This is from Derrick's Perspective
As I walked to the car parked in front of the house, I opened the door for Mrs. Allen. She didn’t acknowledge my presence, but I brushed it off. I wasn’t here for the bitch; Mr. Allen was the one who signed my paychecks. I tolerated the woman for his sake. I wondered how much longer he would put up with her before considering a divorce.
I also kept an eye out for anything that would trigger their prenup, but she was diligent at staying just inside the rules.
Walking around the driver’s side, I put one earbud in, cueing up my “Keep Calm” playlist, and slid into my seat. The soothing tunes helped me focus as I started the engine and pulled out of the driveway. The car was what I called a mini limo. It’s a bit longer than a standard car and handled worse than my dad’s gator of a Challenger, but the back seat was physically comfortable.
Even if emotionally, not so much today. I did my best to block out the heated bickering coming from the back seat of the town car, concentrating instead on navigating the streets and providing a smooth, uneventful ride for my passengers. Wouldn’t want Mr. Allen to get extra problems on his anniversary.
It always took a minute to drive out of the gated community. Then it was 5 minutes to the highway, and we were off to the expensive restaurant I would never eat at if I was paying.
As I continued driving, the gentle voice of my phone’s assistant came through my earbud, informing me that the time for the original dinner reservation had just arrived. I couldn’t help but smile, proud of myself for making two separate reservations at different times. This way, we wouldn’t be “late,” and Mr. Allen would cover the cost of the canceled reservation.
With the second reservation about ten minutes after the time we were going to arrive, I decided to take the longer route on purpose. I hoped it would give Mrs. Bitch enough time to calm down and collect herself before we arrived at the restaurant. I didn’t want any unnecessary drama for Mr. Allen on their anniversary.
Fortunately, as we continued along the scenic route, the bickering from the back seat gradually subsided. It seemed like Mrs. Allen was finally controlling her emotions, much to my relief. I focused on providing a smooth and enjoyable ride, hoping that the rest of the evening would go smoothly for my boss and his wife.
Navigating the city streets, we eventually arrived at the upscale restaurant with a few minutes to spare. I pulled up to the front entrance and put the car in park. Stepping out, I quickly opened the door for Mr. Allen before walking around to do the same for Mrs. Allen.
The transformation was nothing short of phenomenal. Mrs. Allen, having seemingly collected herself during the drive, flashed the sweetest smile and took Mr. Allen’s hand as they walked into the restaurant together. It was as if the entire car ride had never happened.
I rolled my eyes at the sudden change in demeanor and returned to the car to find a parking spot. Once parked, I made my way inside the restaurant. Mr. Allen always kindly covers my meal as well, so I’d reserved a table at the bar.
As I settled into my seat at the counter, I took a moment to glance around the luxurious interior, appreciating the ambiance and sophisticated decor. Enjoying a meal here would be a rare treat, and I intended to make the most of it.
I also ensured that my seat was in direct visual line with Mr. Allen’s table in case he needed anything; I could see it and come over quickly.
As I settled into my seat at the counter, the bartender approached me with a menu of drinks. I politely declined, explaining that I wasn’t drinking tonight, but asked for a food menu instead. He seemed a bit put off by my refusal of a drink but brought the menu with a slight bow.
I perused the menu and indulged in the boss’s dime, selecting three of the most expensive steaks. After all, I rarely enjoyed such a fine meal on Mr. Allen’s tab. With my order placed, I propped my phone up on the bar and opened the next episode of an anime I’d been following on a streaming service.
As I waited for my meal, I watched Mr. Allen’s table from my vantage point at the bar. If he needed anything, I wanted to be able to respond quickly and provide assistance. With a sigh, I chased away bad memories of having to leave swiftly when Mrs. Bitch got angry at Mr. Allen glancing at the waiter, and she chucked a plate at her.
As I sat at the bar enjoying the anime, my food arrived staggered. The bartender informed me that the chef wanted to ensure each steak was enjoyed at its peak. I simply shrugged and started digging into the succulent meat.
By the time I had polished off the third pound of meat, the bartender had returned with an impressed look. He asked if I wanted anything else. A wicked idea crossed my mind, and with a mischievous glint, I asked him for three more steaks to go, along with one of every dessert on the menu.
The bartender blinked in surprise but smiled as he walked away to place my order. When he returned, he was carrying a complimentary platter of beignets. At my raised eyebrow, he explained that he recognized Louisiana in me as he was a fellow transplant. He motioned to the platter, assuring me that these beignets were almost as good as the ones in the Quarter.
Skeptical, I eyed the beignets with doubt but decided to try them. To my surprise, the bartender was right – they were incredibly delicious and reminiscent of the ones I had enjoyed back in Louisiana.
As I savored the beignets, I felt a sense of contentment, having enjoyed a fantastic meal and finding a small taste of home in this upscale restaurant. And as I glanced over to Mr. Allen’s table, I was relieved to see that things seemed to be going smoothly for him and his wife, at least for the time being.
The rest of the evening was spent chatting with the bartender about where in Louisiana he was from and sharing my own stories. He asked when he should bring out the to-go boxes. I told him it didn’t matter, gesturing to the now thoroughly drunk Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and explained that I was their ride and they were footing the bill.
He nodded understandingly and informed me that it would be the last call soon, so I should probably get my to-go order if I wasn’t planning to eat it there. I agreed, and he brought out ten boxes filled with sweets and a large box containing the steaks, all packaged neatly into plastic bags.
As I accepted the generous bounty, I couldn’t help but smile, imagining Maria’s expression when she saw the sugar-filled treasure trove I had acquired for the kids. It would be a pleasant surprise for them, and I knew Maria would appreciate the gesture.
With everything packed up and ready to go, I kept an eye on Mr. and Mrs. Allen’s table, waiting for the right moment to step in and escort them back to the car.
Right on cue, Mr. Allen caught my eye and nodded. Mrs. Allen turned around with an angry snarl but quickly mellowed out when she saw me. I bounced back and headed outside to get the car, placing the bounty of bags in the trunk. With smooth wheel motions, I pulled the car to the doors again, now on the empty parking lot.
Once that was done, I went inside and called the bartender, asking him to get the waiter for Mr. Allen’s table. When they arrived, I paid for both meals, leaving a generous cash tip and an additional tip on the card for each meal. They thanked me, and I walked away feeling like a baller as I approached Mr. Allen’s table to escort them to the car.
Mr. Allen managed to walk on his own, more or less just needing to hold my shoulder for support. Mrs. Allen, however, was tripping over herself in her heels, so I took her by the arm and helped guide her out the door. I deposited her in the back seat, and I could hear her snoring before I even closed the door.
For some reason, Mr. Allen shook my hand and thanked me for being a good guy. I simply smiled and assured him it was all part of the job. With both of them safely in the car, I returned to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and began the drive home, listening to my “Staying Alive” playlist.
The streets were mostly deserted as I drove, so I was extra careful and maintained the speed limit. I wasn’t about to get pulled over on the job or, even worse, drive recklessly and have to clean the back seat when I got home. All the while, my “staying alive” playlist provided a pleasant soundtrack to the ride.
However, as I exited the highway on the way home, the car suddenly died, along with the music, my phone, the traffic and streetlights, and every light I could see in the distance through windows. It must have been some sort of strange power outage.
On instinct, I managed to maneuver the car to the side of the road while it was still in motion. It didn’t make it all the way, so I put the car in neutral and pushed it the rest of the distance.
I pulled out my phone, hoping to call emergency services and a tow, only to find it dead too. Looking around, I estimated we were maybe three or four miles from home. But I couldn’t just abandon my drunk boss and his wife. I could carry them, but that was more trouble than it was worth.
Waiting was the right thing to do.
I popped the trunk and retrieved the emergency reflective triangles and glow sticks from the bag I always packed for situations like this. I placed them on the road in front of and behind the car for visibility, just in case.
With nothing else to do for the moment, I sat down and watched for any changes, hoping that someone would drive by or something would happen. As I began to feel drowsy, I unbuttoned my holster and placed my hand within quick reach of my sidearm in case I needed it.
I prayed I wouldn’t.