(9)
— Originally publshed in The MacGuffin, Spring 2004
Continued from page (8)
The waitress faltered.
“He is.” Roxie closed her hand over the key, got to her feet with a
stumble, and whisked her gimlet from the table. “Won’t be long,
honeybuns.” She gave her palm a noisy kiss, flung it at him, and headed
toward the lobby. The waitress eased away.
Jamey put his tongue between his teeth and rolled his eyes. He looked
at his watch. Ten of four. If he were on schedule, where would he be?
Seaside? No, that was the fifth day. He couldn’t remember. Instead he found
himself laughing. Honeybuns? Too much.
He finished his drink. Four-fifteen. Where was she? A small doubt rang
in his head. After all, what did he know about her? Maybe the whole thing
was a set-up to get into his room and rob him blind. Electric razor, his
luggage, a few clothes. Still . . .
Panting from the stairs, he pushed open the ajar door. The living room
was empty. Wood had been laid in the fireplace. Fresh gladiolus spiked from
the squat vase on the square coffee table. Beside them lay the room key. He
glanced through the living room doors to the balcony. No sign of Roxie. He
hurried to the bedroom. The canopied bed was made. The middle of the
fitted print bedspread was indented. The mesh curtains over the bedroom
balcony doors fluttered. He yanked them open.
There she was, on the chaise lounge, her glass and her purse on the
wooden table beside her. She turned her head, caught sight of him, and
offered him a weary wave.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Sure. Decided to rest a minute.”
He sat in the chair next to her. “You’re not used to hard liquor.”
“I don’t like what it does to me. Takes all the starch out of me. Starch
is all I’ve got.” She sat forward and reached for his hand. “It wasn’t the
gimlets. It was you and the MG and Nepenthe and Tickle Pink. Made me
realize how tired I am.” She tightened her grip. “Want to know what I do for
a living?”
He nodded.
“Sell sheet music at Currier & Sterling, on Franklin, near Civic Center.
In five years, never missed a day of work, never late. Miss Gambit, the
expert on hard-to-find scores. Had two raises. No health insurance. No
retirement. I keep thinking I’ll put something away for the future. Then
Archie cracks a bone falling off his bike or the car needs new brakes or the
babysitter wants more money. What’ll happen to us if my tendinitis acts up
or they raise the rent?” She released his hand and massaged her temples.
“Just once I’d like to wake up to coffee brewing or come home from work to
the smell of chicken in the oven.”
TOM'S TALES