MAKING PROGRESS… of sorts (Part 172s)
I’ll spare you the
discourse between Cliffy and me and say it ended with me suggesting that
Cliffy contact Neil (who was the one that sent Cliffy to the parts guy
in the first place) and tell him what happened. I left for home after
that and, as fully expected, there was a cryptic note for me from Elle.
Thursday (it already was by the time I arrived home) was the last day of
school and Elle had been invited to a party put on by the teachers at
the school where she’d substituted quite a bit since the first of the
year. They had “adopted” her and wanted her to be a part of the
festivities. I already knew all of that but what the note was telling me
was that the older girls would be going to Ginger’s after school let
out and Kaye would be picked up by her mother to spend the day with her.
What I didn’t understand was why she had to tell me in note form rather
than face to face. I got the answer when I got upstairs… the door to
our bedroom was shut. She never slept with the door shut even when we
had guests. That was a pretty strong indication of just how mad she was.
I
slept on the sofa and heard her when she came downstairs for her
shower. I didn’t expect to see her when she did and I wasn’t surprised
when she went out of her way to avoid me. What did surprise me was that
she didn’t come down to make breakfast for the kids or for herself. The
last day of school was called “play day” and, basically, that’s all they
did besides getting their report cards. When the girls came down, Jean
(the oldest) proudly announced that she was making breakfast for the
three of them. I observed from a distance and was impressed with how
organized she was. I tried to interact with them but it was clear to me
that Elle had given them instructions to pretty much ignore me. I waited
until Elle came downstairs before heading up to get a change of
clothes. By the time I returned she was gone and the kids were out
waiting for the bus. It was just Kaye and me as I shoveled down some dry
cereal. I made a stab at asking her if Elle had spoken to them about me
and got a direct answer back… “Mommy’s very mad at you…” Elle had
brought down some clothes for Kaye in case her mother needed them and
right next to them was another cryptic note… “Don’t expect dinner
tonight!”
Sometime during the morning I got a call from Neil
wanting to hear my version of what had happened with the parts guy at
the Chevy dealership the previous day. He never once interrupted me
after I started in. When I was finished he said he’d get back to me
sometime after lunch. I didn’t have any idea what he would be doing but I
felt if anyone was going to make something happen it would be him. In
condensing the multiple conversations I had with him, Cliffy and, of all
people, Lynda’s father-in-law, the man who owned the Chevy dealership
that Neil was affiliated with, the simplest way to put it was we would
get our money back. The only caveat was we would have to return the
cylinder heads to Neil that day. The doors to the bank were still open
when I tried to get in touch with Cliffy. Cliffy’s father answered the
phone and explained that he was out on a road call and he didn’t know
when he’d be back. I told him why I was calling and how we needed to get
the cylinder heads back that afternoon. I didn’t hear a response for a
few seconds and asked if he was still on the line. I heard him take a
deep breath and then say he’d bring them to me at the bank and would be
there by 4pm. I never got a chance to say ’thank you’ before he hung up.
I
had Mike, the messenger/custodian, be on the look out for Cliff Sr. and
at almost 4pm, on the button, he was there. He was definitely not what
you would call a jovial person, almost always challenging what we were
doing on the race car. I attributed it to the fact that he’d owned race
cars for almost 20 years and even though Cliffy was his son, felt he was
the only one to be able to do it the right way. In any case, we
transferred the heads to the trunk of my car and I thanked him. Bret had
been forewarned that I’d be leaving right after I got my hands on the
heads. The one good thing in leaving at that time of day was I’d be
ahead of the rush hour traffic leaving the County Center building at
5pm.
I’d let Neil know I’d be to his place before 5pm and he was
waiting for me. However, he wanted me to take them to the dealership and
to give the heads to the general manager. He explained that the man
wanted to check the heads to see just what we’d received and to check on
their condition. It made sense to me so off I went. It only took a few
minutes to get there. There was nothing special about the place. It was a
fairly typical design for car dealerships built after WWII. I was
directed to the general manager who greeted me with a smile and a
comment about me being another one of those “racing guys”. We took the
heads into his office and it only took him a few seconds to see they
weren’t a matching set. He told me that even though they were both new,
one was from the first of the 427ci Chevy engines and had probably been
on a shelf at the other dealership since that time (about 3 years). Of
course my concern was the money… mine, that had been used to pay for
them. When I raised the question he told me we’d have a credit for the
amount. Definitely not what I wanted to hear. I, being somewhat naive,
asked about the $25 I’d given the parts guy. All I got back was a quick
laugh and the suggestion that the next time I saw him to ask for it
back. Then he said he believed the guy had been fired that afternoon. He
told me he thought the guy was being ‘watched’ for selling parts off
the shelf and pocketing the money while ‘fudging’ the inventory. He went
on that the owner of that dealership and Lynda’s father-in-law had
worked at a big dealership in the city and were still close friends.
So,
here I was a little before 6pm with no cylinder heads, no money and no
dinner to look forward to. I walked out onto the showroom floor to take a
look around. There really wasn’t much difference in the 1969 cars from
the 1968 models but it was still fun to look at new cars when they were
all shiny and bright. One of the impossible dreams that most ‘motor
heads’ had was to own a Corvette. The only one I’d ever driven was
Lynda’s and there was a burgundy Stingray on the showroom floor. I don’t
think my feet had stopped moving towards it before there was a salesman
at my side. He told me to slide on in to “see if it fit”. I tried to
protest but he said it didn’t cost anything to dream. Of course I did.
As I looked at the dashboard I was sure it was different from the one in
Lynda’s so asked. Mistake! I’d opened the door for a full blown sales
pitch.
He started with the power of the new small block 350ci
engine that was in it. Right up my alley. He went over how they’d beefed
up the ‘bottom end’ with bigger main bearing caps and larger bolts. I
probably should’ve known but didn’t. He was just starting in on the
beefed up frame for the car when I heard a somewhat familiar voice and
looked over his shoulder and saw Lynda talking with an older man. I
think I might’ve breathed a sigh of relief before calling out to her.
Seeing me, she excused herself from the man and came over to the ‘vette’
asking if I was serious and pointing to the car. I laughed and climbed
out. After explaining why I was there she asked if I was headed home to
dinner as it was now after 6pm. I told her that I wasn’t and the next
words out of her mouth were to ask if I ate leftovers.
To be continued…
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