Consumed- The Complete Works

by Kyle M. Scott

  .

  The Inn, now having been in business for going on seven years, is situated just off of the Pacific Coast Highway - a road known for its travelling youth as much as it is for its reserved journeymen, looking for pastures new. The Inn is of a quietly imperious bent, with palm trees lining its pathways and small, flowering trees, framing its panoramic views of the Pacific Ocean. At night, the call of the ebbing waters can calm the most impervious of souls.

  There are thirty rooms, all boasting a certain quiet decadence. All have wonderful views of the coastline and are cleaned, top to bottom, every morning. Classic art adorns the walls, and we even have color televisions. Our rooms are bastions of warmth and comfort.

  All, but one.

  A very special room. One that only I, my wife Ruth, and some highly affluent guests know the truth of.

  Please bear with me. I can hear the bell on reception ringing. There's no one else on staff today besides myself and Ruth, and she’s out back tending the gardens. I hate to be rude, but I really must attend to this matter.

  I have a reputation to uphold.

  There are two of them.

  One young male, and one young lady.

  Before I even reach the reception desk, I’m greeted by a scent I know all too well, having served many guests who wear the same lingering, bittersweet smell upon their person.

  Marijuana.

  I’ve always found the aroma to be rather pleasant, and in fairness, I have no issue with the recreational use of such a drug.

  To each their own.

  I do not, however, revel in the knowledge that my guests may be illicitly using the narcotic in our rooms. More than once, I’ve had the maid report back to me on cleaning, that ‘roaches’, cigarette papers and other paraphernalia were left scattered about the room, as though shame is an alien concept for these people.

  It makes me somewhat irate.

  Yet I have a job to do, and an Inn to run, so I allow these things to pass. As I turn the corner from the backroom to the reception, I catch my first sight of the gentlemen.

  He is perhaps around twenty five years old. It’s hard to determine his age accurately as his face is concealed behind a mop of long, brown, straggling hair. He wears a beard that reaches down to his chest, and on top of his head, he sports some sort of bandana, illustrated with what appear to be Buddhist symbols. I recognize only one as being the symbol for ‘ohm’.

  He is shirtless, boasting an admiral physique, which I find startling in regards to his obviously bohemian lifestyle. A pair of dirty denim jeans, and dusty, brown leather boots, complete the image of carefree rebellion the young man strives to express. The worn down acoustic guitar strapped to his back seems almost an afterthought, and I wonder vaguely if he can play it.

  To his left, stands his girl.

  She holds his rough, strong hand in her own delicate grip. She is a picture of beauty. Long flowing golden blond hair cascades over her shoulders, her face a porcelain mirage. Her breasts strain against a black t-shirt that features an eyeball with a pyramid. The Thirteenth Floor Elevators is written in strange, molten looking lettering underneath the garish imagery. No doubt one of the rock and roll bands that she has a taste for. Her nipples push at the fabric, full and pert, and I find myself glad that I’m stood behind our waist-length wooden counter.

  The erection pushing against my plaid pants would be most visible to her, and most unseemly.

  Pulling my eyes from the wonder of her breasts, I meet her gaze.

  Her green eyes are already on me, and shine with a mirth that is both alluring and disconcerting.

  Is her amusement based on my less-than-impressive form?

  Is my desire all too noticeable?

  I believe it may well be.

  Should I stand beside her partner, it would make for a merry contrast – the handsome, windswept image of adventurous youth, and the small, pot-bellied balding man, old before his time. We are both most likely around a similar age, but life has been kinder to the man that it has to me.

  Her alien-green gaze draws me in like a hook on a wire. I find I can’t look away. She is truly beautiful, and for a fleeting moment I dream of the lives of these people.

  They are foreign to me in almost every way, but the allure of their lifestyle is one that surely whispers in even the most conservative of hearts.

  “We’d like a room, please,” she purrs.

  I’m startled from my reverie by the dulcet tone of her voice.

  “Excuse me?” I reply, all too aware how silly I sound.

  The girl laughs, and I’m relieved to hear no malice in it.

  “You are an Innkeeper, right?” She asks. Her boyfriend says nothing, but smiles like a Cheshire cat. He’s clearly under the influence.

  “Yes, yes. Sorry,” I stutter, “It’s been a long day and my mind is not my own. Please forgive me. My name is Edward Slater, and welcome to The Oceanside Inn. We have rooms available, indeed. Will it just be the two of you staying?”

  “Hi Edward, my name is Sheila, and this handsome devil to my right goes by the name of Curt. We’ve been driving all night, heading out from Apple Valley, and would be grateful as shit if you could put us up for the night, honey. Another night sleeping in that car and my goddam back is gonna break.”

  She reaches into the pocket of her denims and pulls out a cigarette packet and some matches.

  I almost inform her that there's no smoking in the reception area.

  Almost.

  “Will it just be the two of you?” I ask.

  “Sure thing, Ed. We’re not high-maintenance, man. Any port in a storm. We’ll take whatever you have if that's cool.”

  “It’s cool. It’s cool,” I murmur. “All our rooms are of equal quality, Sheila. May I call you Sheila?”

  “It’s my name, darlin’. I got no truck with anyone using it.”

  Her smile lights up the dim reception area like a burning star.

  Finally, her partner speaks. “Look, no offence, brother, but it’s been a fuck of day. Hotter than hell and twice as tormenting. Can we wrap this up?”

  “Curt!” She snaps. “Be nice to Ed, he’s only doing his job.”

  Curt looks ashamed. “I'm sorry, man. I'm not normally such a bummer. Just really worn out. Looking to lay my head down low as soon as possible.”

  I can’t decide whether I appreciate his candor or feel belittled by it. He wears a charm that's almost as potent as Sheila’s.

  “It’s not a problem at all. I understand fully. I've done some travelling myself in my time, too. I can have you two settled in, in no time.”

  “That's my man,” he reaches over the desk and extends his hand. It’s a gesture that's as disarming as it is uninvited, but I take his hand nonetheless. We shake and he smiles at me. I smile back, my crooked teeth feel as though they’re grinding, as his perfectly level canines beam their youthful light.

  Curt turns to Sheila. He kisses her on her smooth, tanned forehead, eliciting a sultry sigh from her. “Baby, could you run out to the van and grab my wallet?”

  “Of course, lover. Be right back.”

  She turns on her heels, light as a summer breeze, and as she saunters out the open doors, a cool ocean breeze catches her hair. It dances around her form like a living thing. Caressing her pert, cherry buttocks as she walks.

  I turn back to Curt, to find he has his eyes on me. I expect trouble, but find only warmth.

  “She's a fine looking lady, huh?”

  “Well, I...”

  “It’s ok, Ed. I got no problem with other fellas appreciating my girl. I like a man who can enjoy the beautiful things in the world, you know? Should we all only ever look at one sunset, know what I mean. Beauty is for everyone.”

  I find myself at a loss for words.

  “She’s a great girl, too. A whole lot of soul tucked away in that killer body. I'm a lucky son of a bitch and I know it,” Curt paused for second, “How about you? I see the ring on your finger. Is love treating you r
ight?”

  I feel a strange mixture of intimidation in the presence of Curt, though I fight to conceal it.

  “Yes. Love is treating me well. My wife, Ruth, is a wonderful woman, too. We’ve been together nearly three years now. She works here at the Inn. No doubt you two will bump into her. She makes a lovely breakfast and I can add it to your bill if you like. Delivered direct to your room.”

  “Sounds fantastic. Thanks,” Curt pauses, a thoughtful look on his rugged face. “Listen, man...can I ask you something?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  Curt looks over his shoulder, checking to see if Sheila is anywhere in sight. She's taking a great deal of time acquiring his wallet. I assume she’s been waylaid by some matter in their van.

  Probably rolling herself a fresh joint of marijuana.

  On seeing that she's nowhere in sight, Curt turns back to me. He leans over the desk, his poise secretive, conspiratorial.

  “I was thinking of asking her to marry me.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. See....I’ve only known Sheila a few months, but brother, this girl has got me spun. The only problem is I haven’t made my fortune yet.”

  “Your fortune?”

  “Yeah. This guitar on my back...that’s gonna be my bread and butter. We’re heading down San-Francisco way to hook up with the rest of my band. We got a few gigs lined up in some pretty cool venues, man. We’ll be playing some of the same joints that The Doors played! And those cats are legend.”

  I’ve never heard of the band he mentions, but I keep that to myself. “Sound’s great.”

  Curt laughs, “It is, man, it is. We got a good chance of making it, but that shit’s a ways down the road. Right now, all I got is the guitar on my back, a shitty fucking van, a notebook full of songs and a dream bouncing around my brain-pan. I got a few hundred bucks in my wallet and not much else besides. I'm worried she thinks I'm a bum.”

  “Well...she’s with you, and she seems to like you. Maybe she’s not interested in the money you earn.”

  “Oh, no, Ed, don’t get me wrong. Sheila doesn’t truck with that materialistic shit, but still...I wanna be able to support her, know what I mean? Set us up with a nice life out here in the west. I just worry I ain’t good enough for her, man.” Curt stands up straight, looking around once again for Sheila.

  Still nowhere in sight.

  “You ever feel like you weren’t good enough, Ed?”

  I think back to my school years.

  The beatings and the ridicule.

  I see my mother, grunting under the weight of sweating, hairy strangers she’s picked up at some godless, flea-ridden bar.

  I think about my father, swinging from that noose, as the shit dries around his dangling corpse.

  Yes. I know exactly how it feels to be ‘not good enough’. I know the horror of never being good enough to save the ones you love from their doomed path.

  I wear it like a second skin.

  “Yes, Curt. I know how you feel. But you have to follow your heart. When I met Ruth, I was nothing. I had no abode and next to nothing to my name. But I reached out to her, and she accepted my love. Without her, this Inn, my life, would be little but rubble. You should ask her.”

  I must admit, I find myself alarmed by my willingness to open up to Curt. He does seem like a genuinely nice person.

  It’s not like me at all, to take to his sort.

  Life is full of surprises.

  As though on cue, a materialization of my thoughts, Mr. Horne appears from the bar situated to the side of the reception desk. The warming scent of ale follows him. He booked himself a room last night– Room 6 – before immediately making for the bar where he has since been seated, all night long, running over paperwork and frowning in that way he always does.

  The hours this man keeps...

  He approaches the desk, and Curt steps aside, smiling at him in greeting.

  Mr. Horne looks him up and down as though surveying a horrible accident. Curt looks away, understanding that this person is not of his world.

  They share only gravity’s pull.

  “Edward, I want to thank you for the wonderful meal during my last visit. It was exquisite. Your Ruth is quite a cook. Breakfast, too, was a wonder.”

  I smile. “I’ll be sure to pass the message onto Ruth. Will you be staying this evening?” I ask.

  Mr. Horne looks again at Curt. A thin smile touches his lips. “I believe I may,” he says, slowly.

  “Wonderful. I’ll see to it that your room in ready on your return.”

  “I should be returning by midnight at the latest, Edward. Talk to you soon.”

  With that, Mr. Horne turns and strides out the entrance into the dwindling sun.

  As the glass paneled doors swing shut in his wake, Curt turns to me once more.

  “Was that...”

  “Yes...it was, that was Senator Joseph Horne.”

  “Jesus! I saw that fucking cat on the television, hollering all these bad vibes about the Vietnam conflict! No offence, man. You got a lovely little establishment going on here, but isn’t he a little too high-flying for a joint like this? I mean, I'm no hotelier, but what the fuck is a guy like that doing, sleeping under the same roof as a guy like me?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Try me,” Curt asks, grinning.

  “Well, he and I have known each other for quite some time. He comes here on occasion to get away from his world. To find a little peace and quiet, you might say. We cater to him as best we can, and try to provide him with all the amenities that he would find in a five-star hotel, and more.”

  “And more?”

  I smile, feeling fully in control now. “I like to think that when Mr. Horne – and a few of his select friends – visit our Inn, they find a certain warmth and understanding that other establishments may lack.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Curt huffs, “Well, I gotta say, I'm impressed, brother. I can’t stand the guy, but that's some high-rolling cheese you got there. Higher than me, that's for sure. Well...maybe not ‘higher’.”

  I get the joke.

  I choose to ignore it.

  “It’s part of our unique business model. We make room for guests from all walks of life. And treat each accordingly.”

  “I saw the way he looked at me, man. Not my biggest fan.”

  I laugh at this.

  I really do find Curt quite engaging.

  “No, I noticed that, too. But he understands that the price for his privacy is that he must tolerate those that men, such as him, find beneath them.”

  “Like me.”

  It’s not a question, so I give no answer.

  Curt takes it in his stride, “Hell. I like you, Ed. You’re a cool cat. And thanks for the advice, man. I really...”

  Before he can finish thanking me, Sheila comes charging through the door. The red rings around her eyes betray the reason for her lengthy absence, but she seems as luminous as before. Her mouth hangs open in an exaggerated expression of shock.

  “You won’t believe who just walked by me, man!” she exclaims.

  Curt and I exchange a look, and together we laugh.

  “Way ahead of you, baby,” he says, as she falls into his arms.

  I nod in agreement, smiling along with this lovely, vibrant young couple.

  The room I select for Curt and Sheila is situated on the first floor, with a stunning view of the Pacific Ocean spread out before them for that all-important sense of romance. When they see the room, they sigh in unison. Both look very pleased, and I can’t help but feel a swell of sinful pride swell in my bosom. These are surely the finest pillows on which they have laid their heads, since their long journey out of Seattle and into our sunny, life-affirming climes.

  I smile as Sheila jumps into her boyfriend’s arms, wrapping her long, slender legs around his waist and kissing his face unabashedly.

  “It’s beautiful!” She exclaims.
r />   I have to agree.

  “It sure is,” Curt laughs. “But my back ain’t built for manual labor, baby.”

  She ignores his gentle protests, knowing as well as I do that he is relishing her child-like glee. I wonder, fleetingly, what her background holds.

  Does she come from poverty?

  Is her past rent with scars, as mine is?

  Does she hope now, that with her new climate, she may find new hope and new dreams, or is she simply a girl who embraces each moment as though it’s the last grain of sand in an ever-emptying egg-timer?

  I decide that it matters not.

  Tonight will be a night to remember for Sheila.

  For both of them.

  I attest with no shame, to having done my work well.

  After a moment, she jumps down from her man and skips to the huge, panoramic window that looks out over the dwindling sunset. The sea is a dancing fire, and I share her wonder at its majesty, as I have each and every evening since settling here.

  “This is amazing!” She sighs. “I can’t believe we got the room so cheap!”

  “Me neither. What’s the catch?” Curt jokes.

  I laugh, and answer in as professional a manner as I can muster. “This is our finest room, folks. As you can see, the view is breath-taking. The beds are sheeted with the finest linen. Your dreams here will be the dreams of kings and queens.”

  I realize that I am guilty of laying it on a little thick, but I truly do want their stay to be memorable, and that each night should be lived as though it be our last night under the stars in heaven.

  “You know what, Ed...I believe you,” Curt says. He drops into the bed and grins. “These pillows...holy shit!”

  “You’ll sleep well tonight, Curt,” I add.

  Sheila finally pulls herself from the window and, in a moment that I could never have foreseen and has never before occurred, she throws herself into my arms, and kisses me on the cheek.

  I wonder if she can feel the heat there, as I must be blushing.

  I also wonder if she notices the hard bulge in my pants as she presses against me.

  With a nervous glance, I catch her eyes. It appears that yes, she is innately aware of the effect she has on me. For a girl of such beauty and allure, this is most surely a common and unsurprising reaction from any red-blooded male lucky enough to occupy space with her.