[The story began with Henry, the guy obsessed with Cheerwine, and switches now to focus on Bridgette, who has her own problems. To read the entire story to date, which is continually being revised, click here.]
Bridgette kicked the tire of her red 82 Mustang convertible. "Damn car. I shoulda rented one back in Charlotte. This one is a piece of junk, you hear that, a piece of junk!" With that she kicked the tire again, only she missed and hit the fender, scuffing her red pumps. "Now look at that," she said to herself, muttering a few other obscenities under her breath, glaring at the car, hands on her hips. Looking up, she saw a sign, a green, cheery looking sign with flowers on it, announcing "Welcome to Rose Gardens, Rose Capital of the Southeast." Very creative, she thought. Very, very creative. Probably one dinky flower shop and now it's the "rose capital of the southeast." Sure it is.
Not a car in sight, either. Reaching in and taking her Louis Viutton knock-off purse and the keys from the ignition, she slammed the passenger side door, rattling the car with the impact, and, throwing the purse over her shoulder and tossing her platinum blond hair back, she began walking down the side of the road. The shoulder was still damp from the showers the day before, so when she looked down at her feet she saw the red shoes were taking on mud. Bending over she pulled them off and in her best overhand backyard softball throw pitched them into the front seat of the car, deciding to proceed on barefoot.
It had been one helluva day, Bridgette thought. When she got to work that morning at the Renovare Spa and Hair Salon, she'd no more come through the door than Carmen, the owner, told her to pack her things up and get out. She was fired. Right then. She had a screaming fit right there in front of the customers, calling Carmen every mean and evil name she could summon up, until she saw Ms. Deitweiler's three-year old grand-baby come out from behind her mother and tell Carmen to "go to hell." That brought her up short. Where, after all, would a three-year old be getting such language? She managed to get her things out of the Renovare Spa and Hair Salon only to trip over the curb on her way out to the car, spilling all her beauty products and skinning her knee. And now this. She lit out from town for a drive to clear her head, only to have the thing quit on her outside of the metropolis of Rosedale. What kind of name for a town is that, anyway, Bridgette thought. "I'm SO MAD," she said out loud. A crow on the Rosedale sign looked at her as she passed. "What are you looking at? Mind your own business!" Stooping, she scooped up a rock and threw it at the eavesdropping bird. With a ping the rock bounced off the sign, the crow fluttering away, due west, in the direction of town.