The Gremlins of Fate

“Wait, you’re charging me $2,150? Seriously?”

The service associate behind the counter kept his cool and tapped the customer bill with a manicured nail. “Yes. Parts, labor, shop fees. Your car was leaking oil, so we had to replace the head gasket.”

Like everyone should know what a head gasket is.

Isabella gulped. Staring at the total—$2,150—didn’t help. Nothing changed. With her MasterCard close to maxing out, she had to do something.

He handed her the bill. “I just need you to sign here, please.”

She went for a pleading puppy look, eyebrows creased, eyes soft, and nose pinched. “José, can you help me out here? I’m paying off humongous student loans, and this is really gonna hurt. I’m a good customer. Can you cut me a break? Please?”

José, like someone who had this conversation twenty times a day, took a hard line. “Miss Sandior, you signed off on the estimate. I can’t reduce the price now.”

She tried again, wide-eyed, lowering her voice. “Is there anything I can do? I mean, anything?” Would he get the message? Izzy took a deep breath and arched her back. Playing this card was embarrassing, but desperate times required creative responses.

He took her offer in with a quick glance but held up a pen like a talisman to ward off evil. “I’m sorry. My boss would kill me if I gave you a discount.”

“Even ten percent off would help. Please.” She gestured toward his computer. “Look at my history—all those oil changes, all those inspections. That’s got to count for something. Please, José. Ten percent?”

They locked eyes while Izzy’s heart pounded a dozen times. She sent up a prayer: Help!

José blinked first.

“All right. I’ll make it an even $2,000. Customer loyalty. And I’ll throw in a car wash. But just this once.” He updated the figures and reprinted the bill. A red tint colored his neck and ears.

She blew out a long “Phew,” as she closed her eyes for a moment. With a fervent, “Thank you, José, thank you so much,” she signed on the blank line and showed him her warmest smile. Her top was damp under her arms as she followed him to the cashier. Somehow, she’d won the battle but lost the war. José looked like he’d been possessed by a gremlin and was now coming up for air. After they shook hands, he sprinted back to his counter.

Her payment squeaked through with $10 available credit left. Izzy slumped with relief. Made it! But she’d have to cut back on all the extras, like lattes, for years to come. Not a wonderful prospect. It is what it is, she thought as her heart sank.

Her car waited in the pickup area, gleaming from its bath, reminding her of the fresh beginning of her day seven hours before.

It had started so well, full of promise. Sunshine blazed outside her condo window as she checked her phone over crunchy granola. Her Saturday calendar was full, the way she liked it. Gym at 10:00. Lunch with Susan. Two hours at the studio in the afternoon. Maybe even—if she found the right outfit—Jenny’s party. The boring stuff, like grocery shopping and housecleaning, could wait. This was a day for celebration, not chores.

At 9:40, Izzy blew herself a kiss in the bathroom mirror. Her makeup was perfect for working out, subtle but making a statement. The matching royal blue leggings, sports bra, and tank top made her highlighted hair glow. She practiced a model’s sultry look.

“You look hot today, girl,” she told her image. “Carlos won’t be able to resist.” At twenty-eight, she was looking for a certain someone. Maybe he was, too.

Grabbing her gym bag, her purse, and a bottle of water, Izzy stepped into the sauna of a Tampa June morning. The sun was trying to fry everyone and everything. At least it was a short drive to Planet Fitness, where a joyful surprise awaited. Wasn’t that Carlos’s Ebike chained to the rack in the gym’s parking lot? This was a sign: today was going to be a great day. Fate was on her side now.

She spotted him at once on an elliptical in the second row. Tall. Focused. Muscles swelling as he pushed forward and down like a cheetah on the hunt. Izzy climbed onto the elliptical next to him, acting casual despite her racing pulse.

“Hey, Carlos! How’s it going?”

“Isabella, hi. I was hoping you’d show. You look great.” He nodded and grinned, his mahogany eyes welcoming.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing. She punched in her selections on the console and fell into the warmup cadence. “I hoped you’d be here, too.” Did I just say that? I sound like a teenager with a crush.

He was working through a high-resistance phase, pumping and gliding while beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. She watched him for a few too many seconds. Caught herself fantasizing about Carlos lifting her up in a passionate Latin dance.

Cool it, Izzy.

“Wake Me Up” came through the ceiling speakers, the bass notes throbbing. For a few minutes, Izzy concentrated on her movements, trying to match the rhythm of the song. She noticed Carlos doing the same.

He turned his head to her. “How’s work going?”

“I got a bonus—one hundred and fifty beautiful dollars!” She raised one fist in a victory gesture. “I delivered a killer sales presentation. My boss even hinted about giving me a raise.”

“That’s fantastic! You’ve only been there a year, right?”

Izzy shook her head. “A year and a half.” The elliptical program changed, and her quads complained as she pushed resolutely. “I work hard.”

His program eased up for the cooldown, and he relaxed his stride. “Yeah. Me, too. My boss sees me coming in early and staying late. I’m an architect, and I can get OCD about my scaled drawings and site plans.”

“Right! I lean in at work.” She took a quick sip of water. “But I always make time for play. Like dancing.”

“You dance? What kind?” Carlos came to full attention as if a sergeant had barked a command. He thumped the Pause button. Only Izzy noticed his sudden halt; the others were too absorbed in their workouts. The treadmills and stationary bikes whirled, the lifters grunted, the weight machines clanked, and the music beat on, but for her, time stopped.

“Salsa, merengue… tango,” she said, drawing out the last word. She bit her lower lip. Could Carlos be the dance partner she longed for? After three years of lessons, she’d never found the perfect fit.

He jumped off his machine like a man with a mission. “You tango? I’ve been looking for a partner since Maria moved to Miami. Where do you dance?”

“A little studio off Dale Mabry in Carrollwood. What about you?” Hope flooded through her veins like an energy drink transfusion.

“I’ve been going all the way to Brandon. I hate the traffic, but Maria recommended it.”

This is fate, she thought. “Carlos, we have an open dance session today from two to four. Would you come as my guest? You live near Lake Magdalene, right? I can pick you up at 1:30.” Please say yes.

He spread both hands as if he was opening a curtain. “Absolutely. Let’s exchange info.”

Izzy stopped her elliptical and pulled the phone out of her gym bag. This day was turning out to be more perfect than she’d predicted. Nothing like a tango to bring two people together. Close together. This could be it!

She breezed through the rest of her workout. Carlos waved at her before he took off. On her way out twenty minutes later, she came close to skipping. She pressed the Start button on the Prius, anticipating a splendid afternoon. But a flashing yellow light flared on the console.

The Check Engine light. If she ignored it, would it go away?

Backing out of her parking space, she noticed an oily slick on the concrete. Not a spoonful, more like a cupful. Her car never had problems, and she wasn’t sure what to do. She mumbled a few choice expletives while calling the dealership. So much for lunch with Susan, but what about the rest of the afternoon?

The service department advised her to have the car towed. Triple A advised her they’d have a tow truck at the gym within half an hour. Izzy advised herself to stay calm. She texted Carlos with trembling hands: My car chose this afternoon to crap out on me. Can we try again next week? His answer was sweet: That’s terrible. Sure, next time.

The tow truck pulled in after she’d roasted for fifty-seven minutes under an oak tree in the parking lot. Rick, the driver, gave her an appreciative glance and then winched the car onto his flatbed. She rode beside him as he sang along to eighties rock. When Rick delivered her car to the service bay, they said they could work on it at once—a miracle. But it would take time.

She waited for four miserable hours at the dealership. Diagnosis. Repair. Begging. José’s capitulation. The final painful credit card swipe. After all that, the walk to her car felt like the last mile of a marathon. She dragged her feet in the late-afternoon heat, all the buoyancy of the morning gone like air from a punctured balloon.

The Prius sat cloaked in innocence as if nothing had happened and started right away with no warning lights. She sat there for a moment, while the A/C fought with the tropical heat and the engine hummed a quiet note.

It wasn’t the end of the world, she thought. Not the first time she’d had to pick herself up off the ground. If the car could recover from a blown head gasket, she could recover from this disaster of a day. Maybe Eddie would give her a raise, enough to make a difference with the credit card debt. Maybe she could sell the Ebike she rarely used. Maybe she could win the dance competition in two months… Her spirits lifting, she smiled at her image in the rearview mirror. You go, girl! She pulled out of the parking space.

As she merged into the homebound traffic, Izzy wondered what Sure, next time meant. Just how far could she trust in fate? She drove past the dance studio, its blinds closed, hearing echoes of a tango in her mind. Dancing with José would be heavenly, she was sure.

But one thing she’d learned today:

The gremlins of fate always get the last word, no matter how well you plan. And sometimes, they cost you two grand.