yards.” I swept my arm extravagantly toward Jack, both of us looking a little worse for wear after a day without showering and shaving. “This is my friend, Jack. It’s his first time up here. He’s getting married next week.”
“Congratulations,” Cheryl said.
“Jack, this is Cheryl.”
“Cheryl! What’s a beautiful woman like you doing working in a dead-end job like this? You should be in the movies.”
Cheryl flushed in response.
I cringed and shook my head. “He says that to every woman,” I said deliberately so she wouldn’t fall for his fulsome flattery.
“So, where’s the wedding?” Cheryl asked. “I want to come. I love weddings.”
“Up in Paso Robles,” I answered. “Week from Sunday. Why don’t you join us? I need a date.”
“Absolutely,” Jack said, shambling forward and resting his forearms on the counter.
“Is it going to be a big wedding?” Cheryl asked.
“A gala event,” I said. “Beaucoup bucks on both sides. No expense spared. Fabulous wines, sparkling and still, selected
“Oh, I love big weddings,” Cheryl said. Then her face soured. “But I work weekends.”
“Well, if you can get off, you’re welcome to join us,” I said. “Anyway, we need a room. Jack’ll take care of it. His plastic still works. I’ve got to make a phone call.”
I circled around a dividing wall to an annex off the lobby where the pay phones were located. Hunched on a stool, I dialed the calling card number and punched in a long PIN that I read off the back of a business card. There were no messages. When I returned to the lobby, Jack had trespassed far over the counter and was now about a foot from Cheryl’s face, blatantly flirting.
“Well,” she was saying, “they’ve got masseuses over in Solvang who will come here, if
that
’s what you’re looking for.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Something like that.” He rotated his handsome head in an exaggerated circle. “Neck’s killing me. Killing me.”
Cheryl gestured to a nearby display rack. “There are brochures over there,” she said.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, Cheryl.” Jack lumbered over to the rack and indiscriminately gorged himself on a raft of promotional materials.
“Let’s go,” I said sharply to Jack. “I need a shower.”
“All right, all right,” Jack replied. “See you, Cheryl. If you change your mind about dinner, give us a ring.”
“Bye, guys.” She waved enthusiastically. “Have fun.”
We drove around to the back of the motel to find our room. Cheryl naturally assumed I wanted to be as far away as possible from the thunderous semis that roared back and forth all night on the 101.
The second-floor room itself was an uninspired space: two queens, wallpaper depicting seascapes patterned with drifting gulls and leaping dolphins, a noisy air conditioner that would desiccate my sinuses, a spitting shower nozzle designed by a sadistic product engineer to discourage theft, a blurry television with a Spartan channel selection—bolted to the dresser—the standard-issue abridged Bible with phone numbers scribbled inside the cover, some stationery, and a single Windmill Inn Bic pen. Not exactly the Four Seasons, but serviceable.
“They’re not going to do what you think they’re going to do,” I pointed out, as we entered our room with the first load of luggage.
“You’re telling me,” Jack said, throwing his suitcase on the dresser, “that if I get a masseuse over here she’s not going to suggest exploring other possibilities when I mention the almighty dollar? Bullshit, pardner, they’re not going to come to the party.”
Shaking my head, I shuffled back out to the 4Runner and collected the rest of my gear. High-flying jets from nearby Vandenberg Air Force Base discharged orange contrails against the twilit sky. It was dismaying to suddenly realize that Jack seemed hell-bent on the obvious, and I was beginning to grow uneasy that I wouldn’t be able to corral
“Congratulations,” Cheryl said.
“Jack, this is Cheryl.”
“Cheryl! What’s a beautiful woman like you doing working in a dead-end job like this? You should be in the movies.”
Cheryl flushed in response.
I cringed and shook my head. “He says that to every woman,” I said deliberately so she wouldn’t fall for his fulsome flattery.
“So, where’s the wedding?” Cheryl asked. “I want to come. I love weddings.”
“Up in Paso Robles,” I answered. “Week from Sunday. Why don’t you join us? I need a date.”
“Absolutely,” Jack said, shambling forward and resting his forearms on the counter.
“Is it going to be a big wedding?” Cheryl asked.
“A gala event,” I said. “Beaucoup bucks on both sides. No expense spared. Fabulous wines, sparkling and still, selected
“Oh, I love big weddings,” Cheryl said. Then her face soured. “But I work weekends.”
“Well, if you can get off, you’re welcome to join us,” I said. “Anyway, we need a room. Jack’ll take care of it. His plastic still works. I’ve got to make a phone call.”
I circled around a dividing wall to an annex off the lobby where the pay phones were located. Hunched on a stool, I dialed the calling card number and punched in a long PIN that I read off the back of a business card. There were no messages. When I returned to the lobby, Jack had trespassed far over the counter and was now about a foot from Cheryl’s face, blatantly flirting.
“Well,” she was saying, “they’ve got masseuses over in Solvang who will come here, if
that
’s what you’re looking for.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Something like that.” He rotated his handsome head in an exaggerated circle. “Neck’s killing me. Killing me.”
Cheryl gestured to a nearby display rack. “There are brochures over there,” she said.
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful, Cheryl.” Jack lumbered over to the rack and indiscriminately gorged himself on a raft of promotional materials.
“Let’s go,” I said sharply to Jack. “I need a shower.”
“All right, all right,” Jack replied. “See you, Cheryl. If you change your mind about dinner, give us a ring.”
“Bye, guys.” She waved enthusiastically. “Have fun.”
We drove around to the back of the motel to find our room. Cheryl naturally assumed I wanted to be as far away as possible from the thunderous semis that roared back and forth all night on the 101.
The second-floor room itself was an uninspired space: two queens, wallpaper depicting seascapes patterned with drifting gulls and leaping dolphins, a noisy air conditioner that would desiccate my sinuses, a spitting shower nozzle designed by a sadistic product engineer to discourage theft, a blurry television with a Spartan channel selection—bolted to the dresser—the standard-issue abridged Bible with phone numbers scribbled inside the cover, some stationery, and a single Windmill Inn Bic pen. Not exactly the Four Seasons, but serviceable.
“They’re not going to do what you think they’re going to do,” I pointed out, as we entered our room with the first load of luggage.
“You’re telling me,” Jack said, throwing his suitcase on the dresser, “that if I get a masseuse over here she’s not going to suggest exploring other possibilities when I mention the almighty dollar? Bullshit, pardner, they’re not going to come to the party.”
Shaking my head, I shuffled back out to the 4Runner and collected the rest of my gear. High-flying jets from nearby Vandenberg Air Force Base discharged orange contrails against the twilit sky. It was dismaying to suddenly realize that Jack seemed hell-bent on the obvious, and I was beginning to grow uneasy that I wouldn’t be able to corral
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