DRIVE AND THRIVE ?

Driving Miss Maisy is driving me crazy. I’ve been doing it for twelve years and am close to having a nervous breakdown. The lady and I are closer than many families. I’d do for her. She’d do for me, but what a bitch, what a witch, she can be.

Miss Maisy, I surmise, has reached the point that she must budget her funds. At one time, even though she has never been a spendthrift, if she got the urge to have a dinner party for 50, bim, bam, boom, she’d do it. Printed invitations, finest caterer, flowers and always a new dress. No more.

A big nite is dinner with me at a cozy French restaurant. Anything on the menu that tempts her, she orders, while I am aware that she prefers I dine more economically. I skip the appetizer and brandy. She checks the check carefully and if there is an error, she will find it. Somewhat of a cheapskate, she tips exactly 15%. Over her bifocals she sends me a silent message. Service, food -- good, bad, or so so. I give the thumbs up or down or crossed and she pays cash.

Dec. 12 is her birthday. Mine is Sept. 15. On those evenings we share small birthday cakes, sit and reminisce. Those are the times she picks me to pieces. ‘Why didn’t you rotate the tires? If you had done it, we wouldn’t have had a flat. I would not have missed Miss Morgan’s 25th anniversary party. Why did you let that sheriff serve me with a summons about Bobo’s barking all night and keeping the neighbors up? Why haven’t you saved up some money in case I drop dead? You’d better tend to that soon. You are not my heir. You’re my driver.’ ‘Miss Maisy, you look out for you. I look out for me. But I do wonder, if I’m not your heir, who else you got? I have never met a single person in your family. You met my sister and my Aunt Bea. How many times do I have to ask you to stop telling where to turn? You don’t know north from west. Get out, Woman. Drive yourself. Call me when you get to New Jersey. You’ll be so lost I’ll have to send the marines to find you. You don’t even have a driver’s license.’

My boss’s dander flares. ‘I used to drive our Buick before you were born. Most lucky Buick owners kept paper flowers in the vase between the windows. I kept fresh flowers every day. Thomas, my driver before you, used to polish that Buick every day. If the weather was bad, he worked in the garage. You are lazy. I don’t know how I’ve put up with you so many years. Benson, just look at the dust on the hood and the rust on the hub caps. I may fire you today.’

I look in the rear view mirror and squint at her, stick my tongue out. She’s quick, returns the gesture plus she hits me over the head with her purse. I growl at her like a lion and in her thin, mousy voice she growls back.

‘Miss Maisy, why don’t you buy a digital clock? You always insist I pick you up at 10 or 11 and you are ready ten minutes sooner. So I come ten minutes sooner and you are tapping your foot 20 minutes before you originally ordered me to be there. After all these years, I barely have time to sleep.’

‘Benson, take me home. I’m tired of fussing with you. Christmas is coming and so is my 80th birthday. I want a fudge cake with chocolate icing, topped with walnuts. Make sure the top is big enough for 79 candles.’ ‘Miss Maisy, you just told me you will be 80, not 79. Why?’ ‘None of your business, but if you must know, I’ve asked Miss Robinson to join us. She told me she will be 80. I intend letting her know she is older than I am. Just get a big enough cake. I am going to count the 79 candles. ‘ I knew that.

Miss Robinson comes in dressed in a becoming blue silk suit. Miss Maisy looks almost dowdy, and several years older than Miss Robinson. I bring in the silver tea tray and best dishes. Miss Robinson says, ‘Maisy, I’m 78 today and I prefer a glass of Pinot Grigio if you have it or a nice Cabernet Sauvignon. You drink your ghastly tea.’

Miss Maisy turns gray, drops her cake plate and falls to the floor. Miss Robinson quickly dials 911 and is so frightened she runs home. As soon as she closes the door, Miss Maisy sits up, winks to me and says, ‘I won that one, didn’t I Benson? I couldn’t help scaring her.'

I hugged her and she hugged me back and we drank the Pinot together.