I called home.  My mom's going to pick me up."
     So I ain't a sucker after all.  Not this time.  "A last
bit of advice?" I ask.  She nods.  "Wash off some of that make-up
before you get home."  She nods again and walks back through the
front door.  
     I get a fare, and a good one.  Then I barely have time to
get to 4th and Hill to pick up Kate.  She's silent all the way
home.  Not just silent, but she don't want me to talk, either.
After a time a cabby will know when the fare just wants
him to drive and nothing else.  Kate just wants me to drive.
I just drive.

     Third day in a row that Kate's doing the silent routine.
Sometimes a body wants silence and sometimes a body wants 
someone to break through that silence.  It can be tough
to tell the difference.
     "Nice night," I say.  She just looks straight ahead.
Unlike many fares, Kate likes to sit up front.  "I hear it
might rain tomorrow."  That's a bald faced lie.  It's hot
and it's going to stay hot.  Weatherman figures another
five days of this before we get relief.  Kate don't say
nothing and I try to think up a new angle that won't get me 
in trouble.
     "Might rain tonight," she says quietly.
     Shit.  I pick up the mike, "This is Car 14, I'm going to 
take an early one."
     "Car 14, Roger.  Nothing much doing anyway.  Sleep well,
Dale."
     "Will do."  
     I turn off the meter and take a right turn.  This ain't the 
way to Kate's place, but she says nothing.  I'm not sure if she 
noticed.  Soon we're climbing what's known as Snob Hill.  There's
a point where you can pull off the road.  Sort of a little 
lookout.  I stop there.
     "There's the whole city, down there," I say to Kate.  The
city can look nice at night, all the lights on and all.  I don't
know if this angle will lead anywhere, but she wants to talk and
that talk of rain might come true, too.
     Out of nowhere she asks, "Have you ever had a dream, Dale?"
     I don't like where this is leading.  I've had a dream or two,
I want to tell her.  I've been there.  But I don't think she 
really wants me to say anything right now.  Maybe later, so
I just say, "Yes."
     "Sometimes you have a dream and the dream becomes your
reality.  Everything else is just a sideshow to your main event.
Soon you begin to believe in your dream and you work to make it
happen.  It is wonderful, actually living the dream, moving 
towards your final goal in a meaningful way.
     "Yes, the city is beautiful from up here.  The lights seem
friendly.  Warm and friendly."  She swallows a couple of times
before getting ready to continue.  "But if you go down the hill,
go to one of those pretty, warm and friendly lights, you see all
the ugliness around.
     "Sometimes dreams end.  Sometimes they are destroyed." 
     She's been doing good, keeping calm, but now the rainstorm
starts.  "He left, Dale.  Left for another woman.  One who makes
him feel more alive than I do."
     "That hurts," I tell her.  Women are funny ducks.  You 
try to solve their problems, you end up being their problem,
seems like.  So I just agree with her and keep my solutions to
myself.
     "Yes, it does."
     "A lot," I contribute.  Not that I really know, see, but
it seems the thing to say.  I reach out and put my hand on her
shoulder.  She brings up a hand on top of mine and squeezes.
She pulls my hand down and kisses it, then places it on her
breast.  Damn.  I'm going to lose a regular fare.  One way or 
another, I'm going to lose.  I withdraw my hand and turn the 
key in the ignition.  "I'll take you home, now, Kate."
     There must be something in my voice, 'cause she looks
over, through the tears and says, "I'd like that.  I'd like
that a lot."
     At her house I get out and go around the car to open the
door for her.  She gets out, every inch the Lady I know she
is.  She takes my hand and leads me up the walk.  We go in
the front door and she leads me, without turning on any lights,
to the bedroom.  She hesitates.  I've lost her as a fare, so
what the hell.  I lean down and kiss her neck.
     "You're very beautiful, Kate.  Always loved the way
you walk.  Turns a man on."  She reaches down to see if I'm
turned on.  I am.
     "Good," she says, though what she means is anyone's guess.
     Kate is a class act.  If I'm going to do her right, I got
to be classy too.  I reach up and unclasp her barrette.  Her
hair comes cascading  all around.  It is fine, silky hair and
I run my fingers through it.  She turns around and raises her
head.  I bend down to kiss her lightly on the lips.  Just the
smallest touch.  Lips brushing lips.  I ain't in practice, but
I know what a Lady likes, and it ain't a big wet kiss with 
lots of tongue right off the bat.  Not in a situation like this.
     I hold her close and her arms come around me.  My lips are
near her ear so I murmur, "God, you smell good, Kate."  And she
does.  Just a hint of perfume.  I nuzzle her and she tilts her
head to give me more room.  My hands are caressing her back and
she seems to like that, too.  Then they find the zipper and
slowly pull it down.  Her skin is smooth and wonderful.  She
steps back and allows her dress to fall to the floor.  In the
dim light from the streetlamps outside I see her figure,
covered only by bra and panties.  I whistle softly and she
smiles.  
     Her smile is one of those smiles that can light up a
room and make a man's heart pound.  "Walk for me," I tell her.
She looks puzzled.  "I love watching you walk," I explain.
"I been watching you walk for months," I add and she gets
that little look that tells you that she knows she has a hold
on you and that she likes it.  She turns away and walks across
the room to the window.  When she turns around, her bra is open
and her breasts are there, in all their glory.  I just stand
there and stare.  She laughs a victorious little laugh and comes
striding back to me in that slinky way she has.  No, slinky
ain't the right word.  It's softer than that, more exciting.
It ain't a come-on, it's more natural . . . oh, who the hell
cares what the word is.  I bend down and kiss each breast
right on the nipple, giving the nipple a tiny flick of my
tongue.  She purrs.
     "You like what you see?"
     "I like."
     "I want to see you, too."  She begins unbuttoning my
shirt.  I shrug it off and it joins her dress and bra on
the floor.  Then her hands are undoing my belt.  I give a
little shiver and her smile gets that little hook to it.
You know, that hook that tells you that she knows the power
she has and that she's enjoying using it.
     "Mmmm."  My pants and underwear have joined my shirt.
I'm naked and she's running her hands all over me.  I'm not
in great shape, but at 45 (20 years older than her) I'm not
all that bad either.  She grasps me and I gasp.  She pulls
me over to the bed and then pushes me back on it.
     Kate is enjoying this and I let her enjoy, 'cause I'm
enjoying it, too.  She lowers a breast to my face and I capture
it in my mouth.  I caress her sides and one hand finds its
way up to touch and caress her other breast.  I love how she
moans.  So, it's one breast than the other, then her lips and
whatever else she wants.  We're having a lot of fun, her teasing
and me being teased.  Then she pulls back and lowers herself on 
to me--I never even noticed her panties going the way of all our 
other clothes.
     "Ah!"  I'm inside Kate.  She's warm and wet and wonderful.
It has been quite a while.  "You're beautiful," I tell her and
she knows I mean it.  She goes wild on me, riding me and I 
go wild right back, bucking up into her.
     Afterwards I go exploring, finding all the little places
a woman has and loves to have a man find.  Most of all I just
let her see how much I like being with her, playing with her
and making love to her.  She is beautiful, she's just forgotten
it for a moment and needs someone to remind her.  I'm happy to
be the one and I take advantage 'cause I know all too well it's
a one-time thing and what the end'll bring.
     Soon as I'm sure that she's asleep I get dressed and
leave.  No way she'll want me to be here in the morning.  It's
going to be embarrassing enough as it is.  No need to make
it moreso.  I know that it wasn't me she wanted.  By tomorrow
she'll know it too.  That's when I lose my regular fare.  No
more watching Kate's body move as she walks from the cab to
her door.  No more enjoying the friendly smile and the talk.
It's over.  Too bad.  I shrug.  Can't do anything about it now.
     My room is as I left it.  I do my fare sheets.  Have to take
money from the can to make good what I gave to Ashlee or whatever
her real name is, not to mention the lost fare from the other
lady.  Not a good night.  Too many lost fares.

     My days off go by uneventful.  Then it's back to work.
     I make sure I'm on time to pick up Kate.  She sees me and 
almost turns away, but gets a determined look on her face and 
heads for the cab.  I try not to shiver.
     "Good morning, Kate," I say as I've said every afternoon
I've picked her up.
     "We have to talk."  
     Yeah, I know, but why do they have to say it that way?
As if talking to a man is as unpleasant a chore as might ever
have to be done.
     "Okay, Kate, I'll start."  I planned this last night when
I couldn't sleep.  "I had the strangest dream.  Ever have a 
dream, Kate?"  She looks at me funny.  "Well I had this dream
and you were in it . . ." I let my voice tail off.  "Second
thought, maybe I'd better not tell you that dream.  You might
think bad of me.  Had another dream, though.  Went flying without 
a plane or nothing.  Kinda scary looking down, but kinda exciting
too.  Guess it ended okay, 'cause here I am, back at work.  Going
to be another hot day, I understand."
     Kate looks at me and smiles.  We talk about nothing 
important the rest of the way.  As she gets out of the cab she
looks me in the eyes and says, "You're wrong, though."  I raise
my eyebrows.  "I wouldn't think bad of you."  She turns and 
walks into the restaurant.  Her walk is just a little more sassy
than usual and I know it is for me alone.  I also know it is a
one-time thing.

     "One hamburger, one large fries, one vanilla milkshake and
a salad."
     "Salad?" Jill asks.
     "Salad.  You got to start eating better."  I like it when
Jill laughs.
     "Oh, and I have something for you, too."  She hands me an
envelope.  I look at the front.  "Dale, Car 14," it says and is
addressed to the Taxi Company.  I shrug and open it.  There's
a short note which I unfold.
        "Thank you for getting Sandy back to us.  Her father and
I are in your debt."
     Sandy?  The name ain't familiar.  There's also a cheque.  
I look at it.  Then I understand.  It comes to the amount I gave
'Ashlee' plus the cab-fare I didn't get plus a ten dollar tip.
     I'm feeling pretty good and I smile, my thoughts nowhere
in particular.
     "What is it, Dale," Jill asks.
     "Nothing much.  Just thought I'd lost a couple of fares,
but turns out I was wrong.  I look at Jill again.  She's got
a nice face.  I wonder if she'd like to go out sometime after
work.

End of Taxi Tales: Lost Fares  by Delta 


                   Taxi Tales: Missed Connections 
                        

     Sometimes when I'm driving I get to thinking.  Like there
are some things a man just don't do.  Not if he wants respect.
Funny how those things often get done anyway.
     Yeah, and funny how cabbies don't exist.  People get into 
the cab and talk to each other like the cabby ain't there.  They 
think he don't hear?  We hear.  I've heard too much.  Times I 
wish I didn't hear.  Other times . . . Well, once had a couple 
stock brokers for a fare.  Got a tip from them, not the cash 
kind.  They didn't know they gave it to me, but they did.  Made 
a couple of grand, but you see what I mean.  Cabbies just ain't 
there to lots of people.
     It's about 9 o'clock and the sun's gone down.  I'm at the
airport.  I dropped off a fare and now I decide to hang about, 
see if I can pick one up.  So I'm in the line.  Not much doing, 
so I put on a Johnny Cash tape.  Got the Man in Black singing
'bout a flood somewhere when I get the wave.  I turn down the
volume and move up.  It's a young couple, maybe late twenties, 
early thirties.  I get out and open the trunk.  Not too much
luggage like some people, but plenty enough.  Three suitcases.
     The couple get in the back and I close the trunk and get
behind the wheel.  We start off and I ask them where to.
     "To a hotel," the man says.  Real helpful, that.
     "Which hotel?" I ask politely.  You don't tell your fare
that he's stupid and still get a tip.  'Sides, I can see he's
upset.  It's in his voice and in his face when I glance back.
     "How the hell should I know which hotel?" he growls.  "A
good one.  Downtown."
     I shake my head, a little disgusted, but that don't come
through in my voice.  "Main Street Hotel's a good one and it
ain't too far," I tell him.  It is and it ain't.  I don't stiff
my fares.
     "Fine, fine," he snarls, then he starts in on the lady.
     She's a good looking one.  A classy one.  Like I said
earlier, some people think a cabby just ain't there.  This
guy's one of them.  Maybe he thinks we're beneath notice.  I
don't like him already.
     Anyway, Johnny's singing low and the couple are talking
loud.  Don't take much sense to know what I'll be hearing.  I
pick up the mike and report in.  "Car 14 leaving airport, going 
Zone 1."
     "Car 14, roger."  It's Jill, the dispatcher.  She's almost
laughing and I know she heard what's going on in the back seat.
She'll want the story later.  Almost time to eat.  Maybe after 
I drop the fare.  Pick up something to drink and go in and eat.  
Pick up something for Jill too, probably.  The usual.  Hamburger, 
fries and shake.  
     Seems like the couple is just in from Hawaii.  Shoulda
known by their tans.  Maybe not.  Could get a tan here, too,
if that's what you want.  Never had no use for just lying in
the sun, though.  Seems kinda wasting time.  I donno.  So,
they just get back from Hawaii and they have to catch a
connector.  The guy's plenty steamed 'cause she made a mistake
in the time difference and they missed the plane.  He's really
raking her over the coals.
     Now I'm getting steamed.  A man don't do a thing like that,
cutting down his lady in public.  Maybe it's her fault and maybe
it ain't, but that's something you do in private if it's got to
be done.  Here he is doing it in front of me.  The lady's 
embarrassed.  I can tell by her voice and the way she's trying
to get him to lower his.  He don't and, hell, I'm embarrassed
too.  I don't like it at all.
     "You just didn't fucking think, did you?" he rants at her.
     Hell, I mean enough is enough.  He's told her 'bout ten
times and there ain't nothing they can do now.  The plane's
been missed.  I've had it.  I should know better, but I've
just had it.
     "That's no way to talk to your lady, mister," I tell him.
     "What?"  He's mad now.  I don't care.  "What the fuck is
it to you?"
     "This is my cab, sir," I tell him though he ain't no 'sir'.
Can't be a 'sir' when you lose my respect.  He lost it good. 
"I don't like that language in my cab."  I'm looking in the 
mirror and I catch a glimpse of the lady's face.  She looks 
relieved.  At least he ain't on her case no more.
     "I don't give a fuck what you like or don't like."  He's
losing it so I start to pull over.  "What the hell are you 
doing?"
     "I told you, I don't like that language."  We roll to
a stop.  "I'll call another cab for you."
     He looks around.  It ain't a good part of town.  That
sobers him up.  'Bout time.  
     "Never mind," he says.  "Just take us to the hotel."
     I wait a minute, just to make the point, then shrug and
put the car in gear.  They don't say another word, rest of the
way.  Least now I can hear Johnny.  Stupid of me.  Ain't my
place to go butting in.
     I see Len.  He's doorman at the Hotel.  I give him a 
little wave as I pull to a stop.  I turn off the meter.
     "That'll be eighteen forty-five," I tell him.  He gives
me eighteen forty-five.  Exact change.  Guess I didn't expect
no tip this time.
     Len, he comes to open the door for the man.  I get out, 
again just to make the point, and I open the other door for the 
lady and bow to her as she exits my cab.  Then I pop the trunk
and pull out their luggage.
     "I'll be talking to the taxi commission," the man glares
at me.
     "That's your right," I agree amiably and pull out my card.  
On the back I write the taxi commission's number and hand it to
him.  He snatches it from me and turns away.  The woman hangs
behind a few steps and turns to me.
     "Thanks," she says quietly so as he won't hear.
     "No one deserves that treatment," I say.  She follows him
and I close the trunk and drive off.
     Stuff like that can ruin a day if you let it.  I don't let
it.  "Car 14 clear in zone 1," I call in.  "Taking lunch."
     "Car 14, roger," Jill comes back after a minute.  She waits
'til she gives fares to a couple other cabs before getting back
to me.  "Dale, the usual?"
     "You got it."  Well things are looking up.  I turn up the
radio a little and sing along as I head for the fast food joint.
I only sing when I'm alone.  Don't got a good singing voice.
'Times I go to my sister's place and their dog howls if I sing.
Trouble is, I like to sing.  Some folks say there's a god.  I
don't know.  If there is, he's a joker, giving me this voice *and* 
the yen to sing.  Don't think I could worship a god like that.

     Jill, she's real friendly tonight.  Ain't always like that,
but I guess it's a good night for her.  Ain't always like that,
either.  Some people think she just got to sit and talk on the
phone and radio.  People don't know much, sometimes.  She got
a tough job.  Gotta keep a hundred things floating in the air.
Gotta know the city, gotta know the drivers.  She gotta know
who's where and when'll they be free so as she can tell a 
fare how long he'll be waiting.  Gotta handle complaints, too.
She's on the front line.
     Anyway, she has a smile for me today, so that's good.
I hand her her bag from the fast food joint.  Hamburger, fries
and a vanilla shake.  I take out my sandwich and the juice I
got at the fast food joint.  That and a couple air-tight 
plastic foodsaver containers.
     We eat and I tell her 'bout the guy from the airport and
maybe she's gonna get a complaint.  She'll leave a note for the
boss, anyway, so as it won't come on him outa nowhere.  Jill's
good 'bout things like that.
     "What's this?" she asks as I hand her a container and 
spoon.
     "Egg custard," I tell her.  "Sometimes dessert is nice."
     She gets that funny look on her face when she takes it.
I been noticing it more often.  She don't say nothing, though,
just opens the container and digs in.
     "This is very good," she tells me.  
     I smile.  Few years back, like maybe twenty-five, I worked
in the camps.  Cook there loved to make egg custard.  I loved
to eat it and one day I ask him to teach me.  Took nerve, 'cause
he was a mean bastard.  Least I thought that.  Turns out 
different.  He's pleased as punch to teach me.  Taught me a
few other things, too, and not just 'bout cooking.
     Lots of times you ask someone to teach you something they
know and they'll bend over backwards for you.  Tease 'em 'bout
their work and you run up against someone mean.
     "You made this yourself, didn't you?" Jill asks, looking
at me considering like.
     "Yeah."  I shrug it off.  Ain't no big deal.  Make it all
the time.
     "Thanks, Dale," she nods, not really smiling, but kinda
pursing her lips, "thanks."
     I take back the empty container, put it with the other
one in my bag and get up.  Time to be on the road again.  Jim
walks in 'bout then, sees me and turns around and walks out.
I wonder if I said something to get him mad.
     "Guess I'd better go now," I tell Jill and she nods.  Looks
for a moment like she's gonna say something but I guess she
changes her mind.  "Maybe I come by later," I say over my
shoulder, then I go to find Jim and apologize.  Maybe he'll
tell me what I did.
     As I'm walking out the door I hear Jill say, "I'd like 
that."
     Seems I didn't do anything, 'cause when I get out of the
office he comes over with a big smile and asks how the night's
going.  People are funny.  Anyway, the night is getting better
the later it gets.  Yeah, maybe I will drop by at the end of
my shift again.  Don't do that often, mostly just go home, but
tonight . . .

     At two in the morning all the heat of the day is gone.
That's the time to be awake.  You can stuff all that early bird
rot.  I breathe in the morning air and I feel good.  Pick up a
drunk from a bar and take him home.  There's always a little
rush around closing time.  Can get some good tips from the
drinkers sometimes.  Can get someone throwing up in your car,
too, so it ain't all good.  The rush dies.  I'm ready to quit.
     "Car 14, base," Jill calls me.
     "Car 14, go ahead."
     "Have time for a personal?"  She knows I'm about off.
     A personal?  Someone asking for me in particular?  At this 
time of the morning?  What the hell.
     "Sure," I say.
     "Main Street Hotel.  Your fare will be waiting for you at 
the door.  Good night, Dale."
     "Good night," I reply, but I figure I'll be back later.  
Main Street Hotel?  Guess Len's car broke down or something.
     It ain't Len.  It's the lady from Hawaii, which surprises
me no end.  She's got her suitcase with her, too.  I open the
trunk and put it in, then open the door for her.  The front door,
'cause that's where she's standing.  That's Len's job, but I wave 
him back.  He grins at me, knowing like, but it ain't that.
     "Where to, Lady," I ask her.
     "Are there any restaurants open this late?" she asks.
     "We got a twenty-four hour joint . . . er, restaurant, not
far from here.  Good food but nothing fancy."
     "That will be fine.  I don't need anything fancy," she 
smiles at me.  
     I wonder about that.  This here lady has 'class' written
all over her.  Expensive clothes, good luggage, gold earrings.
But no rings, I notice.  Anyway, I'm just the cabby.  She wants
to eat, I'll find her a restaurant.  Only thing that bothers me
is she's got her luggage with her.  I pull into the parking lot
and stop in front of the door.
     "That'll be five seventy-five, lady."  I turn off the meter.
     She just looks at me for a minute, as if deciding something.
I seen others do the same, others who don't have the fare.  
Surely a lady like this has the fare.
     "Why don't you park the car and I'll buy you breakfast,
or supper or whatever."
     My eyebrows go up.  She laughs at my expression, but it 
ain't a mean laugh.
     "I talked to your dispatcher earlier.  She told me you
finished work at about this time.  I called back.  She told me
you were off but might take the fare."
     There's a story here, and I like stories.  Maybe I'm 
stupid, but I park the car and we go in to eat--but not before
she hands over the fare.  "Wouldn't want to forget it," she says.
Like I said:  Class.

     She orders a meal.  I just get a large salad.  I ain't
really hungry, but I'm interested, so I order.  She won't be
as free if I ain't eating, too.  That can put someone off.  
Something 'bout eating together, though . . .
     She starts talking and I start listening.  Name is Linda.
Can't say I ever really liked that name--guess 'cause there was
a girl named Linda in my grade 5 class and she made fun of me.
This one don't seem like she'd make fun of me though.  Her and
Brett, that's her boyfriend, been together almost two years 
now.  Treated her real good at the start, but it's been going
down hill since she got her last raise.  Now she makes more
than he does.  I can't see what that matters.  Course, almost
everyone makes more than me.  But seems like it matters to him.
Bad thing, them working in the same type job, I guess.  Makes
it worse.
     I heard the story before, seems like.  He starts cutting
her down, first in private, then in public.  Pretty soon she
starts thinking she's to blame.  It's an old story, but I 
listen anyway.  I figure that's all she wants me for.  Someone
to listen and nod their head occasionally.  I can nod my head
just fine.
     Finally she's done.  She looks up at me.
     "In the taxi, then at the hotel, when you said that no one 
deserves that sort of treatment, that's when I woke up.  I think 
that it was then I realized that it wasn't going to get any 
better."
     "So what now?"
     "I made reservations for a noon flight tomorrow.  Funny
thing is that the lost day doesn't really make any difference at
all.  We still have three days vacation left."  She laughs a 
little, but it's a sad laugh.  "After he went to sleep I left.  
There was no sense in getting into another argument."  She smiles 
a bit and reaches in a pocket and hands me something.  It's the
card I gave him with the taxi commission number on it.  "I
used this to find you.  I wanted to thank you."
     Nice of her.  No need to do that, but nice.  "And what 
about you?"
     "Me?"  She gives a half laugh, half snort.  "I changed my
reservation while I was waiting in the lobby.  A different 
airline has a 10:00 a.m. flight.  That will give me two hours.
In two hours I can have most of my stuff out of the apartment.
I have a girl-friend I can stay with for a few days until I
find myself some other place."
     That wasn't what I meant, but it's good to know she's
getting out.  "I mean tonight."
     She looks at me, calculating like.  "Could you give me
a ride out to the airport in the morning?"
     There.  It's out.  I give her a look.  She's a smart
looking lady.  Good looks and nice body.  I smile, gently.
Least I hope it looks gently.  "No problem," I tell her.  She 
pays the check and we leave.

     "So this is where you live," she says as I open the door.
She's a little out of breath from climbing the four flights 
of stairs.  Don't know why she's out of breath.  I'm the one
who lugged the suitcase up.
     "Yes."  It ain't much, but it's my home.  I'm hoping
she won't say nothing bad about it.  Her place must be lots
nicer.
     "Very cozy," she says, and I breathe a little sigh
of relief.  She walks over and sits on the bed.
     I tell her I'll be a couple minutes.  Gotta do my books.
I tally everything up and put it all away.  She looks tired.  
I'm tired and sweaty from the day and I want to take a shower.  
I tell her so.  She can make herself to home.
     I'm under the shower with shampoo in my hair when I
hear the door open.  Guess I shoulda let her use the bathroom
first.  Been long enough for me to forget things like that.  
I put my head under the stream of water, then freeze.  The 
curtain gets pulled open a bit and she steps in the tub
behind me.
     "I hope you don't mind," she says as I try to wash the
shampoo out of my eyes.  "I've had a very long day, too."
     What can I say?  I do the smart thing.  I keep my mouth
shut.  Her hands are soft and slippery with soap as they
glide across my back.  It feels real good.  It's been a real
long time since I shared a shower, but I don't want to think
'bout that.  Her hands come round my front and soap my chest 
and stomach, then venture lower.  It's exciting but I'm a
bit uncomfortable.
     I turn around to face her.  She's real nice looking.
Got curves in all the right places.  I draw her in for a
hug, then turn us 'round so the water's coming down on her
mostly.  Now it's my turn and I wash her.  Her breasts are
soft and smooth, though the tips are hard.  She groans a
bit when I touch them.  The groan tells me to keep going.
I pay them quite a bit of attention, seeing as they feel so 
nice and she's liking it, too.  Then, keeping one hand at her 
breasts, I go lower with the other.
     She gives out a gasp and shifts her weight to spread her
legs a bit when my hand finds what it's looking for.  I soap
her up good and she's moaning and gasping.  Her arms are on
my shoulders, hanging on and she's breathing real ragged.  I
wonder what the hell I'm doing but I don't stop.  Then she
cries out and sinks down to her knees in the tub.
     While she's recovering I put in the plug and push in
the lever that puts the water up to the shower.  The roar
from the faucet is loud and the tub begins to fill.  Linda
settles back lying down in the tub as the water slowly 
rises around her.
     "I just need to catch my breath for a little bit," she
tells me as I step out.  
     I kneel by the tub for a bit and stroke her face.  I wish 
I had some bubble bath, but I don't.  The water is nice and hot
and relaxing.  "'S'okay," I murmur, "just enjoy."  I towel off
and go back to the main room.
     It's warm in the room, window open or not.  I look out the
window at the city.  Can't see much, really.  Highrise blocks
most of the view, but I can look down the street.  She shouldn't
be here.  But she is.  I get lost in looking out the window 'til
I hear her letting the water out of the tub.  I move to the bed.
     When she comes out I'm asleep, breathing regular.  She
looks at me for a bit then turns off the light and climbs
in behind.  She fits herself to me, her breasts pushing against
my back, one arm over me.  It ain't long 'til she's asleep.
Lucky her hand didn't move down low or she'd have found just
how asleep I was.
     Been a long time since a woman was in bed with me, 
sleeping, holding on to me.  A long time.  I like the feel
of her breasts pushing against my back.  I'm tired.  Musta 
given one of them silent close-mouth yawns, 'cause I feel a
tear or two coming to my eyes.
     I feel her breath against my neck, feel her move as she
breathes in and out.  I'm tired.  I just want to sleep.  The
pillowcase is getting a bit wet and I close my eyes tighter.

     She looks lovely, lying there asleep.  Too bad.  I give
her a little shake and her eyes open.
     "Breakfast almost ready," I tell her.  "Time to get up
or you'll miss another plane."
     She blinks a few times then looks at me all serious and
nods.  I turn back to the stove to give her privacy.  Don't
take long for her to be dressed.  We eat, but don't talk.
I put the dishes in the sink.
     "Dale," she starts, "I'm sorry . . ." her voice fades.
     "'S'okay."  I wonder what she's sorry for.  Couple times 
when eating she looked at me funny and I wonder if she didn't
really fall asleep so quick.  Don't matter.
     It's not a long trip to the airport.  She gives me a hug
good-bye.  It's funny, like she wants to ask questions but
don't want to either.  Just as well.  I don't want to answer
any.
     I'm back home in time to get a few hours before my shift
starts.  I lie down on my side and I can smell her shampoo on
the pillow.  I turn on my back and drop the pillow to the floor.
I can sleep without it.  I'd better.  If I don't get some sleep 
it's gonna be a long day.  
     My eyes open.  Damn.  I was supposed to go back and see Jill 
last night.  I close my eyes.

End of Taxi Tales: Missed Connections

                   Taxi Tales: Lost and Found
                      

     Life ain't fair sometimes.  Hell, life ain't fair most
times.  But it's what we got and it don't do no good 
complaining.
     "Hi, Sue, where'll it be?" I ask.  Sue's wearing her
whites so I'm pretty sure, but it don't hurt to ask.  Look
pretty stupid if I drove her the wrong way 'cause I didn't
feel like posing the question.
     "General Hospital," she replies as she makes herself
comfortable.  
     She's another of those who'll sit up front with me.  In 
some cities they got them dividers and the fares got to sit 
in the back.  Here we ain't got 'em--yet.  Had another cabby 
robbed yesterday, though, so it looks like we're moving that 
way.  It won't be the same.
     "Thought it was your day off."  Sue is one of them angels
they talk about.  Never seen her in a bad mood.  Was I sick
and in the hospital I'd want to be on her floor.  Doctors 
get the publicity and get looked up to, but nurses are the
ones there for you, hour after hour, day and night.  They don't
get credit for all they do.  Ain't fair, but that's life.
     "I traded shifts with Bev."  Sue smiles knowingly, "And 
you, I thought it was your day off as well?"
     "Traded with Stan."  Stan's a family man.  Got kids.  Day
like today you want to be with your wife and kids.  I ain't 
got nobody, so I work days like today.
     "Sixth floor?" I ask.
     "Yes."
     "See 'em from up there?"
     "If everything is quiet I'll take a look.  It's not the same
from that distance; you don't get the noise and that's a big part
of the fun, but I like watching the fireworks anyway.  How about 
you, Dale?  If it's quiet will you drive over there?  I think you 
should."  Sue is one of them who's aways thinking of others.  
Ain't too many like that.  We should look after them we got.  
Making them work on holidays ain't looking after them.
     "Maybe.  But only for a bit.  When they finish, traffic is
hell."  Be nice to be there, though, and not in the cab.  Be nice
to be walking with a lady, enjoying the fair, then watching the
fireworks.  Country's birthday, after all.  But some got to work
so as others can play.  Ain't fair, but that's life.
    I drop Sue off and call in clear.  Jim has another fare for
me.  Jim, he's dispatching today.  Jill's day off, too.  Guess
she got somewhere better to be than sitting by the radio and
telephone.  Hope she's having fun.  Jill's a classy lady and
I like her.  Kinda miss not hearing her voice at the other end
of the radio.
     Green light.  Gotta stop thinking and concentrate on my
work.  That's how accidents happen.  Not concentrating.  I turn
left on eighteenth and pick up my fare.  Young couple, maybe
early twenties.  They been drinking a little, I can tell.  After
twenty-some years years driving you get good at noticing.  Don't
matter.  So they been drinking a little.  They ain't drunk and
they're polite.  Polite and happy, if a little loud.
     Don't mind that.  Better they're a little loud in my cab
then dead from driving impaired. 'Sides, it's nice to see young
couples having a little fun.  They're going to a party, they say,
and give me the address.  I give a little frown.  It's at an
apartment building near where the fair is set up and traffic
ain't going to be fun.  All part of the job, I guess, but I don't
like it when these fairs and such come to town.  Makes the job
that much harder.  Then I smile.  Could be worse.  I coulda been
working during the parade.
     It's a long ride to where they're going and they don't 
need me butting in, so I just concentrate on the road.  Can't 
help but hear them, though.  Conversation is getting interesting 
and I glance back.  Sally . . . that's the girl.  Heard Bill
call her that.  Anyway, Sally's giggling a little now and I see
why.  Bill's got his hand on her breast and he's working it.  
Meanwhile they're in a lip lock.  I shake my head.  Funny, even 
after all these years, it still gets to me how people can just 
ignore the driver as if he ain't there.
     I glance in the mirror when I hear Sally gasp.  Bill's
whispering something in her ear and her eyes go wide.  I look
away before she can catch me watching them.  'Sides, like I
said, gotta concentrate on traffic.  I hear a muffled snap and
I almost gotta laugh.  I know what that was.  I turn my head
a little to the side, as if looking up the cross street for
traffic, and catch it.  Yep.  He's got his hand under her
blouse, now.  Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open just
that little bit.  Kids.  I turn up the radio, just a little.
     Almost have to laugh again.  Dean Martin is singing, 
"Everybody loves somebody, sometime."  I listen to a station
that plays oldies.  And they don't feel that 'oldies' refers
simply to early rock and roll.  Get some of that, but mostly
the softer stuff.  Figure if I'm listening to softer stuff it's
easier to stay calm.
     'Course, with what's going on in the back seat, it's a
little hard . . . difficult staying real calm.
     "No!" I hear her whisper, kinda shocked, but fun shocked.
     "Come on," he pleads.
     Without appearing to, I look in the mirror.  Kinda out
of the corner of my eye.  She's looking at me, considering.
She grins at him and gives her head a little nod, then 
boosts herself up a bit.  I pretend like nothing is going
on.  Are they buying it?  Guess they are, or they just don't
care.
     Sally tries to keep quiet, but little groans keep getting
out.  I try real hard to ignore it, but can't.  It's there, like
background music.  
     I come to a stop at a red light.  The light changes but 
the car ahead don't move.  He's stalled and his arm comes out
the window and waves me around.  I got to back up first before
I can get into the other lane.  So, I got to look back, ain't
nothing else to do.
     They don't notice a thing.  She's half reclining in the
corner, half against the seatback half against the door.  Her
legs are wide, hips turned up, so as he can get to her.  His
hand disappears under her skirt and he's kissing her neck.
She's breathing rather fast and shallow. 
     Only takes a second or two to back up, but that was
more than enough time to see it all.  Saw more than I wanted
to.  Her blouse was unbuttoned half way down and one breast
was showing.  Nipple all hard and erect.  Kids.  Should
know better.  I think about saying something, but what the
hell.  I'd only embarrass her.
     We arrive and she's almost there, too.  Bill looks up
as I begin slowing and catches my attention with a quick
circular motion of his free hand, the one around her shoulder.
I turn off the signal light and continue on around the block.
     It's getting pretty frantic back there.  She's breathing
fast and hard, head back and mouth open now.  Waiting at a
light I watch in the mirror.  Her eyes are tight shut and 
she's panting some, breath catching time to time.  She's 
real close.
     She tries to hold back, but he's not showing no mercy.
He drives her over the edge and her breath catches and she
stiffens.  With a long moan she relaxes.  I quit looking
before she opens her eyes. 
     The light's green and we continue on around the block.
By the time we arrive out front again she's all buttoned up.
I quote the fare without looking back.  I'm not looking forward
to this, but I get lucky and it is Sally who, after fumbling
in her purse, comes up with the cash.  Bill whispers something
in her ear and she blushes, but drops another fiver over the
seat for me.
     "Thanks, Lady," I say as she gets out of the car.
     Bill hesitates.  "Want to come up?" he asks.  "It's 
going to be a great party.  Nobody'll notice one extra."
     "Thanks, buddy.  But I got a couple hours left on my
shift.  Maybe next time."  We both know that there ain't
going to be no next time.
     Maybe there's something in my voice, maybe he's just
sensitive, maybe . . . maybe anything.  But he suddenly
looks a lot older than his years, more mature I guess, and
says, "You should get out and party sometimes."
     The moment is broken.  
     "Coming, Bill?"  Sally's in a hurry to get away.
     Bill grins at me, "Coming," he answers and winks.  I
smile back at him, but I don't feel like smiling.
     Parties.  Don't know why I carry it with me.  I open
my little box and pull out a tape.  Almost never play it.
Don't know why I'm doing it now.  No, I don't go to parties.
I plug the tape in the machine and call in that I'm clear and 
going to gas up.  What I want is to air out the cab a little 
before my next fare.
     The Man in Black starts singing.  He still misses
Someone.  Yeah, and I do, too.  Stupid to carry that
tape around.
     No.  I don't go out on parties anymore, either.  I
allow the music to pass over and though me, trying not to
think too closely on the words.
     I got half a tank left, but pull in and fill up.
As I'm pumping gas I notice something on the floor in
the back of the car.  I pay for the gas and check the oil
before I open the back door and take a closer look.  Her
wallet.  Guess she meant to drop it in her purse, but missed.
Yeah, and that ain't all.  Her panties are down there, too.
     Just as well I looked.  The next fare would be doing
some wondering, not to mention she might lose her wallet.
I take my lunch out of the brown paper bag and carefully
put the lost articles in the bag after writing her name (from
her driver's licence) and address on the outside of the
the bag.  Wonder if she carries a spare pair of panties
in her purse.

     I'm at the entrance to the fairgrounds.  Someone's
supposed to be here wanting a cab.  A Mr. Brown.  He ain't
close by, seems, so I get out of the cab to stretch my
legs a little.
     I see a little girl, can't be much more than six, crying.
There ain't nobody around her.  I wait for a minute watching
for her parents, but they ain't about, seems.
     "What's the matter?" I ask, squatting down.
     She looks at me, kinda hopeful and kinda scared.  "I lost
my mommy."
     Oh, hell.  Just then I see a man come over to the cab.
Must be Mr. Brown, or maybe not.  "Come with me to the Taxi
and we'll call for some help," I tell the girl.
     It is Mr. Brown, and he seems in a hurry until he hears
about the girl.
     "Why not get her to stand on the hood," he suggests.  
"If her parents are around, she'll be more visible."
     Sounds good to me, so I lift her up.  Brown points to
a phone booth and says he'll call the cops.
     "No, I'll radio in," I tell him.  "Dispatch will contact
them for us."  I open the door and pull the mike out.
     "Base, this is Car 14.  Gotta problem."
     "Go ahead, Car 14."  Jim'll look after everything.  He's
a good man.
     "Got a lost kid here."  I give the address.  "Could you
call the cops for . . . never mind."  I see a patrol car and
wave him over.
     The cop is just getting out of his car when I hear a 
sudden cry.
     "Julie!  How many times have I told you not to wander off?"
     "Mommy!" the kid cries out and jumps into her mother's
arms.  
     There are smiles all around and the cop goes back to his
car.  Problem solved.  Wish they all could be solved so easily.
     "Where to, sir?" I ask Mr. Brown.  He tells me and I get
him there quick as I can.  Nice of him not to complain about
the delay.  Others ain't so nice.  
     Driving, a cabby gets to see his fair share of people.
See the best of them, and the worst.  If there's a god--and I 
ain't saying there ain't, but I ain't saying there is, either--and 
I was in his position, I wouldn't sell this world short.  There's
a lot of good people out there.
     "Thanks, pal," Mr. Brown tells me as he steps out of the
cab.  "I hope you have a real good evening."  
     A kid comes running down the front steps and Mr. Brown picks 
him up and swings him around before carrying him back up the 
steps.  Yeah, there's some good people out there.

     I stop the car near a small city park.  It's ten o'clock
and I look up into the sky as the first explosion occurs.  Red
and green streamers.  The sky erupts in flashes and bangs.
Happy Birthday.  I watch for a few minutes then drive away.
Somehow I don't feel like celebrating.  I just wish the shift
was over and I could go home and get some sleep.  Good thing,
Stan's shift ends at midnight.

     I'm tired.  It's been a long day.  Working holidays ain't
no fun.  Just shows you how you ain't got nothing better to do,
and that's just no fun at all.
     "Base, Car 14, I'm closing her down."
     "I have one more for you, Dale," Jim's voice comes back,
giving the address.  "It's a personal."
     "I'm off, Jim.  Give it to someone else."  A personal.  
Someone who's driven with me before and likes how I drive.  It's
nice to know that some take enough time to actually remember
your name and ask for you--but not at finishing time.
     "Can't," Jim tells me.  "Everyone else is busy."
     Now that's a lie.  I just heard Tony call clear in this
sector.  He's up, anyway.  "Tony's next in line," I call in.
     "I'm just stopping to gas up," Tony's voice comes through
the radio.  He sounds funny, like he's having problems talking.
     I'm not happy.  He should have called in and said so.  There's
ways to do things and ways not to.  "How about Al?"  Al, apparently
can't make it either and no one else pipes up to take the fare I
don't want.  I sigh.  "Okay, I'll take it."  I don't like it.  
This sort of thing doesn't happen.  Someone should want the fare.
     I get to the address.  An apartment building.  There's people
filing out.  Another party over.  People who got to work in the 
morning.  I see my fare coming and I get out to open the door
for her.  She's done up real nice.  Got a lovely dress on and
her hair is done, like I said, real nice.  She's carrying a large
purse, almost a bag.
     "Evening, Jill," I say as I open the door for her.  She
smells good, too, I notice as she gets in.
     "Good evening, Dale."  Jill has a nice, warm voice.
     I'm happy to see her.  Makes the day for me.  She's sitting
up front, next to me and I feel better.  Not tired any more.
     "Going home?" I ask as I pull away from the curb.
     "You haven't turned on the meter," she says softly.  I 
could listen to her voice forever, I think.
     "I'm off," I explain.  Even if I wasn't I wouldn't charge
her.  "Where to?"
     When she tells me I kinda freeze.  She musta thought I
didn't hear, 'cause she repeats it.  "Eight forty-seven, 
Fourteenth Street, Dale.  You do know how to get there, don't
you?"  
     I look over to her.  She's got a funny smile on her
face, teasing me.  'Course I know how to get there.  I've
been going there every night for years.  My stomach is 
tight.
     She takes the tape out of the machine and looks at it.
"Johnny Cash."  She nods to herself.  "Do you have any
Marty Robbins?"
     "At home," I reply.  It's nice to know that she likes
the same kind of music I do.  Feels like butterflies in my
stomach, now.
     "A woman can't wait forever, Dale," her voice is like
nothing I've ever heard before and I wish my stomach would
settle down into one state.  Now it's jumping all over the
place.
     "Yes, Jill," I say, not sure why I'm saying it, but I
should say something.
     "You can be infuriatingly slow at times, you know," she
laughs a little, as if she's nervous, too.
     I look down at the speedometer, but I'm doing the limit.
Now she bursts out laughing.  I'm not sure what's so funny, but
I join in anyway.  It's good to laugh with her.  
     "Let's go home," she says, finally.  I like the sound of 
that, the way she said it.
     "Yes, Jill."  I get the feeling I'm going to be saying
that a lot.  It's a good feeling.  
     Life ain't fair, sometimes.  Other times . . . .