Forever Yours

First Impressions [2]

"Good morning, ma'am." I said finally. Immediately, I wanted to kick myself. Good morning, ma'am... what was this, the 1920's?

"Hi," the girl said, smiling faintly. She was shy, I realized, much to my surprise. "M-my name is Maureen... are you my new driver?"

I'd already established I was the Hoke Colborn of this Driving Miss Daisy parade so I had to go with it. "Yes, ma'am. My name is Ryan Adams. The employment agency assigned me to you as your chauffeur."

Her expression went all confused; what did I say wrong?

"Oh... right. Of course. Well... you don't have to call me that... you know, call me ma'am. I'm not- I mean, it doesn't... you don't have to-" she broke off and a pink blush crept over her face. "Well, I mean, you can just call me Maureen - if you want. I don't want... Well, I mean... that's not what I meant, I guess..."

She seemed really nervous. I wanted to put her at ease so I smiled and said, "I'll call you Maureen if you want me to. I was told to refer to you as Ma'am, or Miss, but if that's not what you want, I am obliged to comply with any of your wishes."

Give me a break. I sounded like a walking dictionary.

"Just call me Maureen. Ma'am... makes me a feel a little weird," she said.

"As you wish. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes." She reached for the door handle. I stepped closer and reached around her, remembering my place- but she froze.

"Here you are," I said. She looked up at me, her eyelashes fluttering, and I swear, my heart skipped a beat or two. Still, the same pink tinge was growing increasingly redder as I stared at her and I felt my mouth turning up into a smirk. It was cute. "May I take your hand?"

She said no and clambered in. I went back to the front and slid into the driver's seat. I cranked up the AC, suddenly noticing how sweaty my hands were - nice, Adams - and switched off the radio. I'd been listening to hip hop but I didn't think the soft-spoken Ms. Carvelli in the backseat could take Dr. Dre.

Maybe Taylor Swift?

I swung the limo around the semi-circle and drove toward the massive iron gates. They swung open as we approached them.

Not one, but three security guards manned the booth stationed to the left of the gateway. This place was in the security league of Fort Knox. They'd stopped the car and performed a quick "routine" search while the second patted me down and verified my I.D. The third checked the car registration, wrote down the license plate number, and made a few calls, Mr. Carvelli amongst them. Once I was given the go head, I had to sign a confidentiality agreement ensuring that whatever happened on the Carvelli property, stayed on the Carvelli property. They took my license. Also, if for whatever reason, they deemed it necessary to shoot me, they couldn't be held responsible.

So it was no surprise when one of them stepped down and crossed to the front of the limousine, beckoning for me to slow. I rolled down my window. One of them handed me my license.

"Maureen Carvelli is presently in the vehicle, correct?" His finger hovered over the Bluetooth in his ear.

"Yeah- I mean, yes."

He nodded, muttering into the headset, and waved me through.

Once on the highway, I checked the scrap paper I'd jotted down the day's activities on and grimaced at my handwriting. I couldn't even read it, it was mine, and it was that bad.

1. Hilton hotel, 11, 5 blocks west/Century blvd. off 405 freeway

2. Yamashiro Restaurant, 12-1:30