Chapter 8: 6th & 2nd

                                    

                                          
Jacob held the passenger door open for me and I was instantly transported into what felt like another planet. The leather seat enveloped me in a cocoon of luxury, like a memory foam mattress or a bed of marshmallows. It smelled like his cologne, and I hated that I smelled like grease and sweat. I could feel how solid the machine was built just by the noise reduction and how it didn't sway in the rush of air from passing vehicles. It was a tank.
                          
Jacob hopped in the driver's side and buckled up. I searched for my seatbelt, although hesitant to touch anything so expensive.
                          
The instrument panel resembled a futuristic spaceship, like something one would imagine in the year 2700. Jacob turned the engine with the push of a single button. Strips of neon blue light piped around the doors and down the center console. A section of the middle dashboard flipped over to reveal a vibrant LED screen with more controls.
                          
"Where to?" he asked in a chauffeur-like tone with a sincere smirk on his face. 
                          
I clicked the belt into place, handling it like a thin piece of glass. "Near 6th and 2nd," I answered, holding my breath.
                          
Jacob must have picked up on my bewilderment, as he next asked. "What's on your mind?" His demeanor was nonchalant and was just persuading small talk.
                          
I hunched my shoulders inward while observing the array of buttons between us: heated seats, seat positions, temperature, radio volume for front and back. I'd forgotten about my aching feet as the plush seat claimed me as part of it.
                          
"Nothing," I said. "It's just that I feel like my smelly work clothes will ruin your nice car."
                          
He laughed, unaffected by such triviality. He hit a button on his door which brought down the window on my side; a standard feature in most modern cars, but it had been awhile since I was in any. "If it makes you feel better," he teased.
                          
Honest to say, I didn't expect much comedy from a man dressed in some $8,000 tailored suit driving a car in excess of $200,000, but I liked his quick humor. 
                          
Be cool, it's just a ride home.
                          
He maneuvered out of the parallel space with precision, after waiting for traffic to subside a bit. Even with a car as elegant as a gleaming Bentley, NYC drivers didn't care to give any breaks. Jacob forced his way in and traffic had no choice but to allow the behemoth its turn.
                          
"How'd a young woman find herself at a restaurant? Aspiring actress?" he asked, continuing to hold any fragment of conversation.
                          
From focusing on the traffic and the bustling street crowds, I looked over at him. He sat up straight with one hand positioned at the three o'clock and his other arm leaned on the door.
                          
"No," I answered, a solitary nervous laugh escaping my windpipe. "I'm not interested in being an actress. It's just a job."
                          
"I apologize. You're rather pretty, I thought—" he cut himself short.
                          
The car's exquisite stability absorbed every pothole it couldn't avoid, and continued to glide over the pavement like a hot knife through butter. The suspension hugged each ragged, uneven slab of asphalt as it purred its way east along 7th. I always believed an off roader was the more appropriate vehicle for navigating New York, but that idea changed to the leisurely Bentley.
                          
"Thanks," I replied, embarrassment streaking through my voice. I was thankful for the shadows of night so Jacob couldn't easily see my cheeks burning red.
                          
"Are you from New York, originally?" he asked.
                          
"I was born in New Jersey, but grew up in Brooklyn."