A Blue Ridge Romance

Chapter 1

Hidden deep in the heart of Appalachia sits a mixture enriched through history. Within these Virginia mountains is a range known as the Blueridge Mountains. From the simple days of farmers trying to settle the land to the present, where lovers flock to see the sun rise and set over the range, the Blue Ridge Mountains cascade with magic unlike anywhere.

Not far from the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains is Fort Lee, located in Richmond, Virginia. Soldiers from coast to coast come to this historic Army base to serve their country. One tall, dark, and handsome soldier from Chesapeake, West Virginia, Memphis Haynes, is nearing the end of his military tour.

Unwilling to return home to the small town, where there are no career opportunities since the coal mines are shutting down, Memphis seeks employment in midsize communities outside Charlottesville. The hustle and bustle of a major college city breathes new life into the young man’s life.

Memphis is a well-built man in his 20s sporting a high-and-tight military buzz cut; his muscles are slightly visible through his dress clothes. Carrying around a vanilla file folder of resumes, Memphis applies to the UVA Police Department and a few independently owned automotive repair facilities. As the late humid August air blows gently, Memphis’s resolve begins to wane.

Walking into one last location, Memphis hears the crunch of loose gravel under his shoes; a bird perches on the corner of the building. Hit by a blast of A/C, Memphis walks to the receptionist’s desk and clears his throat.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?” The dark brunette with wire-frame glasses greets.

Memphis takes a resume from the folder in a deep, dry voice, “Hello. I was curious to see if y’all are hiring. If you are, then I would like to drop off my resume and fill out an application for the garage if you need any other mechanics.”

Opening a desk drawer, the attractive young lady pinches an application between her well-manicured fingers; the receptionist gently hands over the paperwork with a pen in her other hand.

“Here ya go, sweetness. Fill this out, and I will give it to my boss. He’s on a conference call, but if you could wait, I might be able to squeeze you in between his sales meeting.”

“Excellent, yes, thank you!”

Memphis picks up the paperwork and sits at a glass table. Slowly filling every section, the older, gray-haired dealership owner with a slight beard watches Memphis from the door. Leaning against the doorframe, the owner sees something in Memphis that reminds him of his return home from Vietnam. The elderly gentleman takes it upon himself to saunter to Memphis.

“How goes it?” He asks with his deep bass voice.

Startled, Memphis slightly bounces in the soft leather seat. “Oh! Uh, yes, sir, I am good, thank you.” Quickly on his feet, Memphis grips the application tightly, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to give this to the lady behind the desk.”

Slightly waving his hand, the elderly gentleman reaches out, taking the application from Memphis, “No need. Come with me so we can have a little chat. I’m Gary Cooper. I’m the owner of Cooper Toyota and Pontiac.”

Instantly jolted into shock, Memphis waits until Mr. Cooper turns around, then gulps as his hands begin to sweat. Mr. Cooper’s assistant shuts the door when both men enter the office.

“Tell me, what brings you in today?”

Memphis quietly cracks his knuckles, “I’ve just finished up my tour with the Army, and I didn’t want to return to West Virginia.”

“Oh! I knew you were a military man. So, what was your job?”

Clearing the phlegm from his throat, Memphis brings his hands together.

“I was a mechanic for light and heavy-duty vehicles. I just managed to make it to Sergeant, agreeing to drop down to being a reservist for the next three years.”

Mr. Cooper glances over the application before giving Memphis some bad news, “I’m sorry to say that we’re full up on repair guys. I do, however, need a salesman. I see you worked through high school for a Chesapeake Cellular Tech Explore. Didn’t you say you were from West Virginia?”

“Oh! Yes, sir! Chesapeake, West Virginia, is possibly the most boring and smallest town in that entire state. The college that was there upped and left for Beckley when Mountain Valley State University was shut down. There ain’t much there unless you want to work for the state, which doesn’t pay squat, as my father is a DOT mechanic. Jobs on the river are too dangerous, and the coal mines have been shutting down since I was a kid. My brother got lucky with a job offer in Charleston, but I wanted to get out of there. That’s why I enlisted, but after being in Richmond, I want to settle down here.”

Relaxed in the outdated velvet chair, Mr. Cooper smiles, “I remember when I was at Fort Lee. I grew up around Yorktown way long ago. I was a field medic in Vietnam, but when I came back after the war, I loved it here and became a huge fan of UVA. I tell you what. Before I offer you the sales position, tell me what you drive. I ask because most of my guys here are big into that import tuning nonsense and use their discount here to build their tiny four-cylinder cars.”

Memphis’s face tightens slightly, shifting in the seat, “Well, I drive an American car, but it’s only a V6.”

“Go on…” Mr. Cooper mentions.

“I have a ’99 Grand Prix GT-P. It’s Daytona blue with an upgraded supercharger and wider exhaust. However, while stationed at Fort Lee, I did some work on it when my shift ended. The transmission started to slip about a year ago, but rather than replace it with the same thing, I knew it would go out. I had a buddy help me swap it for a manual transmission from a Z28 Camaro. I adapted a special plate to line up. It took us a few weeks to make the transmission line up properly for a front-wheel drive.”

Highly impressed, Mr. Cooper shoves away from his desk, “C’mon, I want to see this car.”

Instantly struck by fear, Memphis gets to his feet and leads them to his car. They see a few other salespeople checking out the Grand Prix. They scatter when they see the boss coming.

“Yeah! Y’all best get out there and tend to anyone on the lot!” Mr. Cooper calls out with a hint of laughter in his voice. He whistles as he struts around the bright blue two-door special-edition beauty, shining in the sun. “It looks good, I’ll give ya that much. Let’s go for a little ride.”

Uncertain how to react, Memphis reaches into his pocket with a shaky hand and realizes this is his most unconventional interview. The doors unlock, and Mr. Cooper slides into the leather seat. Memphis opens the driver’s side door, buckles up, then shoves the clutch to the floor and turns the key, bringing the supercharger to life with a slight whistle as the car idles.

“Oh! She purrs like a kitten! What’d ya name ’er?”

“I’m sorry. Name her?” Memphis mentions feeling unsure of how to react.

Mr. Cooper places a hand over his eyes. “You young people today. Every vehicle has a personality as an extension of its driver. So, while we’re out, think of a good, strong name for your car, and I’ll give you the sales job. I know, I know, you came in hoping to snag a mechanic job, but I have enough repair techs. I need a sales guy and buddy-boy; you’ve nearly sold me on this car.”

Placing the carbon-fiber shifter in Reverse, Memphis twists his head, unsure of his people skills. As the Grand Prix smoothly backs up and turns for the exit, Memphis lets the car drag out first gear until he sees the coast is clear to pull out.

“Get on it, son! I want to feel what this thing can do. You said it has a supercharger, light this baby up! We’re men; wind them gears!” Mr. Cooper says, wanting to see if Memphis is lying about his car.

“Yes, sir!”

From second gear, Memphis pushes the accelerator to the floor, power shifting until they reach a turn, which forces Memphis to slow down. After the turn, Mr. Cooper notices a car he knows heading toward the dealership.

In a huff, Mr. Cooper places a hand on Memphis’s shoulder, “Turn it around; I need to get back to the lot. I won’t lie; this is an impressive car. I’d say it could keep up with my Olds 4-4-2.”

“Dude! You have a 442? That’s sick, sir,” Memphis lets out in excitement.

“Yes. It’s been fully restored and has under 5,000 original miles, with a Hugger Orange paint job to boot. One weekend, maybe I could convince you to house-sit when I take my wife on vacation, but that depends on what name you’ve come up with for this car.”

They laugh before Memphis quickly thinks of one, “How about I call her Jasmine? I loved Aladdin as a kid, and the blue kind of matches hers.”

A puzzling look freezes on Mr. Cooper’s face, but after a few seconds, he replies, “I love it! This thing purrs like a kitten, screams like a tiger, and suits it perfectly. Plus, that was my youngest daughter’s favorite movie, too.”

They turn around, speeding back to the dealership, and the car pulls up to the sales office.

“So, what do you say? Would you like the sales position? It is commission-based at 6% until you’ve been here a year, then it jumps to 10%. You will train personally with me. I think you can pick it up quickly, and all sales personnel are trained with me to learn the proper way. Here, I don’t train people to lie and cheat people. At this dealership, you treat everyone with respect.”

“LDRSHIP,” Memphis mentions.

Hearing that acronym nearly brings a tear to Mr. Cooper’s face, “Exactly—the same core principles as the army. I need loyalty, duty, respect, selfless sacrifice, honor, integrity, and personal courage to maintain a strong staff. So, again, do you want the job?”

With his right hand extended, Memphis says it all with a firm handshake.

“I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. The sales meeting starts at 0800 hours sharp.”

“Yes, sir. I will be here. Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

After they exit the car, Mr. Cooper’s attention is pulled away when a young woman in stained, grungy clothes yells at him.

“Daddy! You tell me to be here for lunch, and you’re out with this suit monkey. Thanks, Dad, for wasting my time.”

In a huff accompanied by an eye roll, Mr. Cooper stands there with his arms folded. “Hello, Gypsy. I see you’re about two hours late, and you’ve run out of clean clothes. Memphis, please excuse my daughter’s poor manners. Gypsy, this is Memphis, my newest sales guy. Memphis Haynes, this is my daughter, Gypsy Cooper.”

With an attitude, Gypsy extends her arm, giving Memphis the ‘whatever’ gesture, “Yeah, like whatev. Can we go already? I need to eat before I go to work. Like, Brettt has had an attitude all day.”

Quickly sensing the tension and pain between them, Memphis tries to excuse himself, “I’m sorry he’s late. That’s on me; I was bragging about my car, and you know, guys. Once we brag, it’s either put up or shut up.”

“Oh, good God, another car junkie posing as a ‘real mechanic.’” What’d ya do, go make out or something? You’re all the same, all muscles, and you talk with nothing real to say. So, yeah, hi and bye, come on, Daddy. I’m hungry, and I need to get to work soon.”

“Let me take Memphis inside to get him started on his employment paperwork. I’ll be back in about two minutes.”

Unwilling to wait, Gypsy flips her hair, turns, and walks away. “Yeah, whatever! Go diddle with your cars. I have a job to get to. I’ll hit up a Dollar Menu; bye, Daddy.”

Gypsy doesn’t waste time getting into her banged-up Toyota beater, leaving tire marks as she drives off the lot without yielding to traffic. Memphis and Mr. Cooper stand there until she’s out of sight.

“Let me apologize for Gypsy. I remember when she used to be so much better than she is now.”

“She certainly is a firecracker, ain’t she, sir?”

Feeling the sun beating on his neck, Mr. Cooper finally returns to his office. “Yeah. C’mon inside so we can get your paperwork completed.”

Memphis follows him back to the office, where Mr. Cooper prints off the forms and continues to discuss Gypsy.

“About two years ago, Gypsy and her mother had a major blowup. Ever since then, it’s been one incident after another. Kathy, my wife, wanted Gypsy to attend Richmond or UVA to study business administration and go into corporate banking. Gypsy wanted to take some time to do her own thing with the Peace Corps. Then, one night at a car club meeting with her boyfriend, Kathy caught them drinking when we saw them while out at dinner. You can imagine how all that went. We took Gypsy’s BMW, sold it, and gave her the money to do whatever she wanted. She chose to take the money and leave with her boyfriend, who still isn’t welcome in our home. Gypsy is welcome to come alone, but this guy she’s with has a rap sheet about a mile long now. Luckily, Brettt has a sister who’s a cop. She’s done Gypsy every favor possible to keep her from getting arrested with that punk.”

Stunned at the events that led to the issues, Memphis sits there silently, filling out everything, “I can’t say I understand. My brother and I come from one of the poorest parts of West Virginia. Our parents did everything with us. We went camping in the mountains or sledding down the hills in the winter; they were at every football and basketball game we played in and more. My brother got a decent job and finally moved out not long before I graduated high school. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry your family is torn apart right now. If I can do anything to help, I would, but there’s not much I can do.”

“Just being willing to help says a lot. Thank you. You seem like an excellent and strong young man. If I could convince my daughter to give someone different a chance, it would be you. I’ve always wanted one of my girls to find a soldier so that I know they’re safe.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Cooper. I can’t, but I’d be very good. My life is very basic. Outside of my car, I can’t offer much. I have a small one-bedroom efficiency studio. It’s like me, cheap and primitive.”

Mr. Cooper needs Memphis’s undivided attention. “Hey. You can call me Gary going forward. We’re brothers-in-arms. From what I’ve gathered, you come from hardworking, honest people. Now, after a tour of serving our country, you are ready and willing to stand on your own two feet. Plus, you’re staying on as a reservist for a few more years. You’ve earned more respect than you give yourself credit.”

Embarrassed, Memphis signs the last of the paperwork, “There we go, sir. Everything is filled out and signed.”

Getting to his feet, Memphis hands Mr. Cooper everything, “I’ll get this filed and see you in the morning. Coffee and donuts are provided for every morning sales meeting. I’ll see you bright and early; thanks again, Memphis.”

“No problem, bossman. I will see you in the morning.”

Memphis leaves the office. Settled in his car, he calls home and leaves a message on his parents’ machine after it picks up: “Hey, Mom and Dad. I got a job! I applied for a mechanic position, but the owner spoke with me personally and convinced me to try my hand at sales. It pays pretty well, and it looked busy the entire time I was there. I miss y’all. Maybe I’ll come home to visit everyone once I get a few good paychecks. Send Jackson my best. I miss him, too. Love y’all, bye.”

With the windows rolled down, Memphis drives to a local deli, where he picks up a pound of ham and smoked turkey, along with a loaf of sourdough bread and various toppings, to enjoy a cold-cut sandwich at home as he prepares for work the next morning.