by Taylor Storm
Chapter Eighteen
“Skylark Motel. Best skyline in the America’s best little town. Can I help you?”
“Susan…” The wind was in the background again.
“Listen, prick, this just isn’t funny…hell it wasn’t funny the first time.”
The wind was on the other line, “Susan….” The voice was lost somehow…like they weren’t sure they dialed the right number. Or maybe it was one of Jeremy’s old girlfriends lost out on I-94. I hung up. Jeremy ran the truckstop adult book store out around the turnpike, and to say he had “girlfriends” was the polite way to say it. Uncle Lars always told me to just collect their money when they came in for the hour and not to get involved. If they looked like they were doing something with drugs or what-not, just figure out how not to rent them a room. That was easier said than done, since people think seventy-nine ninety-five rents the time to use the verb and noun blow in more ways than the English language was ever intended to endure.
I’m pretty sure I’m the reason Uncle Lars had to put up the sign that says, “WE DON’T RENT ROOMS TO MINORS.” I had a pretty good idea when I needed to let the people know they just needed to push down the road because we were going to have to shut down the room for an entire remodel and paint job when they were done. Not a perfect system. It’s amazing how well-dressed a junkie can be. If I can see that it’s just a “skank-and-ride” show, then I set them up in Room Eighteen or Twenty. Uncle Lars said if they’re horny enough, they don’t care, and that way we can just hit those rooms with a couple coats of paint every six months or so.
We call Room Nineteen and Twenty-One the smoking rooms. Don’t know what they did before people used credit cards at motels. Uncle Lars said he only had to push the point once because some asshole put the TV through the wall while he was fighting with the woman, and it meant they had to re-sheet the wall to both rooms and re-wire the phone systems. When the asshole saw the charge on his card, and wasn’t happy with the answer about the extra charges, he came charging up here from Sioux City to give Uncle Lars a piece of his mind.
Uncle Lars just about bumps the lamp above my head when he stands up, and he’s got a sawed off shot-gun for special occasions that he keeps tucked in this bottom draw.
He loves to tell the story and I wish I could have been a fly on the wall when that asshole came honking, screeching, and screaming. Uncle just sat up tall and laid the shot-gun over his lap. With the safety on, he kind of waved it around and quietly let him know that he was going to give the guy to the count of ten and then take out his front tire.
The guy was so hot, he was sure Uncle was bluffing. Uncle waltzed around the corner of the desk, backing the guy up with his belly. He gave the asshole a warning shot in the air.
Uncle Lars always has tears of laughter as soon as he gets to the punch line. “Kid damn near wet himself trying to get to his car!”
I wondered lazily to myself how I might look with a shotgun pointing into the air. With Bob’s boxers on, I would probably just look like a crazy old loon, and I decided against the gun idea before I ever really got going.
There was a church van from some religious college here with two rooms. That’s always an interesting thing to watch. All these religious people trying to do one of two things. Either they are trying to pretend they don’t have any hormones and separate the guys and girls, or they are trying to see how dark it has to get before they can sneak into each other’s rooms. Most of the time the chaperone is this old geezer who falls asleep by nine-thirty like the good Lord told him to…well that, and the one skinny kid who can’t get a date. Last night it took until about nine fifteen before I started to hear doors quietly open and shut and open and shut.
I did get irritated when the knocking woke me at two a.m. To say I was surprised to see the curly-haired boy with the church group would be an understatement. I had seen him in the parking lot, walking up to the little blond giving her a pat on her behind when no one was looking. Apparently the open and close doors were done after leaving their key on the bedside table. The boy was all of fifteen and not one day later. He sputtered and coughed, alternating between apologies and begging. Of course, my first words were to inquire on the safety of his friend.
“Yeah I know who you are, but are you okay? Where is your girlfriend?” I asked as my eyes searched the dark corners.
“Uhm ma’am? Girlfriend? I don’t…uhm…I’m afraid I don’t….”
“Listen, don’t stand there at two a.m. and tell me you went out for a midnight stroll alone! I have hormones,-I know how it works.”
The handsome boy hung his head in shame before he admitted to my suggestions.
“Uhm, yes ma’am. She is..well…hey Melli, come here. She wants to make sure you are okay.” And with that, little miss Melli came walking up from behind the van. I looked around for any other set of eyes, but just past Melli stood only one other car. The parking lot was empty, and the laundermat was locked.
“Look, this was a dumb thing for you guys to do. On top of getting into trouble with your church, you really have no idea how many teenagers have been murdered out here in these woods! Do you really think we get all the nice, upstanding citizens here? Hell no! Holiday Inn over there gets folks like your parents. My little motel gets escaped criminals and con-artists, so you two love birds are damned lucky to be alive!”
I stifled a grin as I looked into the surprised, fearful eyes of the girl.
“I am going to let you go back to your rooms this time, but if I see you out again, I will be forced to call the sheriff’s office just in case you get killed, then I won’t get the blame. Do I make myself clear?”
The boy jumped and assured me he would take her straight to his room before locking himself safe and sound into the boys’ room. “We won’t do it again. EVER. We promise!”
I had tears rolling down my cheeks with laughter as I crawled back into my bed. It was so great to see young love, but it was even greater to take advantage of a teenager’s innocence and send them back to mommy with tales of axe murderers rattling their little brains. Although I enjoyed the evil way I played with the teens, I soon noticed the size of the bed. It was so big and empty, but tonight it seemed even emptier. As usual, the laughter faded to sadness, the joy turned into tears. How could I manage this insanity!
“Skylark Motel. Best skyline in the America’s best little town. Can I help you?”
“Yes, Uncle. Seven rooms last night, if you don’t count RoomTwo. Well, I thought I would take a walk a little after two o’clock when I finish up with the rooms, if you want to come cover the counter and count it up. Yes, Uncle. In the safe. No….no crazies or skank-and-rides for an hour. Sounds good.” He’s a gem. A tightwad gem that probably has a couple diamonds shoved up his butt for safekeeping, but he’s a gem.
“Skylark Motel. Best skyline in the America’s best little town. Can I help you?”
The wind on the other line again. I took a stab.
“Look, if you hang around that truck stop on the turn pike, and someone said that there’s a Susan here, then you’re mistaken. You must have a wrong…”
“It’s Anna…..don’t hang up.” There were tears in the wind. I listened, with my heart starting to race.
“How do I…Susan?...How do I…” I looked all around me, with my hands beginning to sweat. My head was spinning and exploding with memories of the crash and the funeral.
“You quit calling me, you horrible son of a bitch.” I slammed the phone down. I picked up the phone and dialed Mom.
“Hello?”
“Do you have someone in your house with you?”
“Susan, now that’s just mean…”
“No, Mom I didn’t mean it that way…I’m sorry, Mom. I know it’s lonely. I’m working on it. It’s just that….”
“It’s just what dear?” Mom could hear the panic in my voice.
“Someone keeps calling from your number, here.”
“That’s impossible, honey. Are you taking
those medications the doctor gives you for nerves?”
“It’s called depression, Mom, and yes, I take them. Are you taking yours?”
“You know that I don’t have nerves like you, dear. The doctors recommended a physic for me once every couple of days. That and big doses of prayer, warm milk, and tea.”
“Mom! Don’t you get it! Someone is playing a horrible joke, and it’s freaking me out!”
“Now, honey, it’s just like when you didn’t get the part in the school play back when you were little. You went out in the backyard and acted it all out on your own. We worried about you for weeks. The doctor said it was nothing. Have you trid a physic? They are very cleansing to the mind and body. I’m starting to feel more and more peace every day.”
“Mom! An enema a day doesn’t keep the crazy away!”
“Now you’re yelling, dear. I don’t like to talk to you when you yell. It upsets my nerves. I’ll bring you by another casserole. Do you want the corn chips on the Mexican medley or the Fritos? The IGA has the Fritos on sale until Tuesday, but if you really like the corn chips, then I can make a trip down to the Cash and Carry. Liz is on her way there and she said she would pick me up.”
My heart was racing and my eyes were closed shut with tears running down my face.
“Why don’t you take the trip with Liz, Mom.” I replied, trying to steady my voice. “The corn chips would be great.”
Actually all the sitting, crying, and casseroles were making my ass wide enough to need a U-Haul truck if I ever moved back into the house Bob and I bought. I hung up the phone and wiped my eyes with the back of my hands. I grabbed my little cleaning bucket from the storage closet with my keys and rubber gloves. Never want to clean one of these bad boys without the rubber gloves. Who knows what kind of diseases we’re sharing all over America’s best little town.
Mr. and Mr. Vanilla were those type of travelers that never get away from home much, so their habits all stay in place. They practically make the bed for you. It was a sweet gesture, even though I had to strip the sheets. Well, officially, I’m supposed to strip the sheets. Uncle Lars told me to look and check for fluids, bugs or beer stains. If I can’t find two out of three, then see if I could stretch it by just tossing on another pillow case or two so their heads would smell all of the Downy softness.
It always felt too gross to me, so I just stripped the bed. I mean Mr. and Mrs. Vanilla were clean. They even put all of their garbage in the garbage can. There would be another Mr. and Mrs. Vanilla down the road, and so I just always tried to picture their disappointment if they had to come here to dirty sheets. He probably wouldn’t notice, but she certainly would.
Bob never noticed. It was actually our first big fight after we got married. I have to admit, I thought that I had to act like my crazy clean mother, so for the first few months we were together I was a house-cleaning maniac. He would come home from work and I’d freak out if there was a dirty boot print on the kitchen floor or a glass not on a coaster. I started most days taking inventory of my collection of cleaning products. Then I would make a list of all the tasks I needed to accomplish for that day. Then I would clean.
And clean.
“When did we move into the Waldorf?” He growled one evening. He was a greasy mess.
I panicked. “What do you mean? What did I miss Bob! I have been cleaning like crazy all day long and now you come home and find dirt that’s been trampled by hundreds?”
Bob yelled in frustration and dropped the plate he was holding in his hand.
Actually, “I was talking about the squeaking sounds of cleanliness as I walk across my own damn floor! Floors are not supposed to squeak Susan!”
“Why don’t they give you showers down there where you work. If they would let you shower down there, then I would not have to scrub our shower every morning before I can bathe?”
“Well, I don’t shower at work because I don’t live there. Work is not like gym class, Susan. I get paid so I can have a house of my own with a shower and bathtub in it.”
“Well, this house is a wreck!” I slammed down the pan I was using to cook the fish. It splattered grease on my arm and I grabbed a towel. Now I was even more angry, and Bob topped it all off by saying: “The house isn’t a wreck. You are, because you’re trying to by crazy-clean Martha!”
“You take that back!” I shrieked. Back then all my nerves were still raw about how much I hated the way my Mom and Anna acted.
Instead he took his big, beefy meat hook and wiped it on the wall above where I could reach. “I will when you quit acting bat-shit crazy like the rest of the women in your family.”
“Yeah? Well I wish you could start acting like a normal man like my Dad!”
Bob’s eyes flashed dark in anger. He stomped away and went to go take a shower.
I screamed and slammed the door to our apartment to go have a cigarette and calm down. The thing with our fights was I never could go home to have someone be on my side. They always sided with Bob no matter what he said, and I’m sure that if I repeated back what he said, word for word, they would have spun around to mean I wasn’t good enough for Bob and that I was lucky to have him. Back then, Anna still was able to date some of the guys around church and college that hadn’t been picked already, and she was pretty cocky about her chances of snagging a man and running a perfect house.
I just sat there, pissed as hell, tapping my foot and smoking my cigarette. Then quietly I heard a “click” and Bob waving at me. The deal was that I was supposed to quit smoking when we got married and it was going okay until…well it wasn’t going very well. I grabbed the door and screeched. “LET ME IN, YOU S.O.B.!!!” I pounded on the door loud enough for a couple of neighbors to poke their heads into the hallway. I just started crying again and ran out into the parking lot. I didn’t even have the keys to the Nova, so I couldn’t squeal my tires to show how pissed I was. Also, I didn’t have any more cigarettes or money. The frustration and overwhelming sense of impotence was too much. I wanted to be tough and fight back. I wanted to show Bob that I was not a weak, meely-mouthed girl, but I had no options. He had robbed me of control when he locked the door to the house. Even as he was waving at me, it felt like he was mocking me and calling me weak. Somehow I had taken a wrong turn. Rather than being the strong woman that Bob fell in love with, I had become a weak, demanding woman. I did not like her very much, and obviously, Bob was not liking me very much these days. I remembered how he had locked the door right in my face. I felt empty and lost inside. I fell to my knees and curled up on the curb. I waited systematically going from sobbing to waiting. Finally, when I couldn’t cry any more, and my blood was boiling angry, I got up and began walking in search of help. It was a good way to take control of the deepening sensation of being out of control. I got up and started walking. I blew off steam by walking around the Marina and through the back alleys of the restaurants. It was a Friday and people were all clinking glasses and having a great time. Eventually, I was also hungry, and decided to go back to the apartment and kick him in the nuts or something.
When I got there, the door was unlocked and I was going to come at him with both claws flying. The room was a little dark except a candle on the coffee table. “Hungry?” he asked. His back was to me at the kitchen table. It was a dinky table and he always looked like a gorilla shelling peanuts hunched over that thing.
“You hurt my feelings.”
“I know. I am sorry. Come eat.” Then as I looked up, I saw he had cleaned off the paw print from way up on the wall.
“I just…”
“You’re perfect the way you are. Sorry I screwed up. Just let the bat-shit sisters over the hill keep their screwy ways. I’m not even sure how you came out of that nut-house, you’re so gorgeous and normal.”
Well, with all my eye make-up streaked and my hoodie smelling like the grease pits of chowder houses down off Main, gorgeous or normal wasn’t what I was feeling.
After we ate, he turned up the lights and I fou
nd out that he had cleaned the whole apartment while I was gone. Well, it was dinky too, so it didn’t take that long.
“Baby, I…”
He put his finger to my lips. “We just need to stick together.” One of the best nights of our life was that one….if you’re counting.
All that love; all that understanding. And now all that’s left is Mom and I with the battle of the casserole. She wants me to live with her, but then she doesn’t understand that after all these years I don’t care about coupons or IGA, or even why Mrs. Spencer on Third Street is having her third knee replacement in five years because of the doctor’s mistake. It scares me that I even know that about Mrs. Spencer, because she’s the church organist and I’m positive we haven’t spoken two words in twenty years. I want to stay in my tiny little apartment and rent rooms to weary travelers. I want to dream of better days and wonder about the lives of the people who stop through Alexandria. I absolutely do not want to live with my widowed mother and pretend to be my dead sister, Anna.
Then there’s the whole church thing. I mean it’s great that it means so much to so many of the old people there, and I grew up singing everything. Just not my gig…well at the moment. Bob said we should have been better, but it’s great right where it’s at. Some time after the accident, I began to question my life and its worth. During my darkest times, I would try to imagine God’s decision to take my loved ones, because I had lived such a sinful, dishonorable life. In my loneliest times, cut off from the world, I wondered if my time had been spent at church rather than getting high, would I have lost my dad? Would we still have Anna and Bob? Or maybe, if I had been a godly woman, I too, would have found the end on the day of that terrible accident.