In the rear-view

A minute later I was apologizing to her for asking her to put down the drink.

'That's more like it,' said she. She punched the radio on with her free thumb, let go of the wheel, and began unscrewing the lid of the flask.

The song that came on was Scandal's 'The Warrior.' 'Oh, I love this song!' Sam yelled, apparently so moved as to take her first swig.

I leaned over her from the passenger side and put a hand on the wheel. Meanwhile, my companion tossed her hair, sang along raucously to the stereo, and took her second and third swigs from the drink.

'Look, Sam,' I said, 'we'd better watch out.'

'What? Why? . . .You mean because we might have an accident or something?'

I looked over my shoulder. A Cadillac and a Suburban were gaining on us quickly, despite the fact that we were going at least ten miles per hour over the limit. I also saw something else.

'Well, actually, I have a more immediate concern.'

Samantha suddenly stiffened in her seat. 'No, Alfie--you don't mean. . .'

'Look in the mirror,' I said, snatching the flask from her and stuffing it in the glove compartment. 'And while you're at it'--shaking a box of Tic-Tacs I'd whipped from my pocket-- 'pop one of these in your mouth.'

'Oh, Alfie!'

'Don't worry, Sam. . .everything will be all right.' Yes--except for the fact that we're toast and probably won't get out of jail until we're too geriatric to do anything in bed besides piss ourselves, I thought.

Awaiting us had been a night at a cushy hotel with jacuzzis and wine--and now the lights flashed.