Chapter 4: Smoky Pinky

As I cruised into Hicksville town, my eyes wandered, taking in the sights that surrounded me. The town exuded an air of pleasingly old-fashioned, with its shops lining the streets, small restaurants, and houses.

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by the town's unexpected richness. It was a far cry from what I anticipated from a countryside retreat.

Continuing to navigate through the town, rocking my chic sunglasses, a sudden honk from a car behind me jolted me out of my reverie.

"What now?"

I glanced in the rearview mirror, a furrow forming on my brow as I noticed the persistent honking.

Trying to ignore it and focus on the road ahead, the car maneuvered to my side, and the occupants started shouting something frantically while pointing behind me.

"Smoking…."

"I'm sorry, what?" I shouted back, straining my ears to catch their words, but all I got was the word "smoking." Assuming something, I shouted back, "I don't smoke, sorry!"

Furrowing my brow in confusion, I gave them an apologetic shrug, completely clueless about what they were saying. Continuing to drive, another shout pierced through the air, this time accompanied by vigorous pointing. With a groan, I followed the direction they were pointing.

Glancing in my rearview mirror, lo and behold, there it was—the back of Pinky (my pink car) was spewing smoke.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what in the world?!" I exclaimed, "Oh my gosh!"

My eyes widened in shock as I witnessed smoke billowing from the back of my car. Panic gripped me like a vice, and I immediately hit the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt stop on the side of the road.

With my heart racing, I clumsily stumbled out of the car, my heels making the situation even more complicated. It was heartbreaking to admit, but it added an extra layer of challenge to an already stressful moment.

I struggled to maintain my balance, teetering on the edge of a full-blown stumble. Despite the difficulty, I was determined to protect my precious hat and sunglasses at all costs.

"Whoa, whoa, Pinky, hold on there," I muttered, giving my car a dramatic once-over while trying to steady myself in heels that were clearly not made for the uneven road I was stepping into. 

I straightened up, adjusting my hat and sunglasses. I must've been quite a sight—heels on uneven terrain, fiercely clutching onto my hat as if it were the Holy Grail, and not to mention my oversized sunglasses. 

This day just kept getting stranger by the minute.

"I knew Pinky couldn't handle the long hour drive!" I blurted out, drawing curious glances from passersby who probably wondered if I'd lost some screws talking to my car. 

With a sigh and a quick prayer for Pinky's well-being, I fumbled for my phone, ready to call for roadside assistance or maybe Lisa. 

"Ugh, where is it?" I groaned in frustration when I couldn't find it.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my attention.

"Excuse me, Miss."

A couple of locals from the nearby shop and the occupants of the pickup truck, who had been shouting earlier, approached me. They wore friendly yet perplexed expressions, their curious gazes fixated on me and the smoking Pink Mobile.

I greeted them with a sheepish smile, doing my best to exude a calm demeanor.

"Hey there, folks! Um, any chance you know where I can get this... uh, situation fixed?" I gestured awkwardly towards my car, which was now attracting more attention than I bargained for.

The middle-aged man among them stepped forward and confidently opened the hood of my car. As he did, a fresh plume of smoke billowed out. I coughed a little, attempting to fan the smoke away from me.

"Well, this ain't lookin' too good, miss," the man commented, giving me a sympathetic look.

I chuckled nervously, scratching the back of my head. "Yeah, I gathered that much."

"Hey, miss, don't you worry? We got someone who can take a look at your car."

"Oh, really? That'd be a lifesaver!"

"We'll pull your car over to the shop. Hank here's got a tow rope," one of the locals chimed in, offering a friendly smile.

I hesitated for a moment, contemplating my options. Trusting these strangers with my beloved Pink Mobile felt like diving headfirst into a cliff. But then again, I didn't have many other choices or Lisa.

Argh, Lisa. I need you here!

"Alright, I guess that's the best plan we've got," I sighed.

As I stood there, feeling frustrated and embarrassed, the locals swiftly attached a tow rope to my pink car, securing it to the back of their pickup truck.

I couldn't help but squirm internally as I climbed back into my car, sitting behind the wheel and feeling utterly humiliated. My pride took a hit as I watched my beloved Pinky being towed, and worse, having to endure this spectacle myself. The pickup truck moved, and the slow, awkward parade began. We are now cruising at a snail's pace, my car rattling along behind a pickup truck.

Passersby cast curious glances, some bemused, others amused, probably wondering what kind of person I am—a pink car being towed by a pickup truck, with a slightly flustered city girl at the wheel, desperately trying to maintain her composure.

I slouched in my seat, hiding behind the oversized sunglasses.

As Pinky trundled along, me trailing behind like a reluctant parade float, I couldn't help but let my gaze wander. Hicksville is a very nice place, that was for sure. But one thing had me utterly flabbergasted—where were the billboards of me?

I leaned forward, glancing around in disbelief. In the city, I was practically everywhere—on skyscrapers, buses, even on the moon (okay, maybe not that last one).

But here, in the town of Hicksville? Not a single billboard or sign showcases my glamorous model self.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous. How can they not have a billboard of Scarlett Hawthorne, the queen of endorsements and billboards? I'm practically a walking advertisement!"

With a dramatic sigh and an eye roll, I crossed my arms and focused on the road.

...

"Hey, we're here," the middle-aged man announced as the pickup truck and my car came to a halt in front of the mechanic shop.

Without wasting a moment, he hopped out of the truck, and I followed suit, stepping out of Pinky, relieved to have reached our destination.

Finally!

"Thanks a bunch, mister! Thank you all for the help. I really appreciate it."

The man tipped his cap and gestured toward the shop. "No problem, miss. That's Gab's Auto Repairs. You'll find Gab in there. He'll sort your car right out."

"Got it! And what's your name?"

I asked, realizing I hadn't properly thanked the people who'd come to my rescue.

"Name's Tom, miss," he replied, offering a friendly nod. "You take care now. Gab will get your car fixed up in no time."

As I fumbled through my Chanel Classic Flap Trifold Wallet in Rose Clair Caviar to grab some cash, intending to thank them with a little token of appreciation, the kind souls from Hicksville had already climbed back into their pickup truck, waving off my attempt.

"Hey, wait!" I called out, holding out my wallet, but they simply waved and drove off, leaving me standing there, wallet in hand.

"Well, I guess that's that," I muttered to myself.

With my nth sigh for the day, I pocketed my wallet and turned towards the mechanic shop.

With a smile and a grateful sigh, I strolled towards Gab's Auto Repairs. Alone and slightly apprehensive, I pushed open the door to Gab's Auto Repairs, the jingle of the doorbell signaling my entrance into the territory of grease, oil, and a distinct smell I wasn't particularly fond of.

As I scanned the shop, taking in the motley assortment of tools and spare parts, my eyes landed on the counter, where a teenager lounged, engrossed in some movie playing on his iPad. The moment the bell chimed, he glanced up, eyes widening in surprise at the sight of me.

He scrambled to his feet so fast, his expression changing from surprise to something that resembled admiration. I arched an eyebrow, noticing the hint of star-struck awe in his gaze as he took in the visitor—me.

"Hey there," I greeted, trying to muster up some confidence despite the overwhelming smell and the teenager's wide-eyed stare. "I'm, uh, looking for someone named Gab? I've got a little car situation."

"Hey, so, um, Gab might take a bit. He's fixing up this other car."

"No worries, I can wait."

He gestured toward a worn-out sofa that looked like it had seen better days. "You can sit if you want. It's, uh, kinda comfy. I'm Luke, by the way."

"Hi Luke," I replied, giving him a friendly nod. Glancing at the sofa, its cushions showing signs of wear and a suspicious-looking hole right in the middle, I politely declined his offer. 

"Um….thanks, but I think I'll pass on the sofa," I chuckled. "I'll just wait outside."

Stepping back into the open air, I took a breath, relieved to escape the slightly claustrophobic atmosphere of the shop. As I waited, I walked a few meters away from my car and stopped, tapping my foot impatiently. Sunglasses on, hat firmly planted, and my posh Birkin bag dangling from my shoulder, I avoided getting too close to the car, half-expecting it to explode at any moment.