The Night My Car Broke Down

I moved into a big four-bedroom house at the top of Kingsbury Grade on the Nevada side of South Lake Tahoe. I had three roommates, and half the time when I came home from work there'd be a house full of strangers with a live band playing in the living room. Most nineteen-year-olds would've thought that was awesome. Me? I just wanted to go to bed.

I worked as a lift operator at Heavenly Valley Ski resort during the day, and bused tables at Harvey's Casino at night. I was on a mission to save money for my next trip to anywhere in the world.

I worked the early shift at Heavenly where I’d have to get to my assigned lift station before the crowds arrived, making sure everyone was seated in their chair properly.

One day a boy, maybe twelve years old, slipped right out of his chair. I slammed the emergency stop button, then stood there like an idiot with no clue what to do next.

"Help! Help!" he screamed as he dangled about thirty feet above the ground.

We all yelled, "Hang on!" which was pretty stupid because it was obvious he couldn't hang on forever.

His sister tried pulling him back into the chair, but she wasn't strong enough.

We watched in horror until he finally let go.

Thud.

We all ran over. His arm was bent completely backward. I had tears in my eyes while the ski patrol loaded him onto a rescue sled. I couldn't stop thinking it was somehow my fault.

I hated my other job bussing tables at Harvey’s. Most of the customers were rude, drunk and demanding, "Get me more bread. This fish is cold. Where is my waitress?" I wished that I could have been a waitress, at least they make tips, but I wasn’t old enough to serve drinks. I was sick of clearing dirty dishes, so one night after work, I mustered up the courage to quit. 

On my last shift, I stepped outside into the brisk air wondering if I did the right thing by quitting.  Even though the money wasn’t good, it helped to pay the bills. I jumped into my car, turned the key three or four times, but it was dead.

 I turned the key again.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

I smacked the steering wheel.

"Shit."

I sighed, as steam billowed out from my frozen breath. It was too late to call anyone to pick me up, and I didn’t have enough money for a taxi. I decided to hitchhike home and deal with the car in the morning. 

It felt like 10 below as I trudged through the snow-covered parking lot wearing only my tennis shoes. This is a bad idea, I thought, wishing that I had my snow boots. My feet were beginning to freeze as I thought about the book, Call of the Wild, worrying that I was getting frostbite on my toes. I walked past a liquor store and noticed a stretch limo parked out front with someone getting in thinking, lucky sucker!  Just then, I heard a yell, “Hey, do you need a ride?” I looked around to see who he was talking to and realized that I was the only one walking in the cold.  “Um, sure!” I yelled back. I couldn't believe my luck, a ride in a limousine.

A bearded guy, maybe ten years older than me, held the door open.

I thanked him as I slid into the back. I thought about the last time that I was in a limo with The Guess Who, but this limo was bigger, had a bar and was plusher. He told me that he was the pilot for David Crosby of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. My first thought was, wow, maybe I'll get to hang out with the band.  After introductions and small talk, he asked, "Do you want to go to a party at Harrah's?"

"Sure, sounds like fun," I said, wanting to jump up and down but trying to be cool and not to look too excited.

We took the elevator to the top floor penthouse at Harrah’s.

A beautiful blonde answered the door. She looked exactly like Olivia Newton-John.

She hugged the pilot, grabbed my hand, smiled, and said in an Australian accent,

"Hi, I'm Olivia."

I just stared at her.

Then I remembered the giant marquee outside Harrah's.

OLIVIA NEWTON-JOHN

Oh my God...

It really was her.

The pilot didn't mention that it was a Birthday Party for Olivia Newton John. I recently saw her in Grease, one of my all-time favorite movies. I pictured her and John Travolta singing and dancing to “You're the one that I want.” 

We stood in the living room where dance music was playing. I whispered to the driver, “You didn’t tell me that this was a party for Olivia Newton John.” He whispered back, “You didn’t ask.” An older woman handed me a beer, and said, “Cheers.” I smiled, “Thank you, I’m Cindy,” holding out my hand. She shook my hand and said something like, “I’m Irene, it’s lovely to have you here celebrating my daughter's Birthday.”  Her mum and dad were there from Australia along with about twenty other friends.

I couldn't stop staring at her. She was even prettier than in the movies. I silently cursed my genes. Why couldn't I have inherited my mom's blue eyes instead of these boring brown ones?

She picked up a large Styrofoam boulder and threw it at her manager. I was frozen to my spot, captivated, watching the star as she laughed and danced around the room. I was afraid to talk to Olivia or anyone, I didn’t know what to say, they were out of my league. I dreamed of being like her, beautiful and famous. Suddenly, the fake boulder hit me in the face and knocked me out of my trance. We tossed the boulder around like we were playing volleyball. Time flew by and after about an hour, we left the party.

On the way to my house, we had a make out session in the back of the limo. He wanted to come into my house, but I told him that I had to get up early for work. He took my number, walked me to the door and kissed me goodbye.

The pilot flew out the next day but said that he would be back in a few weeks. A few days later, when I came home from work, there was a beautiful bouquet of flowers from him. I couldn’t wait for him to come back. Every night I fantasized that we would get married, I would tour and fly around the country with him and Crosby, Stills and Nash.

He flew back a few weeks later and took me to dinner at the Chart House. He promised he'd call.

One week passed.

Then two.

Then three.

Nothing.

I decided he was probably married...or maybe he'd found someone with blue eyes.

Funny thing is, I can't even remember his name or what he looked like.

But I'll never forget the night I accidentally ended up at Olivia Newton-John's birthday party because my car wouldn't start.