Part 15 (1/2)
s.h.i.+t. ”You like to talk, don't you?”
She smiled then, a slow smile that reminded him of fine tasting dark chocolate for some unfathomable reason. ”My father would say the same thing. Must be true. But if you don't want to talk, then I understand. But it is a long ride to BC, and I hope we'll be chatting a lot more than you and Freddy there. It'll be even longer if we don't.”
”Yeah,” Tony said in a tired voice. He suddenly realized that he was exhausted. The fear had left him and was replaced with a bone deep weariness like he had been hauling bags of fifty pound s.h.i.+ngles up a forty foot ladder for eight hours straight. He wanted sleep. ”I could use a good sleep first. I'm pretty wiped here. Been driving all day non-stop. There has to be a motel along the way here somewhere.”
”Not afraid of Freddy catching up and finding the car?” she asked him.
”No,” he replied. ”Not right now, anyway. Too tired to give a d.a.m.n. Maybe I'll feel different later but not right now. And anyway, if he did, I'd find him first.”
”Oh, really?”
”Yeah.”
”So sure?”
”It's what I do,” Tony said, glancing at the gas gauge. ”Always been lucky at finding people.”
She said nothing, and when he glanced back minutes later, he could see that she was asleep.
Roughly one hour later, the fastest hour Tony had ever driven it seemed-he turned off on Exit 177. The snow had stopped falling for the moment, and the clouds overhead had moved away to expose a diamond-studded night. He drove on, looking for someplace to sleep, and saw the glowing sign for the Best Western Hotel. The building looked expensive and a surge of apprehension went through Tony. Where the h.e.l.l was the Comfort Inn when you needed it? Then he realized that he had an expense account of sorts, and decided to test Mr. Tim's credit line. Tony didn't think there would be a problem with staying one night in luxury.
He parked the Mustang in a well-lit but practically empty lot.
”Where are we?” Lucy suddenly asked from the back.
”Have a good sleep?” He asked her, he peered into the mirror and was rewarded with catching Lucy in a modest stretch. G.o.d, he loved it when women stretched.
”Mmmmhmmmm,” she smiled. ”It's too cosy back here. So where are we?”
”Hotel. I need to sleep. Especially now that Fred's gone. Maybe get some takeout as well.”
”Place looks expensive,” Lucy said. There was a tinge of uncertainty there. Tony suspected it wasn't about the cost.
”Listen, we'll talk about the travel arrangements in the morning, okay? But right now, I tell you what: I feel pretty good about ditchin' old Fred back there. And I think you had something to do with that. So, I think I can spring for your own room. That okay?”
Lucy's mouth dropped open. ”But this place...”
”Hey,” Tony interrupted. ”I'm not cheap while on the road. But if it makes you feel better, I'll be looking for a pizza place or something nearby. Doubt if the restaurant in this place is open now anyway.”
”What time is it?”
He realized he was blocking the dash clock. ”Almost 11:30. Time sure as h.e.l.l went fast. Jesus, I'm wiped. Could've sworn that it would have taken longer than this, too. So, anyway, you want that room or not? No strings attached. You can have it on the other side of the hotel if you feel better about it.”
”Thank you, Anthony.” Lucy said with an appreciative smile. It was bright like the light under a closed door. ”I can really have my own room?”
”Yeah,” he said, smiling back but nowhere near as cute. ”Let's go.”
Lucy sat for a moment. ”Okay!” she finally let out in an adorable burst. ”I guess I can always run out on you in the morning, too, if I want.”
Tony nodded at this. ”If you want.”
He hoped she didn't, though.
They got out of the car, and Tony retrieved his bag from the trunk. He noticed then for the first time that Lucy carried no bag. Strange, but he kept the thought to himself as he offered the room free and full of nothing but good will. He didn't need a background check on the young woman. He had a good feeling around her, and if there were a story, then he would wait until she felt comfortable enough to tell him. And truthfully, with the pa.s.sing of the day, the need for pure, uninterrupted sleep, the grizzly bear kind, was the only thing Tony wanted.
They signed in minutes later, obtained different rooms in opposing wings and parted ways in the main lobby. Tony walked down the soft illuminated corridor of the second floor, appreciating the stillness of the place. He liked staying in hotels when he could. There was something comforting about it. Some folks didn't care for sleeping in beds people might've f.u.c.ked in the night before, but Tony had no problem at all. Once in a while, he was one of those people.
He arrived at his door and used the pa.s.skey to unlock it. He flicked on the lights once inside and stepped out of his shoes, closing the door behind him. Two double beds covered in brown, soft-looking comforters stood before him. A beautiful hardwood set of dressers, night tables and closets filled the rest of the room. A big flat screen was in a corner, and a PC terminal was on a table in front of the curtains. He glanced into the washroom and saw a shower and bath cleaner and much nicer than his own. The towels were as thick as carpets. He would have to take a few to replace the frayed rags he had at home. Part of him regretted signing in so late. One night wasn't enough to fully appreciate all this. He sighed and tossed his bag onto one of the beds and sat on the edge. He faced the TV and decided to turn it on. Late news wrap-up. An irresistible weariness pulled at his frame and eyelids, but he managed to see some of the newscast: some guy down in Michigan had gashed his thigh with a chainsaw while cutting a hole for ice fis.h.i.+ng. Some kid had blown away half his head in a game of Russian roulette and had survived. Another story from Pakistan where thirty people had been crushed under rubble when a bomb went off in a nightclub. Scenes of shocked survivors moved across the screen in a soupy slow motion. Gruesome scenes of destruction. Tony reached out and turned the TV off. Christ. Wasn't there any good news on? He dropped back onto the bed, feeling the freshness of the covers. He felt the downy softness of the bed, and a huge sense of sleepy relief seeped through his person.
He thought about undressing and getting underneath those seductive blankets, but then he was already asleep.
And he dreamed. In the mesh of images that were real and yet weren't, he found himself drifting, moving across a sunny plain he couldn't identify but sensed he somehow knew. He was walking towards a sign, a big sign, billboard size. He could read the words and willed himself to remember them as he read it; it could be a message of some kind. The words were cheery green on white, ”Partly Cloudy”. Then the sign was behind him, and he moved over the brightest golf greens he had ever seen. Forest curtained the edges of his vision. A golf course. He was on a golf course, and the smell of spruce and pine filled the air. He suddenly felt a terrible sadness soak into his heart. On such a beautiful day, in such a beautiful place, how could he feel anything but good? He could see roman numerals standing side by side, chatting away. Then, they were no longer numerals; they were men. With golf clubs.
And one guy topped off with a black White Sox ball cap was lining up a ball. The other men watched, chatting all the time, and yet the other golfer said nothing to them. There was a smile on his face. He flexed and did a weird little bird dance on the spot, slipping into a golfer's stance and smacked the ball in what seemed to Tony to be the fastest wind up he had ever witnessed. And Tony could see the ball flying a distance measured in a squinting glare, heading towards gigantic white saucers that were sand pits. But these sand pits weren't pits at all. They actually were the saucers you would find at carnival booths, and if you managed to keep a penny in one of those things, you would have the stuffed animal of your choice. And the animals were in Tony's dream except they were spectators behind the part.i.tion ropes marking the course. That was really f.u.c.ked up. Then the golfer was back in Tony's sight. He was bouncing on his knees. He stuck a finger into his mouth and then jabbed it in the air, making mental calculations beyond Tony. His companions were speaking in tongues now, and Tony somehow understood it to be about the beauty of flamingos dancing along the lakes of the Huron. The golfer had another ball ready to be whacked; apparently, the other guys were merely supporters. He took aim with his club, which was a mallet now, and did the same little dance as before. And then he swung.
And missed.
The mallet flew from the man's grasp like a dove bursting from a cage and flew into the sun. The men behind him were numerals, again, now, and the chatter of the stuffed animals on the side-line grew louder and louder, their b.u.t.ton eyes gla.s.sy and staring.
”AND ITS ALL YOUR f.u.c.kING FAULT!” the golfer suddenly shrieked at Tony.
He woke.
He was still dressed but had s.h.i.+fted in his sleep onto his belly. He blinked slowly and saw sunlight around the edges of the closed curtains. Tony groaned. Nothing like a screwy dream to cap off a sound sleep. He glanced at the digital clock on the night table. Eight in the morning. Tony rubbed his belly. In a place like this, the hotel probably had a b.i.t.c.hin' breakfast. Thoughts of his mom darted around the edges of his mind and made him pause. He would breakfast on something simple, perhaps cereal. He could not control, however, the sudden image of steak and eggs popping into his waking mind. Then, sausage and eggs. With toast. He sighed, shook his head and decided to get moving. He changed his clothes, and did not shave. In a minute, he was walking down the corridor towards the restaurant.
She was waiting for him in the main lobby, dressed in the same clothes. ”Good morning,” she said brightly. ”Going to breakfast?”
”Morning. And yeah, I am.”
”Can I join you?”
”Sure, though you might be paying for this one. Your own, that is. Not mine.” Generosity was one thing, but some people, after tasting too much of that particular sweet, turned into parasites. He had no desire to have this one leech off of him, cute as she might be.
”Actually, I was going to offer to pay for yours,” Lucy informed him, her shoulders swinging to and fro.
Tony's surprise showed on his face. ”Really?”
”Yes, I have money.”
”You said so before.”
”Then, shall we?”
Tony dipped his head in the direction they were to go. They moved into a pristine dining room covered in so much white that Tony felt the roof must have been rolled back during the night to let the snow in. Silverware glistened and the crystal sparkled. A waitress in an exceptionally sharp-looking black and white uniform brought them menus. Tony ordered Sugar Crisps and toast. Lucy ordered the continental breakfast. The waitress took their orders and thanked them, the barest of a French accent sweetening her words.
”I like the way she talks,” Lucy said after the woman was gone.