Quiver by Peter Leonard Page B

back to my place, but first I got to hear ‘Country Boy Can Survive.’”
    Celeste said, “I’m with someone.” She was out with this show-off ad guy named Ronnie Rockman; a friend had fixed her up. Ronnie had been speed-rapping her about his accomplishments since he’d picked her up. He’d just won a Clio, an Effie and a One Show, the equivalent of an advertising hat trick, not bad for a week’s work, huh?
    Celeste had no idea what he was talking about but gave him a fake smile when he looked over at her, beaming. Then he told her about his car, the BMW M5 they were riding in, Ronnie quoting its horsepower rating—394 SAE at 6100 rpm and zero-to-sixty in 5.3 seconds. He said he could afford to drive any car but chose the M5. Know why?
    Celeste’s brain hurt this guy was so boring.
    “ ’Cause, for the money,” Ronnie said, “it’s got everything: handling, performance, comfort—you name it.”
    It wasn’t a conversation; it was a monologue.
    Teddy said, “You having a good time with him?”
    Celeste said, “Not really. Who’re you with?”
    “I’m flying solo.”
    “You went to a concert by yourself?”
    “Far as I know, that’s not a crime, yet.”
    Celeste took out her cell phone and called Ronnie, who was sitting in row two in his pressed jeans and peach-colored Polo shirt. She said, “Ronnie, this is Celeste …”
    “What the hell happened to you?”
    “I’m leaving,” Celeste said. “Just wanted to let you know.” She hung up as he started to say something. Fuck Ronnie and his BMW M5.
       
    Teddy’s full name was Theodore Monroe Hicks. Celeste got a kick out of that after she found out where he was from—a hick named Hicks. What was that called? She thought it was irony, but had quit after her junior year at Walled Lake High to go to beauty school, so she didn’t trust herself to be right.
    They got in Teddy’s Ford Ranger pickup with the rebel license plate on the front and went to Teddy’s rented house, a dump in Clawson, and spent the weekend in bed, Teddy making her watch Predator , his favorite movie, stopping at a scene with a big muscle-bound dude firing a machine gun in a dense jungle setting at an alien you couldn’t see.
    Teddy said, “Know who that is?”
    There was an element of pride in his delivery, like they were related or something.
    Celeste said, “Someone from the WWF? An ex–football player?”
    Teddy grinned now. “That’s Jesse-damn-Ventura, governor of Minnesota’s who that is.”
    Celeste felt bad for the citizens of Minnesota now. They had it tough enough with forty-below winters and summers that lasted about three weeks. And now they had an action hero actor guiding their fortunes.
    What did she see in Teddy? The question popping back in her head. Celeste believed it came down to some kind of chemistry thing, some weirdo attraction. It certainly wasn’t his intellect. One time she asked him if he believed in love at first sight.
    He looked at her and said, “No,’ cause blind people can fall in love, too.”
    Sometimes he surprised her.
       
    Celeste counted the money, stacking the bills on her lap. When she finished, she locked her gaze on Teddy and said, “How much you think? Guess right, it’s all yours.”
    “What if I guess wrong?”
    “It’s all mine,” Celeste said.
    “What do you think,” Teddy said, “I’m dumb or something?”
    Celeste was thinking, “Boy, as a rock.” but she said, “I’m just messing with you. Come on, give it a shot.”
    Teddy stared at the money, taking his time like his life depended on it. He said, “$1,243,” and grinned. Then the grin disappeared and he said, “No, I want to change it. I guess $1,427.”
    “You were closer the first time,” Celeste said.
    Teddy was mad now. “That’s not fair.”
    “What’s not fair? You guessed wrong.”
    “You’re cheating.”
    “Why don’t you count it yourself?”
    “Maybe I will,” he said and turned into a strip-mall parking lot,