(2012) The Court's Expert Read online

  “Well, I’ve got to be on my way; I’ve got an appointment to keep. I hope to see you again. I’ll have to stop to eat at John’s more often now that the help is so good-looking,” Larry said, excusing himself.

  “That would certainly be our treat here at Finni’s,” Maria agreed, attempting to deflect the remark toward the staff. Larry moved toward the door, smiling wistfully at the prospect of future contact with Maria.

  Larry hastened to his pickup truck in the parking lot. Once belted in his seat, he noticed the fuel gauges indicated low levels in both tanks. His banker’s office was forty-five miles north in Fresno. He preferred filling both tanks during the same stop, but this would require extra time for traveling a little out of the way to reach his company fuel station.

  No sense giving this kind of money to Standard Oil, at least at a retail station, he thought, so he headed west toward Hanford to make the refueling stop. This junket could add an hour to the travel time, but he’d call his banker, who he could count on to be understanding, from the fueling depot to let him know he was behind schedule. Even if the banker was annoyed, he would not allow himself to signal any displeasure to his biggest customer.

  Refueling took longer than expected, yet Martorano departed for Fresno still hoping to keep his appointment. The traffic was light, allowing Larry to make good time from Hanford. He rejoined Highway 99 at Selma and was heading north when he noticed a motorist stopped at the side of the freeway. As he closed the distance to the vehicle, he could see there was a problem with a rear wheel, maybe a flat tire. He was accelerating and merging onto the freeway when something alerted his peripheral vision as he began to pass the disabled vehicle at the right side of the road.

  Wait a minute! he thought as he reached freeway speed and passed the parked car. The female standing near the rear bumper looked familiar. Damn! By this time, the image registered in his mind, and he recognized Maria, the waitress from Finni’s. He was now a quarter mile north of her position and backing his pickup that distance would be impractical and dangerous. Well, he was already late for the Fresno appointment, so perhaps he should reschedule with Maloney for another day. He used the car radio to call his office manager and asked her to call the banker. After all, Larry was headed back on a mission of mercy to assist Maria in her time of need. Getting back to her position would not be easy, although he was already aware of the precise route to take. Regardless, the circumnavigation still consumed at least ten minutes. He had to rejoin the freeway at the Selma onramp and be prepared to pull out of traffic immediately.

  As he started his approach, her vehicle came into view, and Larry sensed there was something wrong. Another vehicle had stopped behind Maria’s, and three young males had converged around her. From appearances, there was much talking, but no one seemed to be taking any action. Larry guided his pickup in behind the second vehicle.

  He stopped the truck and stood on the running board to assess the situation. All the voices were speaking Spanish. Larry knew enough “Spanglish” to make himself understood to his employees, but he could not get the meaning of this conversation. He clearly made out Maria’s voice and sensed she was resisting the focus of the remarks of the others. Maria looked up and spotted Larry before he stepped down from the pickup.

  “Tio!” she nearly screamed, as if speaking to her uncle. “Sobrina!” Larry yelled back reflexively, surprising himself that he remembered the Spanish word for niece. Pondering this uncertain development, the Samaritans of questionable motives retreated to their car and hastily left the area.

  “You having a problem?” Larry asked as he closed the distance between them.

  “No longer,” Maria exhaled slowly. “I never expected to see you here. I’m sure glad I did,” she added warmly, with great relief.

  “I’m glad I happened along,” Larry responded. “I passed you fifteen minutes ago but couldn’t stop in time. I circled back and saw your friends. I didn’t know if they were helping or not.”

  “Not my friends,” she corrected him. “And I’m sure they weren’t planning on assisting me. I’ve never seen any of them before. It was getting ugly. I’m so glad you came along when you did.”

  “So am I,” Larry affirmed. “What’s the problem with your car?”

  “Flat tire, which I could fix normally,” she explained, “but I’m not certain my spare will get me to school and back home tonight. That’s why your generosity at lunchtime was such a miracle. I finally saved enough money to buy tires, but I didn’t have the time to make classes this afternoon and get to the shop to buy tires afterward.”

  Larry inspected Maria’s spare tire in the trunk of her car. “You know,” he pondered out loud, “we may be able to get your car to Mario’s Tire Shop in Selma on this spare if we’re careful. It’s just a couple of miles, and it’s my favorite tire shop.” He busied himself without further comment and in a short time had her spare in place.

  “Follow me,” he encouraged as he jumped into the cab of his pickup. Maria did as instructed, and the two drove to Mario’s shop. Mario was out, but his general manager, Andy, who was well acquainted with Martorano, crisply approached one of the shop’s best customers.

  “Mr. Martorano! Good to see you, sir, but I didn’t know you were coming in today, much less personally,” Andre seemed almost gushing in his greeting.

  “Right! And it’s good to see you, too, Andy. Normally I’d give you a call to make sure you had the inventory we need, but this is a bit of an emergency today. My young friend needs a set of tires suitable for freeway driving. Can you help her?” Larry asked.

  Andy inspected Maria’s tires for specifications. He thought there were four in stock and told Larry they were available for installation. As Larry authorized the sale, Maria looked crestfallen.

  “I … I don’t have enough money for four tires. I’m sorry, I can only afford to get two tires,” she said, and felt a single tear forging its way down her cheek.

  “Look,” Larry reassured her, “I can tell your cash is short right now. You need four new tires, so call this transaction a scholarship or a student loan. You can repay me anytime you’re able, and I’m in no hurry; there’s no deadline.”

  Now the tears welled to flood stage. “I just don’t know what to say,” she blurted out in gratitude. “No one has ever shown me such generosity. I cannot accept your gift. I called you ‘uncle’ a few minutes ago. I had no right to do that.”

  “Maria, that was a brilliant ploy of yours to get rid of the boys. Anyway, you may not be my niece, but I’d be very happy if someone with your qualities actually was mi sobrina. It doesn’t really matter, but I think your freeway hustlers were convinced. Anyway, the tires are yours, and the only repayment I ask is that you stick with your studies and get your degree at State.”

  “Thank you! This can’t be happening to me,” she said, and affectionately planted a butterfly kiss on his cheek. More embarrassment. She had never acted this way with anyone. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what’s come over me.” Maria focused her eyes on some imaginary object over Larry’s left shoulder. It had not occurred to her until this moment that he was old enough to be her father. But she felt a magnetic attraction to him in a mysterious and deeply emotional way.

  Martorano was pleased with the attention that seemed genuine and unprovoked by his helpfulness. A tire-shop employee interrupted them, saying they had only two tires in stock, although a quick trip to their other location on Jensen Avenue in Fresno would get another two tires to Selma in no time. Maria looked crestfallen. She had already missed her three o’clock class, and any further delays would make it pointless to try to get to campus this afternoon, even for the four-thirty meeting with her advisor for her major. She was on the verge of tears but restrained herself from having a total meltdown.

  “Go ahead and bring the second pair down here; it can’t take more than twenty minutes,” Larry said, and went into the small office to help Andy complete the purchase order. Maria found her way to the la
dies restroom and tried to wash away some of the grit from her hands. She splashed water on her face, emptied the sparsely filled dispenser trying to get some hand soap, and found some cleansing compound meant for removing the most stubborn foreign materials from her fingers and under her nails. Whatever it was, it worked, and she felt refreshed. She found her way to what was probably a waiting room; it was no bigger than a broom closet, with one dilapidated chair that she couldn’t trust for any purpose. Accumulated grit partially covered pictures of girls with classy bodies hanging on the walls. She exited the room and looked for Larry.

  She spotted him sitting in the cab of his pickup, parked at a distant corner of the lot of the tire shop. He saw her and beckoned her to come to him. She went willingly.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “There’s a great Mexican restaurant here in Selma. I bet you haven’t eaten since early this morning, have you?”

  “Come to think of it, you’re right. Normally I would eat at John’s after the noontime rush, but we got real busy after you left, and there wasn’t time to eat before class. But I’ll be okay. Students get used to not eating on a regular schedule,” Maria said, thinking she had to explain student life to Larry.

  “Look, we can catch an early dinner here at Sal’s, and you can drive home on your new treads,” Larry pressed further.

  “But I, I couldn’t interfere with your dinner plans,” Maria protested.

  “I don’t have any plans. No one’s at home. I’m eating out tonight, but Sal’s as good a place as anywhere else I can think of. You’ve heard of it?” Larry questioned her.

  “Heard of it?” she repeated without thinking. “Certainly,” Maria agreed, “in fact most of my relatives worked there at one time or another over the years. They know me there.”

  “All the better. Maybe you can get your ‘uncle’ a special order of his favorite chile verde burritos to carry him through the night till morning,” he coaxed.

  “I really thought you might be Italian with that name, Mr. Martorano, not Mexican,” Maria chided.

  “What’s the difference, both cultures lay claim to great food!” Larry retorted. “I’m definitely overdue for some salsa verde, muy picante. It’s always good to know someone with influence in the kitchen.”

  Maria was pleased with their friendly banter over Mexican food. She liked Larry’s easy confidence and the way he made assumptions consistent with his sense of himself and his control of the situation. He was right after all. There was nothing left at the college for her tonight, and now that they were discussing food, she suddenly recognized her hunger pangs for what they were. Besides, having a quick meal with Larry wouldn’t be all that bad. And the venue was safe enough, assuming there was any cause for concern, which there wasn’t.

  “Oh, okay,” and Maria capitulated, or acted as though she had at least. “But I insist on treating. I do have some money, you know. And a girl has her pride to consider.”

  “Pride is a two-sided coin you know,” Larry announced philosophically, and then caught himself and sighed. “But in this case, both sides are heads, you know, winners.”

  “Oh, I can’t go to dinner at Sal’s tonight. I haven’t washed my face in hours,” Maria suddenly announced, fibbing for a purpose. She did want to go to dinner with Larry but couldn’t appear too eager. She knew she was attracted to this wonderful man. Sure, he was a well-to-do rancher, but he was also a full generation or more older than she was. And she was a young nobody working her way through college. Why would he be showing such consideration for her needs if he didn’t want something from her? This was becoming even more confusing as she thought more about it, and she readily admitted her uncertainty but had no intention of trying to change the momentum or the magic.

  “If your face was any cleaner, you’d be mistaken for an angel. Maybe you are an angel,” he mused.

  Andy stepped into their view and signaled that the tires were installed and the car was ready to go. Maria and Larry exchanged glances, grateful at the news.

  “Yes, meet you there in ten minutes. Know the way?” she asked.

  “Sure do, but I’ll follow you anyway. We don’t want any more breakdowns without backup,” he reassured her. It was settled.

  Including the trip to nearby Fresno for the two tires and the time to replace four tires with balancing, nearly two and a half hours had passed. Larry had spent considerable time on the radio in his truck, taking care of his farming business from the parking lot. When her car was ready, Larry circled by the office and signed the invoice, keeping a copy to give to Maria for her records.

  They drove on to Sal’s without incident. Nothing was fancy about this restaurant, but as usual in the great San Joaquin Valley, pretense counted for little anyway. The family had owned the business since the end of World War II. Inside, the tables, chairs, and booths were utilitarian; the theme, good food, good service.

  Rosa, the hostess, welcomed and seated them. Larry suggested a beer for each of them, but Maria preferred hot tea. He ordered Negra Modelo. Once the beverages were served, Larry offered a simple and brief toast for a happy conclusion to a hectic day. They lapsed into conversation, and Maria found herself talking easily with her new friend, more than she had with any man before. Larry freely and effortlessly engaged Maria in a discussion that focused on her family and personal history.

  “Tell me about yourself and your family. Okay?” he said, encouraging her confidence all the more.

  “I’m the eldest of four sisters, although I have three older brothers, too,” she replied. “We are a very close family. I’m the first one to attend college, but my brothers have good jobs, and they have started their own families. My sisters want to go to college, too, but we’ll see what happens. In our family, when one of us gets established, he helps the next one. I want to help my sisters all that I can. Over the years, we all worked as campesinos, you know, field workers,” Maria continued, “so we know what working hard is all about.”

  “Yeah, I’m very familiar with the term. Frankly, your people and I use the term in the most flattering way imaginable, since we’re industrious for the most part. No one else I know would work that hard—except the Dust Bowl migrants of the thirties. Most of my friends weren’t afraid of work when they started out, but once they prospered, they hired out the field jobs for good reasons. Preparing the soil, planting seed, irrigating, fertilizing, and finally harvesting are all back-breaking activities. The workers take their responsibilities seriously, are loyal, and can be with you a lifetime if things work out.”

  “I’m glad to know you respect the efforts of my people.” Maria sighed with appreciation. “Most of us are very hard workers and only want what we can fairly earn for a day’s labor. Still, my parents made it clear to me from the very beginning that they thought I was special—you know, a good mind and self-disciplined—so they insisted that I make the most of the opportunities out there. And I like the idea myself. I only hope I don’t let my family down.”

  Larry was taken by the depth of Maria’s sincerity and commitment to her personal goals. He had not thought much about the burden on the shoulders of the first member of a family who went after a college degree, even though he fit that category himself. The dreams and expectations of others were silently focused on Maria, and she keenly felt the responsibility.

  Larry continued the conversation with Maria, and in his time and style offered a bit of his family history. “My family emigrated from Italy at the end of the nineteenth century, and it was real tough for many years. I come from a farming family. We went through pretty much what your family is experiencing now.

  “At some point in time, we’ll all run out of land or water, or both, but before that happens, your family should have a decent chance to improve its fortune. Supporting each other and pulling together makes for a very strong unit. This is the value of what you’re doing now and what our ancestors did over the past several decades.” He smiled and gazed at Maria, suddenly noticing that she was crying.

/>   “Did I say something to offend you?” he asked, in a soft but worried voice.

  “Oh, no, and I’m so sorry for showing my emotions. I’ve enjoyed the evening so much; I had no idea. It’s half past nine. I’m already late, and my mother will be worried sick about me. I hope you don’t mind, but I have to get on home now. I had no idea it was this late.”

  Truth be known, neither did Larry, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He was thoroughly taken by everything he learned about Maria. He was beginning to develop a keen affection for her.

  “Where’s your home?” he asked.

  “In Tulare, off Paige Avenue,” she answered.

  “That’s really not far from here. I have to get to Tipton tonight. I’ll follow you to your house and explain to your mother what happened so she won’t be upset with you,” he suggested.

  “I can’t put you to that much trouble, and believe me, my mother wouldn’t understand what you might say to her. I appreciate the offer for an escort down the highway, and I accept, but I’ll be just fine once I turn off at Paige,” she clarified in an emphatic voice.

  “Well, I don’t want anything to happen to you and getting you to Paige Avenue is just fine with me. I can meet your family another time perhaps,” he said, trying to leave the door open a bit.

  “I would like that very much, but let me set the groundwork first. Once I explain how you rescued me, my parents will demand that I ask you over for dinner, if it’s even a possibility that you would come, to say thank-you.”

  “You have my word on it,” he cheerily agreed.

  “And Mrs. Martorano, uh,” said Maria awkwardly, realizing for the first time that she didn’t know anything really about her new friend’s family details.

  “Yes, Mrs. Martorano,” he faltered just slightly, “just like mine, except I’m a Mr., if you know what I mean. Larry to my friends, and you’re the newest one I’ve made. Please call me Larry,” he added, recovering his stride ever so slightly, but averting his gaze away from Maria.