Malibu Motel

by Chaunceton Bird

  On Monday I went shopping for the type of clothes that Alex and Peyton wore. Blue-collar clothing. Clothes that would show Alex I’m one of them. Clothes that make Alex comfortable. I also stopped by the pharmacy to buy more cold medicine. Tuesday morning I was up early. Sleep didn’t come easy. Alex hadn’t specified a visiting time, so I had to be ready all day. At 7:30 a.m. I drove to Einstein Brothers Bagels and picked up breakfast for two. I had coffee ready at 9:00 a.m. At ten o’clock, I put the breakfast in the fridge and changed out of my sweats and into my blue-collar Levis and sweatshirt. I checked myself in the mirror every hour or so to make sure I was presentable. At 11:00 a.m. I figured Alex probably had to take the kids to school and Peyton was at work, but maybe Alex had to swing into Grier’s for something. At noon I ordered enough sushi for two and waited until 1:00 p.m. before I started eating. I ate slowly. I didn’t stuff myself, lest I become lethargic. After two rolls I put the rest in the fridge. At 2:16 p.m. my doorbell rang. The butterflies in my stomach became frantic sparrows as I walked toward my front door.

  Alex was looking toward the street when I opened the door. Hearing the door open, Alex turned toward me with a smile tinged by obvious consternation.

  “Hey Alex, everything alright?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, everything is good.”

  “Oh. Okay. Good. Well, why don’t you come in out of the cold?” I opened the door wider and stepped back.

  “I would love to, I really would,” Alex said, “but I think maybe I shouldn’t.”

  “Haha, what do you mean?”

  “Well. I dunno.” Alex leaned against one of the pillars on my porch, arms folded. “Peyton probably wouldn’t want me spending time in your house, and, to be honest, I think maybe things between us are best where we left them.”

  A lot depended on what I said next. I could not blow this. Alex came over to my house, which probably meant that Alex just needed to be talked into what we both knew was inevitable. I let the silence simmer, then gave it my best shot.

  “Yeah, that’s totally understandable,” I said. “And I get it. I do. This isn’t some Nicholas Sparks book. There are certain realities that we need to accept and respect, regardless of how we feel deep down. But I hope you know I just want to be friends. I just want to catch up on what has been going on in Missoula for the past decade from somebody I trust. But if you’re uncomfortable, I get it.”

  Alex looked down, shifted, then said, “I’m glad you understand. And thanks for not making this harder than it has to be. In a different life I wonder how things would have been.” Woah woah woah. Not good. Alex missed the subtext. I had one more card up my sleeve.

  “Sounds good,” I said, “but before you go, could you help me hang my microwave? It’s just sitting on the counter and it should be mounted into the spot above my oven. But I can’t do it alone and I don’t trust my creepy neighbors yet. I promise this isn’t some trick to get you in my house. I had just hoped you could help out.” Alex couldn’t resist a project. Truth is, I pulled the microwave off the mounts earlier this morning and unscrewed the mounting plates. Nothing wrong with hedging your bets.

  “Ah, Caish, I really should go.”

  “If you really feel that way, I agree, you should go. But I don’t think that’s how you feel. You came here. I think that means something.”

  “I don’t have your number.”

  “Let’s fix that right now.”

  “Really, Caish. I dunno.”

  “Just help me hang the microwave, have a cup of coffee, and let’s just catch up.”

  “Ah, alright. But no funny business, Caish. I’m serious.”

  “Of course not, Alex. There’s nothing wrong with friendship. I think even Peyton would agree with that.”

  Alex finally stepped into my entryway. I led the way into the kitchen and pointed out how the holes had already been drilled, but that I needed help hoisting the microwave up onto the mounting plates once we put the mounting rack in place. I didn’t have an electric drill (well I did, but it was lost in the move), so we used a screwdriver to install the plate (which had the added bonus of taking longer), then lifted the microwave into place. During the lift our arms brushed. Our conversation during the installation was limited to the proper installation of the microwave. Which was as I had planned. Alex just needed some time to build up the courage to ask me what Alex had been wanting to ask. After Alex asked, the top of this tension would blow off and wonderful things would happen.

  After the microwave was installed, I convinced Alex to stick around for coffee. We sat across from each other at my breakfast table. It was in the midst of small talk that Alex asked, “Caish, why did you leave?” There it was.

  “How long until Peyton gets off work?” I asked.

  “I pick up the kids from school at three-thirty.”

  “So, we’ve got half an hour.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I left because California called. It’s always calling. And I had to go become successful. Why didn’t you come with?”

  “Because I had a life here. I still have a life here. I couldn’t just drop everything to go on adventures with you.”

  “And how has your life here been?” I asked.

  “Oh fuck you, Caish. Just because I don’t have money and fancy cars doesn’t mean my life is shit. I am happy. Peyton and I are very happy.”

  I stood up and took my empty coffee cup to the kitchen sink. “I was being sincere, Alex. I’m not trying to be mean. Since you only have a few minutes, can I give you a tour of the place?”

  Alex agreed to a tour. We bumped arms a few more times and I skipped most of the top story of the house and went straight to my room. On our way down the hallway our arms bumped again, and this time Alex reached for my hand. When our fingers interlocked I turned toward Alex and saw that the fight was over. Alex looked at me like Alex used to look at me. Like the time to live was now. I pulled Alex toward my bedroom.

  I said, “And, finally, this is my—” but Alex held the back of my head and pulled me into a kiss that lasted until we fell onto my bed. We pulled each other’s clothes off like they were on fire. One of my pant legs didn’t come all the way off, but we didn’t have time to fuss with it. We were breathing heavy from the first kiss. The fervor almost hurt. We gripped each other’s backs and pulled. Familiarity blended with novelty. I couldn’t get enough. I wanted more. Needed more. Faster, harder, deeper. Our bodies became slippery with sweat. We were sprinting, but couldn’t pace ourselves. Passion swept us. Blinding, deafening, ecstasy. Time stopped. It wasn’t until after we came that I noticed we hadn’t used protection.

  14

  Alex and I laid in bed without talking. Just catching our breath. We were a naked, panting, sticky mess. I offered Alex a cigarette, and we smoked in silence. Then Alex said, “Goddammit, Caish. What did I tell you about respecting my family?”

  “What?”

  “You probably just ended my marriage. There’s going to be an ugly divorce, custody hearings, alimony payments, and gossip for the rest of my life, just because you had to hook up with me. You just couldn't resist.”

  “Woah, Alex. You fucked me. I had no choice. You didn’t even give me a chance to say, ‘No, Alex, we shouldn’t, think of your family.’ Which of course is what I was trying to say.”

  Alex smirked.

  “But,” I continued, “this doesn’t have to mean anything for the other parts of your life. We can keep it secret. I don’t have anybody to tell. So unless your anxious to announce how incredible that sex was, our secret is safe, and so is your precious marriage.” I put my cigarette out. “But, if that’s the route you want to go, you better hop in the shower.”

  “Yeah, good call.”

  “Need any help in there?” I offered.

  “I think I’ve had enough help for one day.”

  “You sure? My shower has two shower heads. One on each wall.”

  “Really?” Alex said. “Maybe you should just show me
how it works. Other people’s showers are impossible to figure out.”

  I pulled off the pant leg that had stubbornly held onto my ankle and led Alex to the bathroom. Alex’s naked body wasn’t perfect, but it hadn’t aged a day since we were last together. Thin and scarless. There were four new tattoos.

  I stepped into the shower and turned on both shower heads.

  “Come on in, the water’s warm,” I said.

  Then we were back at it. The shower had a grippy tiled floor, handles, and a shelf at knee height. We made the most of those as we held each other and wrestled out more orgasms. When exhaustion and satisfaction arrived, we held each other and let the water pour over us.

  After a few minutes of this meditation, I said, “You probably shouldn’t use my soap.”

  “Why not?”

  “Peyton will smell it. I’d just rinse off really well. I’m going to dry off and get dressed. I’ll have some coffee and cigarettes ready for you.”

  “Oh, shit! Caish, I have to pick up my kids!” Alex nearly ate shit slipping out of the shower. Alex grabbed a towel, dried off in seconds, and ran to my room to get dressed. I dried off and sauntered in, letting Alex get another look at my impressive physique.

  “When are you coming back?” I asked.

  “Ah, dammit, Caish. We can’t have an affair. I can’t cheat on my spouse. We can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

  “Alex, relax. First of all, we’ve already done this, and I think we both agree that it was one of the best decisions we’ve made in a long time. Second, nobody has to know. Seriously. I don’t know anybody, I live outside of town, and my house is completely soundproof.” I said that last bit with a wink.

  Alex ran down the stairs and, when we were in the entryway, said, “I dunno, Caish. We fucked up. It’s probably best if we forget this happened. We can’t do this. It’s not right.”

  “You know that’s not true. This was more right than anything you’ve done in the past ten years. Come back when it feels right. I’ll be waiting. Any time, day or night.”

  As Alex was walking out the door, I remembered that we didn’t have each other’s number and called after Alex, “Oh, Alex, we didn’t get each other’s number.”

  “It’s probably better that way. See ya, Caish.”

  As I watched Alex drive away I realized I forgot to mention that I had a relentless cold and probably just shared it. But Alex had to have noticed and figured it was a risk worth taking. Whatever, nothing too serious. I’ll mention it tomorrow. Or whenever Alex comes back.

  I lit a cigarette and laid on my couch. Good Lord that went well. But how long would it take Alex to shake off that guilt and get back here for more? We have one life to live, you can’t spend it worried about what other people think. If something or someone brings you happiness, indulge. Someday you’ll be nearing one hundred years old, and you’ll wish you would have lived more when you had the chance. Back when your body was tight, energetic, and rearing for more. If you aren’t regularly having sex while your body still can, you are wasting God’s greatest gift.

  Alex still hadn’t responded to my friend request on Facebook. For the next couple hours I browsed social media. Everybody’s life in Malibu looked perfect. The house parties, yacht rides, and car rallies did not wait for my return. They marched on without me. I was cooped up in a cheap house in Montana, depressingly sober, and lonely. I had lost my house. My cars were gone. And, for the most part, so was my wealth. No money led to no Malibu. No Malibu led to no cocaine. And no cocaine led to no models. All stolen from me. Robbed by Jamie Fucking Lowell and Penelope Goddamn Perez. Worthless, despicable, con artists. Well, not entirely worthless. I guess at this point they were each worth about fifteen million dollars.

  I called Agent Palmer for an update on my case. It had been several months since we last spoke, and a couple of years since Jamie and Penn robbed me.

  “Agent Palmer, FBI,” is how Agent Palmer answered his phone.

  “Agent Palmer, this is Caish Calloway, how are you?”

  “Hi, Caish, I’m doing well. How are you?”

  “I’m hangin’ in there.”

  “I heard you had a little incident in Pismo and that you’re living in Montana now, is that right?” Of course Agent Palmer knew about that. We hadn’t talked since before the accident but my face was all over the news. So was a video of the entire accident and its aftermath—including the part where I showered myself in cocaine attempting to throw that Ziploc bag into the bushes. Apparently the truck that was blocking the off ramp (and which was responsible for causing the accident) had a dash cam. All of the ingredients for a sensational story were there: millionaire + high-speed chase + cocaine + sex (everybody knew it was part of the equation) + dead Jackie = most exciting story of the year. For a couple of weeks news stations ran the story every half hour or so. The story resurfaced and had another cycle during my trial, but without the same juiciness as the fresh meat that the original story had. Agent Palmer also probably found out about it through his law enforcement connections. The cocaine on me at the accident led the FBI to search my house with German Shepherds. They found what they were looking for.

  “Yeah, quite the little incident,” I said, “things really spiraled out of control on that one.”

  “Haha, pun intended?”

  “Oh, dammit. No. Anyway, I was calling for an update on my case. It’s been a few months and I haven’t heard from you.”

  “Well, Caish, you haven’t heard from me because there haven’t been any developments in your case. Like I said last time we talked, we have followed every lead available to us, and they are all dead ends. You were conned by professionals who were either genius hackers or who had genius hackers on their payroll.”

  I waited for Agent Palmer to say more, but he was silent.

  “And the Lamborghini?” I asked.

  “Gone, Caish. We sent you everything you needed to collect on insurance for that though, right?”

  “Yeah, you did.” But it didn’t do anything because it wasn’t insured. That bond I had with the DMV turned out to be another one of my bad investments.

  I tried to think of something else to say. Something to tell Agent Palmer that would help. Or maybe a plea that he and his team try harder. But nothing came to mind. I had said it all before.

  “Caish? You still there?”

  “Yeah, yeah I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry for the bad news.”

  “So, what now?”

  Agent Palmer thought for a moment, then said, “We move on. You, me, everybody involved.”

  “What?”

  “There’s nothing more we can do, we have to move on, Caish. So do you.”

  “Easy for you to say. Mr. FBI. Mr. Forty-Thousand-Dollars-A-Year. You don’t have a dog in the fight. They stole thirty-five million dollars from me! And you’re asking me to move on? You can’t be serious.”

  “Caish,” Agent Spineless said, “we do not have the ability to solve your problem. What happened to you was awful. You were robbed and the criminals who robbed you should pay. But we do not have the ability to make that happen. We have done everything we can. At this point, you need to move on. Sometimes we—”

  “Send me everything you have on my case.”

  “Okay, we’ll have a Google Drive folder created and send you the link. You still have the same email?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we’ll get that to you in the next couple of days. And, Caish, this is—”

  I hung up. I couldn’t listen to that horse shit. The FBI is worthless. I should have handled this myself from the beginning. As soon as the FBI sent me my files I would sift through them and track down Jamie and Penn. The FBI couldn’t find Jamie because they weren’t thinking practically. The whole agency is full of people who went to college and learned some philosophical ideas that have nothing to do with the practicalities of finding a criminal.

  Google pulled up tons of articles on how to track hackers and how to
find stolen money. There were a few books on Amazon on the subject, so I bought those and selected overnight shipping. The FBI had wasted enough of my time, and it was time to get my money back. Worst case scenario, I would hire a private investigator to get my money back. I’d hire the best in the business. Price wouldn’t be a problem because it would be an investment with thirty-five million dollars in returns. This felt great. The winds were changing. I would have my money back in a matter of months and be back in Malibu before the end of the year.

  I ordered Chinese food and fell asleep watching Netflix. In the middle of the night I woke up coughing and walked down to the kitchen for a snack. I wanted cereal, but I didn’t have any milk. Or cereal. My tissue supply was also running low. I put on my warmest clothes and hopped in the Suburban. While the Suburban was warming up, I checked Facebook and saw that Alex had accepted my friend request. This was a new level in our new relationship. Alex clearly wanted me, there was just the sticky situation of a spouse and children. I told Alex not to get married. I tried to help years ago, but Alex didn’t listen and now look at the mess we’re in.

  The roads in Missoula were empty at this time of night. 3:16 a.m. It may as well be a ghost town with the lights left on. Walmart’s parking lot was completely empty except for the snow piles that I would be parking on top of. But the place was closed. And they weren’t the only cereal seller that was closed. Every grocery store in town was closed. Even 7-11s and CVSs were closed. There wasn’t a single establishment in this tiny town that could sell me cereal and milk.

  With the streets to myself, I let the Suburban show its strength. It had the torque of a dump truck and could climb any snow pile I came across. It was lifted pretty high, though, so I had to be careful not to let it tip over. Once, when I did a U turn at fifteen-miles-an-hour, the Suburban went up on two wheels and would have flipped if I didn’t turn the wheel back in the direction of the roll. It pays to be a good driver. I blew through traffic lights and drove on a few sidewalks. Then I found myself driving by the Big Sky Equestrian Park and decided to see how the Suburban did off-road.