Dear Valentina [The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel]

☆ Chapter Ten: The Divine Intervention

CHAPTER TEN.      THE DIVINE INTERVENTION

☆

Columbus, Ohio, 1952

     Honest to God, after taking multiple, determined looks at the map displayed across the dashboard, Mark couldn't tell which exit to take to get off Interstate 70. Sebastian was the worst person to dictate directions during periods when Mark had to keep his eyes on the road; the youngest of the group had remained slumped in the passenger seat of the Chevy, eyes blearily opening and closing, having not bothered to take a single glance at the map in the past thirty minutes. 

     One of his hands left the leather stirring wheel to nudge Sebastian, "You mind taking a look?"

     His head bobbled against the closed door, "It's up ahead."

     "How far up ahead?"

     "Three...three miles." He mumbled, fingers reaching up to scruffily wipe his eyes, before falling asleep once again. 

      Mark huffed a disbelieving chuckle and switched on his floodlights as to not miss the (supposedly) near exit sign. He tried to relax in his seat, fingers fiddling with the knob of the radio, letting Johnny Ray's 'Cry' methodically croon inside the vehicle. Against his better judgement, his eyes wandered to the rearview mirror, peeking into the shadowy backseat. In the farthest row was Leo and Shy, both men slumped against the curved interior, temples lowly thumping against the small patch of glass, with a couple of suitcases forcefully occupying the mesial seat between them. In the middle row, behind Sebastian's reclined chair, was Tony, still wide awake and pinching a pencil in his hand as he carefully reconstructed sheet music that was hazardously balancing on his knees. Behind Mark's chair was David, who had decided after having a couple of drinks with the members of Shy's entourage, to join in on the mischievous, secrete plan for the motel tonight. The only people who knew about it were in this car and the one behind them, featuring some of the band players of Shy's group. Mark knew that if Reggie, Shy's longtime manager (and handler), knew what the boys had planned, all hell would break loose.

     Mark's gaze jumped across the entirety of the reserves behind him, taking in the quiet nature of these very uncharacteristically quiet men, but his brown eyes kept returning to one central figure. Unbothered, sleeping, and delicately poising her crossed feet over the middle of the front car seat was Valerie, the twenty year old currently sitting in between David and Tony, her head resting on the former's shoulder. Blonde strands were loosely unfolding from her elaborate braid, curling around her pointed chin, lips parted slightly. He had come to notice, during their so far short tenure on the tour, that Valerie was capable of sleeping just about anywhere: tour buses, cars on bumpy roads, plastic pool chairs outside motel lounges. He's pretty sure that she, along with his own band's drummer, were the only people well-rested on their journey.