Ford Escort

2 - Sweetheart

I tapped my fingernails on the side of my smoothie, nervousness twisting my stomach to a point where drinking it was impossible. It was just before two and I couldn't help but glance up expectantly at every person who walked into the smoothie shop.

So far nobody seemed to be "P.F.", or at least they hadn't made themselves known. Most people who came in weren't alone, they were with a group of friends or significant other, sitting together at a table and chatting lightly while they sipped their frozen pureed fruit. I felt a little out of place alone at a table in the back, and I had considered bailing more than once in the mere five minutes that I had spent sitting there.

I checked the time on my phone again, to see it was now officially two. The confirmation only made my nervousness worse. I forcibly refrained from glancing up at the door as it continued to chime, swinging open again and again as people came and went. I didn't want to appear too nervous or curious so I pretended to be reading the specials on the wall behind the counter, just waiting for someone to grab me from behind and put a gun to my head.

"Hello."

I jumped a little as I looked up at the strikingly handsome older man standing in front of my table. He was dressed in a suit that very clearly cost more than my entire wardrobe, and he stood out like a sore thumb in the trendy hipster drink stop.

"Hi." My voice was a strained squeak. I cleared my throat and tried again, "Hi, can I help you?"

"Are you Veronica?" He asked, appearing totally at ease even as people around us gawked at him, the entire building seemed to have gone noticeably quiet.

"Yes." I nodded in disbelief, he looked so familiar and I was sure I had seen him on TV or in the paper.

"I'm Peter Ford, it's very nice to meet you." He extended his hand. I tried not to look too shell-shocked as I reached out to shake it, my own hand noticeably quivering. Peter Ford... I knew that name, where did I know that name from?

"Mr. Ford!" A young man ran up to the table, interrupting our stunted conversation by holding out a napkin and a pen, "Could I have your autograph please?"

Peter nodded at the boy and obligingly scribbled his name onto the napkin before turning back to me and giving me a kind, patient smile.

"Would you mind if we continued this interview back at my estate?" He asked, indicating to the street where a large black SUV was parked, the back door was open and another man in a suit was standing guard outside of it, "I'd prefer our interaction not get too much attention, I wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea."

Finally, it struck me - Peter Ford. He was an award-winning director and actor. A bit before my time, but he still very clearly resembled a younger version of himself, like the one I had seen in one of my mother's favorite romance movies. He was still relevant but had switched to directing around the time I was born, and the movies he made were more of the sci-fi type that I didn't tend to watch.

"Um." Suddenly I was mute, "Yeah, let's..." I stood, abandoning my untouched smoothie and following him out to his car, slipping inside after receiving a curt nod from his bodyguard.

He joined me on the dark leather seat, being careful to keep his distance as I scooted over to the far left side. I felt a momentary surge of panic, famous or not I had just gotten into a stranger's car and nobody knew where I was.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm not going to kidnap you." His smooth voice was oddly comforting, he must have sensed my apprehension. I glanced over to meet his eyes, a nervous smile on my lips.

"I didn't think you would." I lied.

"Can I interest you in a drink?" He leaned over to open a small fridge built into the side of the car, it had wine coolers, water bottles, and cans of soda, all neatly lined up on the shelves.

"I'll take a water, please."

He offered me a cold bottle, looking amused. "You're not what I expected." The way he said it made it sound like a compliment, but I worried it was the opposite.

"We just met. How could you possibly have formed any opinion of me based on less than a minute of interaction?" I asked, taking a quick sip of water to soothe my suddenly dry mouth. He raised an eyebrow at my tone, then went back to smiling.

"You're right, I shouldn't make assumptions." He paused, looking pensive, "How old are you, Veronica?"

"I'll be 19 in a couple weeks." I focused on keeping my voice steady, "How old are you?"

His eyebrows shot up again, and coupled with his smile I almost felt proud, like I had scored a point, impressed him. Regardless of my growing anxiety, it seemed I was managing to come off sharp. Feigning confidence had always been a strong suit of mine.

"I'm coming up on 50 years."

He didn't look fifty, while he was obviously much older than me he was still very handsome. His face was clean-shaven, his salt-and-pepper hair combed and quaffed, his face was devoid of visible wrinkles or age spots. I could see why he had been such a heartthrob in his prime.

"You don't look it." I made sure to watch my tone, there was a fine line between sharp and sarcastic and I didn't want to cross it. As unconventional as it was becoming, this was technically still a job interview.

"Well thank you. You don't exactly look your age either, sweetheart."

Sweetheart... I felt like I should have been uncomfortable with the concept of a much older man, and a stranger at that, calling me a pet name. There was just something about his calm, confident way of speaking that kept me at ease.

"Do you interview all potential employees at your estate?" I asked, turning to glance out the window, my nerves returning when I realized I didn't recognize any of the passing surroundings.

"Most of them, yes." We turned down a brick-paved street, leading to a large gated entry, "I find it's easier to negotiate amicable agreements in comfort, and in private. Besides, the majority of people I employ spend a lot of time at my estate anyways, so it's best to just start things there."

My questions ran dry as we passed through the gate and made our way up what I could now see was an incredibly expansive driveway, leading to an equally expansive home. The entire exterior was a pristine white, it towered at least three stories, lined with enormous pillars and intricate molding. It took all of my self control not to look absolutely starstruck.

As we pulled up to the front steps, the driver went to Mr. Ford's side first, opening his door before scurrying to my door and swinging it wide. Before I had even stepped out, Mr. Ford appeared in front of me and offered me his arm.

"Shall we?"

I looped my arm through his as I stood, "I guess we shall."