DIVINE PROVIDENCE 

by Roselyn Teukolsky

I first noticed it when driving on the 110 to LAX. A car using the freeway like it was his personal Olympic downhill slalom course. In and out of the cars he darted from lane to lane. It made my head spin to watch.

An aside. If you ever want to see part of the lunatic fringe up close, try driving on the Los Angeles freeways. You may wonder why I was subjecting myself to this torture. Allow me to backtrack.

I’m a small-time swindler and petty thief. I use the word “small-time” because I abhor violence. I would much rather separate an old lady from her life savings with a smile than a gun. And please don’t think I restrict myself to old girls only. I’m an equal opportunity thief and do not discriminate on the basis of race, age, sex or gender. Matter of fact, I once lifted a handbag off an honest-to-goodness transvestite. And don’t ask me how I knew.

I’ve even taken a wallet out of a baby carriage. The cute, tiny monkey in the carriage caught my eye, and all my kitchy-cooing distracted the mother. After one thing and another I managed to get into her handbag. Oh please. Don’t start with the recriminations, like how can I steal food out of the mouths of babes. In my experience mothers always provide for their offspring, even in adversity.

Well, getting back to the freeway. I had been in Los Angeles on business—don’t ask—and now needed to catch my plane home to New York, which is the Mecca in my line of work. You know, all those bodies in close proximity on the subways …

I had left plenty of time to catch my plane, and I was making good time, when I noticed Slalom Man, the skier. Suddenly, a car going a cool 90, overtook me on the left, and Slalom Man didn’t quite clear this particular hurdle. His car glanced off the front of Mr. 90 mph and sent both cars into a 360-degree spin. I saw this insane choreography right in front of me, as more cars joined in the fray.

I was lucky. I may live dangerously but I drive carefully. I was able to stop on a dime behind it all. Unfortunately, all four lanes were blocked and it dawned on me that I would miss my plane. I sat back and relaxed. I don’t sweat the small stuff. C’est la vie.

Cut to several hours later. I checked into a hotel near the airport and ordered two shots of Johnny Walker Black to calm my nerves. I turned on the TV and saw helicopters circling above the Los Angeles Airport. Get a load of this—the plane I was supposed to catch had veered off the runway and burst into flames. No survivors.

You may think that I saw Divine Providence operating here—saw the light, so to speak—started thinking that my life had been spared for a higher purpose. Maybe you thought I’d end my wicked ways. Well, you would be wrong. I’m philosophical. I simply reckoned that my time had not yet come. No—I settled into the couch cushions and happily opened the wallet I’d filched from a nice friendly man in the lobby.