Fiction by Robert Denby: "OK", Part Five
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Too bad I couldn't disconnect the phone.
As I said, now I'm in the motel's laundry room. Three puke-green driers against one wall, three piss-yellow washers against another, and three cracked linoleum chairs. My clothes are spinning in place as I pass the time by flipping around Roger Ebert's Video Handbook from 1999 (up to '98, actually.) I've had this thing for years, but there are still a couple of reviews that I've never managed to read before. Here's one for a movie called Bang, directed by someone called Ash. Just Ash. It's apparently about a Japanese-American woman who steals a cop's uniform and wanders around L.A. It's sounds like a Tarantino knock-off, but Ebert makes it sound so interesting that I might have to check it out. I've been burned more than once because of his recommendations (I rented something called Bliss a few months ago that wound up being crap), but he's such a good writer and he's so enthusiastic about what he does that I can't help but get swept up by him. I've always liked seeing someone who tries to do their best at whatever they do. No matter how dumb it is. There was this show on Nickelodeon a little while back called The Adventures of Pete and Pete. It wasn't your typical kids' show; pretty clever, pretty eccentric. What was cool about it is that the supporting characters were often mailmen and meter readers and school bus drivers who were insanely passionate about what they did and did it within an inch of their lives. Silly, yeah, but it was really nice to watch. It's kind of hard to explain.
Speaking of kids, I look up just now. I left the door of the laundry room open to get some fresh air inside, and standing just outside is this little boy. Looks to be about four; he has red shorts, a Spider-Man t-shirt, and these huge brown eyes that are staring at me and not blinking. I smile and give him a little wave, but he just recoils back and let out a little breath. I rarely ever think about how I look, but it makes sense; someone 6' 4", 260 pounds, and bald-headed would probably have freaked me out too back then.
"It's OK," I say.
He swallows this time. Just then a woman with floral-print top and this short, feathered hair appears and yanks him away.
"Jason, come on!"
She shoots me this mean little glare and they're both gone.
***
It's a couple of minutes afterwards. I'm back to flipping through the book (The Arrival, starring Charlie Sheen) when she walks in (I'm trying to describe this without it sounding like some love-at-first-sight-and-the-strings-come-in moment, so bear with me.) Kind of amber-colored hair down to her shoulders. 5' 6' or so. Hazel eyes. Hardly any makeup on (Just a little mascara.) This red t-shirt-type top. She's carrying a blue duffel bag that still unzipped; a sleeve of a shirt is hanging out.
Nice breasts, if you don't mind my saying.
"Are these washers free?"
I sit up straighter.
"Yeah, go ahead. My clothes are almost done in the dryer, too."
"Is there one of those coin machines for soap in here? I meant to get some."
"Um, no, but here."
I grab my bottle of liquid detergent. Good Day. Some generic brand.
"You can use mine. I've got plenty."
She smiles, walks over and takes it from me.
Jesus.
"Thanks."
If she's freaked out by me, she's hiding it really well.
She walks over to the washers, opens one and starts dumping her clothes into it. Her back's to me.
Nice ass, too.
She pours in the soap, pushes the quarters into the slot, and hands it back to me.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
"Is that seat free?"
"Oh, yeah." I grab my laundry basket, place it at my feet, and pull my jacket over to the seat next to me. She takes a seat.
"Thanks." She folds her arms.
"Are you cold? I can close the door."
"No, I'm fine."
She sits quietly. I turn back to my book and try very hard not to check her out.
It's quiet for a little bit.
"So what are you reading?" she asks.
"Oh, this." I show her the cover."
"Ebert, huh? Cool. I have some of him at home."
"Which ones?"
"A couple of those movie yearbooks. And one called I Really, Really, Really Hated This Movie. It's a collection of a bunch of his bad reviews."
"Yeah, I saw that one. I love when he really tears into a bad movie. He's such a riot."
"I know!"
God, I love how she said that.
"I love his classic reviews, too."
"Yeah," I say. "I have a couple of books of his classic reviews that I found used. It's silly to blow 22 bucks on something just because it's new."
"I know. All of the books of his, I found used. I get everything used. I can't remember the last time I bought a book new."
"Yeah, I've got this book and one of his older ones. From '89, I think. I like them better than the newer ones."
"Why's that?" she asks.
"Because the newer ones only have reviews from the last couple of years or so. It's fun to read something he wrote back in the '60s or the '70s. You can read them all online, too, but," I say, tapping the cover, "it's just not the same as a book."
"Amen to that. Oh, my name's Veronica, by the way."
My brother calls me J.D. My mom called my J.D. I've been J.D. as long as I can remember. Never really minded it.
"I'm John."
I offer her my hand and she shakes it.
That feels nice.
"I assume you don't live here," I say.
"Yeah, I'm from Idaho, actually. Pocatello."
"Never been to Idaho."
"You're aren't missing much. It's the only place I could get a job teaching."
"What do you teach?"
"Third grade. This is my second year."
I've never had a crush on a teacher before.
"It's OK, I guess," she says. "The kids are cool. I'm originally from Virginia, so it's drier than I'm used to. And the winters are a bitch to get used to."
"What brings you here?"
"Funeral for my grandfather."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. He lived here and we lived in Virginia, so I never really got to see him much. And he was 91, so it wasn't a big surprise or anything."
"Still, that sucks, though."
"I guess so. It's just a part of life. He'd lived a long life, and it was time. Nothing sad about it. Happens to everybody."
"That's a nice way of looking at it. I like it."
"So what brings you here?"
Oh, I'm here to see my brother's meth dealer and talk him out of beating the shit out of him.
"Family emergency."
"Nothing serious, I hope," she says.
"Oh, no. It probably looks a lot worse than it is."
The buzzers on both of my dryers go off. All done.
"Well, that's me."
"Yeah."
I get up with my laundry basket, walk over, and start emptying the dryers. There's a movie I once saw called Afterlife. Japanese. It's about how when you die, you don't go directly to Heaven, but to this waiting area staffed with angels whose job is to help you create the one perfect moment of your life. They build sets and recreate smells, and as your eternal reward, you get to live inside of that moment forever. Experience the bliss of it forever.
I know it sounds cheesy, but if only...
"So how much longer are you here in town?" I ask.
"Oh!" She sets down my book. "Sorry about that."
"That's fine."
"Well, the funeral's tomorrow morning. I was planning on driving back on Wednesday morning."
"You want to do something tomorrow?"
"Something tomorrow?"
Don't blow this.
"Like what?" she asks.
"I don't know. A movie if one's showing. Or we could get coffee or just wander around downtown here. I'm never been here before. It seems nice."
I clear my throat.
"I never do this, but I like talking to you. I'd like to do more of it."
Sean Connery. Steven McQueen. Me.
"I'm busy for the rest of the day today, so how about tomorrow?"
I'm tempted to say something like You know, like in Before Sunrise, but I don't want to freak her out.
"Wow," she says. "Didn't see that one coming."
"Sorry."
"Oh, no, no," she says. She glances up at the ceiling for a moment, then a little smile crosses her face. "Well, the reception's supposed to end around three...I could be back here by five?"
Goddamn.
"Great. Come by my room. I'm 213." Better not to ask for hers.
She shrugs with a little laugh. "Sure, why not? It can't be late, though. I have to get up early to drive home."
"Yeah, me too. So come by around five?"
She nods her head and then smiles. A big one.
"Yeah, five sounds good." She extends her hand. "It's was great to meet you."
I take it.
"You, too. See you at five, then."
"OK."
"Bye."
***
I always thought the phase I floated all the way home sounded like of trite, but that's what I did all the way up the stairs and back to my room. It was a jolt to have to unlock the door and see my brother sitting on the bed watching TV, still in his jean jacket.
I set down the basket and take a deep breath.
"Anything exciting happen?"
He shakes his hand. "No. So what's the plan?"
"Well, Bobby, the plan is that I'm going get a couple of hours sleep and then we're going to go over and try to take care of this mess. You hungry at all?"
"No." He sounds quiet. Meek, kind of.
"Figures." I have to stay in character. I strip down to my underwear and crawl into one of the queen-sized beds after stashing my watch, my wallet, and my keys underneath the pillow.
"If I'm not awake at eight, wake me. Keep the sound low if you want to watch that. And try taking a shower. No offense, but you stink."
I pull the covers over and snuggle in. It usually takes me a while to fall asleep, but this time I'm out within minutes. Next thing I know, I'm jerking up my head and looking at the clock on the nightstand. 7:32. I look over at Bobby. He hasn't moved an inch from his bed. He hasn't even changed the channel. One of those 50 All-Time Bullshit lists on VH1.