Parminder, Stranded

The beamer caught my eye, partly because of the rental sticker on the bumper, and partly because of the petite, dark-haired, dusky-skinned young lady pacing in frustration nearby. Don’t see many BMW’s in these parts, nor people who can afford to rent them. Also don’t see many such exotic beauties.

I pulled over well in front of the apparently stalled vehicle, leaving a cushion of distance so the young lady wouldn’t be too frightened having a stranger stop.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” I said as I stepped from my truck.

“This stupid car has stopped!” (she pronounced it like “shtewpid cah”.I love British accents!), “and I forgot to charge my mobile!”

“Would you like me to take a look?” I asked, still keeping my distance.

“If you would, please!” she almost demanded, “What a effing day! First I have to put up with that silly Sikh ceremony, and now I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with a mobile that doesn’t work. Now here’sGomer effing Pyle to the rescue!”

Well! That wasn’t very nice!

I got the rental company’s 800 number off the sticker on the car and dialed it on my cell.

“Hi! My name is Nick Stafford. Could you please connect me with whoever handles breakdowns of your rental cars? Thanks!”

After a short pause another voice came on the line.

“Yeah, my name is Nick Stafford, I’m calling to report that one of your cars has broken down about ten miles out of Williams on the old Monroe Highway. Yeah, it’s about half a mile west of the Compton turnoff.”

“Oh, no, I’m not the renter, just a guy passing by.”

“Try Parminder Nagra…” I saw her head whip around as I said her name.

“Yeah, that’s it…”

“About half an hour? Ok, thanks!”

As I passed her on the way back to my truck, she stared at me, but said nothing.I had gotten the engine started and was checking the mirror for oncoming traffic when I saw her reflection huffing up to my door.

“Wait! Where are you going?” she panted.

“I’m going about my business, ma’am.” I said, “And the name’s Nick Stafford, NOT Gomer effing Pyle! Your tow will be here in about half an hour. Have a nice day.”

I started to move again.

“Wait! Please! I’m sorry!” she cried, running to keep up.

I stopped.

“Please! You’ve been very kind and I’ve been such an ass!” she gasped,a little out of breath, “Will you please do me the favor of waiting with me ’til the tow arrives?”

She was standing on the running board, holding onto the wing vent.

“Hang on.” I warned, putting it in reverse.

I backed up to within a few feet of her car and said, “You gonna stay out there all day, or do you want to climb in here out of the sun?”

I killed the engine, waiting for her reply. She gazed at me speculatively, giving me time to notice that she looked even better in person than she did on TV, without all that makeup on. Her skin was flawless, and created the perfect setting for her dark eyes.

Finally deciding I probably wasn’t a homicidal maniac, she walked around the front of the truck, her lustrous black hair just showing above the hood, and climbed into the passenger’s side.She ran her hands over the leather of the upholstery and inspected the rest of the interior.

“You’ve kept this in very good shape!” she said, with apparent admiration.

“Yeah, she’s kinda old so I have to baby her a bit,” I let my pride show a little, “but she still runs like a top, and can haul anything I need moved.”

We sat in silence for a few moments. I didn’t want to stare, but occasional glances showed her struggling for words to say. Finally,she must have found them.

“When did you recognize me?” she asked.

“About the time I got close enough to get a good look.” I watched her face to catch her expressions, and because it was a very pleasant face to watch.

“Most people, at least outside the studio,” she continued, choosing her words carefully, “when they recognize me, fall all over themselves trying to please me or get an autograph. Why didn’t you?”

I met her gaze steadily and shrugged before replying, “I’m not most people.”

She waved a hand in frustration and a frown clouded her features,”That’s obvious! But specifically, why?”

I thought a bit, choosing my own words, before replying, “I never understood all that brouhaha over celebrities. I’d venture to say that I’m at least as good at what I do as you are at what you do. The difference is, you do it in front of millions of people, so a lot of folks recognize your face. Why make a fuss over it? Have you saved the world? Have you invented a cure for cancer? Have you built a rocket to help us escape from this mudball when the politicians finally screw it up so bad we can’t live on it?”

I paused for a bit, then continued, “No, ma’am. If I was to make a fuss over you, it’d be because you’re such a pretty little thing and I’d want to date you. I reckon, though, that whatever agents and business managers you have lookin’ after you are gonna be lookin’ to whisk you away from here pretty quick, so why bother?”

She stared open-mouthed at me for a long moment, then a smile burst across her face, “What a refreshing perspective! I’m afraid I always took it for granted that I deserved all the attention people gave me. In fact, I guess I’ve come to accept it as my right. No wonder I’ve been such an ass!”

I cracked a smile and replied, “Well that’d make you about the best looking donkey I’ve seen in my lifetime.”

That got a small laugh, which was more than it deserved, but I was grateful.

“So, what do you do, Nick Stafford?” she asked, with a twinkle in her eye, “Besides telling bad jokes, that is!”

I acknowledged her assessment of my comedic talents with a wry grin and answered, “I develop software and try to keep my little piece of dirt producing enough to get by.”

“So you’re sort of a ‘gentleman farmer’?”

“Hardly!” I showed her the horned callouses on my hands, “These didn’t come from the keyboard. Couldn’t make ends meet if I depended on others to do everything.”

“But, if you work so hard farming,” she asked, genuinely puzzled,”when do you have time to write software?”

“Well, first of all,” I replied, “I don’t WRITE that much of it. I DEVELOP it. The largest part of that is nailing down the requirements so that I have a pretty good idea what the customer wants and needs,from his perspective, then designing the system to meet those requirements. When I do write, I mostly write building blocks – code modules that can be assembled with other modules to make a system. I can build some pretty complex systems from the modules I’ve developed over the years without writing much new code.”

“Doing things that way, the software development doesn’t take much time at all.” I continued, “The rest is time management – or rather managing my activities to fit in the available time.”

“But that must keep you awfully busy!” she actually seemed interested.

“Nothing wrong with that!” I laughed, “But you’d be surprised. I still find time to sit in a rockin’ chair and whittle now and then, or go fishin’ or skinny dippin’ in the creek. Can’t imagine living life any other way.”

“But don’t you get tired?” she probed, “All that physical labor, then doing your other work too?”

“When the other work was all I did,” I replied, “I’d go to bed tired,and not sleep a wink. My mind would keep churning on the problems of the day. Now, I go to bed, and I’m PHYSICALLY tired, but mentally rested. I sleep like a baby, and wake up rested and refreshed.”

“You seem to have life all figured out.” she said, with only a little sarcasm in her voice.

I shrugged, “I like the life I live, but I’m not fool enough to believe that what’s right for me is right for everyone else.”

She had the grace to flush a little.

“Actually,” she said, “I think I’m a little envious! My whole life seems to be run by other people!”

“Oh?” I asked, just to be polite.

“when my agent or the studio aren’t rushing me off to some event or audition or something,” she said, with a hint of bitterness in her voice, “I’m having to attend some ritual or other for a religion I don’t believe in, just to keep my family happy! I can’t remember the last time I did something I wanted to do!”

“When was the last time you said ‘no’ to any of these people you say are running your life?” I asked, deadpan.

She looked as if I’d slapped her.

“I can’t do that!” she exclaimed.

“Why not?” I asked, calmly.

“Well, because, well, you know, my career… my family…!” she struggled, having to think about a set of circumstances to which she had only reacted before.

“Life is a set of choices, Ms. Nagra. If you continue to choose your career and your family’s wishes over your own, then others will continue to control your life. If, at some point, you decide you need to find SOME time for yourself, then you start saying ‘no’ sometimes to the demands that others make on you. It’s a matter of knowing what’s most important to you.”

She contemplated on that for a long time. Before she could comment,the tow truck showed up and we got out to deal with the driver.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Nagra,” the driver said, not really caring, “but I only haul them back to the shop. The company won’t charge you for the rental, of course, but the nearest replacement is back at the airport where you got this one.”

She was about to blow another gasket when I said, “Look, what time is your flight?”

Temporarily distracted, Parminder searched in her purse for her itinerary. Fishing the paper out, she said, “It’s at three. Well,eight past three anyway.”

I consulted my watch and said, “It’s a quarter to three now, and the airport’s about forty five minutes away, so you’ve missed that flight.Why don’t you come with me while I dump this load of feed, and you can use my cell to call whoever you need to and to re-schedule your flight. Then, after you’ve had a chance to freshen up, I’ll take you to the airport.”

She looked me over speculatively, then gave me that brilliant smile that I’d seen only once before.

“All right, Mr. Stafford!” she said, “You’ve got a deal, but you must let me pay you for your trouble!”

I had started to take her bags to the truck, but stopped dead in my tracks and dropped the bags.

“You either come as my invited guest, Ms. Nagra,” I said, “or you find another way to the airport. Either way, I will not take your money,any more than I’d ask any of my other guests to pay for the hospitality I offer.”

Parminder’s lovely brown eyes went wide with shock, “I was only trying to be polite, Mr. Stafford!”

“It’s not polite to treat your host like someone hired to do you a service.” I said, very seriously, “If you wish to be polite, don’t insult me.”

She was clearly taken aback by my response, but said, “Of course!

Again, I apologize! It’s just that, well, in the places my career takes me, everyone has his hand out.”

“I’ll be sure to keep mine in my pockets.” I relented a bit, “Shall we go?”

I threw the bags in the bed of the truck with the feed sacks. The high wooden rails around the flatbed would ensure that nothing came out on the short trip to my ‘little piece of dirt’.

Parminder was on the phone with the airline for only a short time before turning to me and saying “There’s no flight ’til tomorrow! Is there a decent hotel nearby?”

“There’s a motel out on the interstate, but I doubt if it’s what you’re accustomed to.” I said, “But why bother? I have a number of empty, furnished rooms, and I’m sure one of them would serve quite well as a guest room.”

She looked at me speculatively and said nothing.

Guessing at her concern, I said, “All the rooms can be locked from the inside, if you’re worried about uninvited visitors.”

She smiled at me, looking embarrassed, and asked “Are you a mind-reader, Mr. Stafford?”

“No,” I said, turning into the long drive between white rail fences,”I am an observer and I think about what I observe. You were obviously worried about something. A pretty young lady alone in a strange house with a man you hardly know – it wasn’t hard to guess that you might have some concerns about that.”

“I think you are someone it would serve me well to know better, Mr.Stafford,” she said, pensively, “you intrigue me. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who thinks like you, yet what you say makes sense.”

“It’s not a unique trait, ma’am.” I said deprecatingly, “All it requires is that one think for one’s self instead of adopting the thoughts of those around us. Of course, that also means you have to get used to THINKING, a fad which seems to have gone out of style these days.”

As I pulled up into the common yard and backed toward the barn,Parminder looked around with a gasp.

“THIS is your ‘little piece of dirt’?” she exclaimed, following the fence lines out toward the horizon, “What would you call a BIG piece of dirt?!”

I smiled indulgently. “It’s only a few hundred acres, ma’am. Mostly I just raise horses, but I keep a truck patch for the table, and a few Holsteins. They’re kind of switch hitters – produce plenty of milk but make decent beef if it’s aged right. Got a few chickens and a couple of sheep too. I’m sort of partial to lamb, but don’t much care for pork, so I don’t keep pigs.”

I walked Parminder and her bags to the house and got her settled in her room, pointing out the bathrooms, the living areas and the kitchen, then went out to unload the feed. This is one of the reasons I’ve gotten in pretty good shape working this place – tossing forty or fifty hundred pound sacks of feed into the loft, even from the elevated truck bed, is a pretty good workout for anybody.

After I got the feed sacks stacked for easy access to the feed troughs, I went in to wash up, and was pleasantly surprised to find my nostrils filled with some very savory aromas. Following my nose into the kitchen, I found Parminder with her sleeves rolled up and an old apron of mine wrapped almost all the way around her.

“You keep your pantry and spice cabinet very well stocked, Mr.Stafford!” she said, stirring something on the stove, “I was able to find most of the spices I’d find in my mother’s cabinets, and reasonable substitutes for the others. I do hope you don’t mind, but it’s been a while since I had a good lamb dish, and your mention of it got my mouth watering. I wasn’t really expecting to have to cut it off a hanging carcass though!”

I smiled at that. Most people are a little surprised at the meat locker I built just off the kitchen, and how much meat they find there. I guess she hadn’t looked in the walk-in freezer yet.

“If that tastes as good as it smells,” I smiled, “I can probably find it in my heart somewhere to forgive you!”

That got me another charitable smile.By the time I got cleaned up, Parminder had set two places and was serving a delicious meal for the two of us.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t completely abandoned your heritage!” I said as I savored a tender morsel of spicy lamb. The flavor was reminiscent of curry but there were other spices in combinations I’d never tasted before.

“It’s not that I don’t respect my heritage, Mr. Stafford.” she said, a bit huffily, “I just don’t find that all of it is compatible with modern life.”

“Don’t get your bowels in an uproar ma’am.” I said, placatingly, I hoped, “I meant it as a compliment – another way of saying ‘this is delicious’. How you preserve your heritage is as much your choice as how you live the rest of your life. I may have an opinion about it,but it don’t amount to a hill of beans, since you’re the one that’s got to live your life, not me.”

She was silent for several long moments, studying me as I tried not to wolf down the delicious repast before me.

“I can’t get a handle on you, Mr. Stafford.” she finally said, “Most people I can figure out pretty well, but I can’t figure out what it is you want with me.”

“Why don’t you try asking me?” I said quietly.

The obviousness of that set her back a bit.

“Very well, then,” she said, screwing up her courage, “what DO you want from me?”

I chose my words carefully before replying, “I WANT only a couple ofthings from you, Ms. Nagra, and EXPECT even fewer. I want to spend a little time with you, to enjoy your company. I also want to get you into my bed – to enjoy sex with you. I EXPECT the first of those – to spend a little time with you and enjoy your company.