“Ah, I knew I’d forget something,” said Jeff, “The cell phone; I left it on the table by the door.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Rita, lowering the map to smile at him, “We’re on vacation. We won’t need to call anyone. We’re going to have a really restful time. It’s going to be so great.”
Somewhere, in the cramped conditions at the back of the car, Emma snorted derisively and Jeff found himself guiltily pleased that this small sign of rebellion was, for once, directed at Rita rather than himself.
Annie, half-hidden under a large sports bag, joined the conversation, agreeing with Rita.
“Yeah. It is going to be wonderful. I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. D’you know, we haven’t all of us been together like this since before most of the kids were born. Remember?”
“Yeah,” said Rita, “and that was before Phil and Lou got together. Have you met her yet?”
“No. You?”
“Only briefly. They were in town one time, shopping, and they had a baby, a boy I think, but they were on their way somewhere so they couldn’t stop. She didn’t say much but she seems, y’know, OK. A lot younger than us though.”
“Oh yeah? How much younger?” asked Annie.
“Oh I dunno, mid twenties.”
“The bitch! I hate her already,” Annie shouted, suddenly laughing.
Sitting next to her, Bill said nothing, but he nudged his wife and inclined his head, warning her not to say too much in front of the three children sitting behind them. Annie shrugged his hand from her arm. She knew she should have chosen her words more judiciously. She had simply forgotten that the children were there and now she was embarrassed, but also irritated, at the way in which Bill had reminded her, as if she were a child herself. She turned to the window and stared out in sullen silence. Bill awkwardly withdrew his arm and quietly turned to stare out of the window on his side of the car. Behind them, Emma looked from one to the other and shook her head. ‘Adults!’ she mused, ‘When do they get to grow up?’
Jeff glanced in the rear view mirror and took in the scene. The journey already seemed to be taking its toll and Mikey hadn’t even started throwing up yet. Jeff could hardly wait! He glanced across at Rita and her eyes met his. She pulled a face. She had obviously come to the same conclusion.
It was going to be a long drive.
Several comfort breaks later, the Suburban pulled off the interstate. Rita pored over the hand-written instructions that had been sent with the booking confirmation.
“It says to continue along this road till we get to a place called Losien. Says it’s the nearest big town.”
About ten miles further on, a sign at the side of the road informed them that they were now in Losien, an ‘Historic town of great charm and interest.’
Annie was not impressed.
“This is the ‘big town’?”
Looking around at the dilapidated buildings and boarded-up shops, Jeff couldn’t help himself.
“I’d say it’s about as big as it is historic and charming.”
Rita shushed them both.
“We take a right off Main Street, just after the church.”
They saw the church. The area around the building showed someone’s devoted care; the lawn neatly trimmed and a few late flowers still in bloom around the foot of a simple wooden cross. But even this quaint old building looked in grave need of a fresh coat of paint. As they turned off Main Street everyone felt their spirits lift; relieved to be driving out of town.
The unmade, dirt track was now rising through wooded country, the trees gradually becoming more densely planted and the road narrower. Eventually they crested a rise and the whole of the forest lay spread before them, seemingly unbroken, melting into the far distant blue-grey horizon. Rolling gently to a halt, they all gasped at the sheer expanse of dark green; its scale too much to take in. It was as if an entire world had been laid out below them with countless miles of untouched, primordial habitat. Even Emma was lost for a sarcastic comment.
“Shit,” she whispered softly, eyes wide in amazement.
“Em!” Jeff quickly hushed her, “Don’t talk like that around the kids.”
He looked up to give her a warning look in the rear view mirror, but saw that the younger children were both fast asleep, their heads pillowed on Emma’s lap. Immediately, his look softened. Rita had been right; Em was a good kid. And even the scowl his daughter now gave him, as she noticed his dopey smile, couldn’t dent the love he felt for her at that moment. His sweet, gentle little girl was still in there somewhere. There was hope.
The road dipped down from the ridge and took them into the deep darkness beneath the trees. The thick cover seemed unbroken except, every now and then, where the winding road crossed a small stream. Crossing the rattling bridges, Rita could see the crystal, sunlit water edged with deep green cushions of moss and fern, as far as the first bend in each stream. Beyond that, the streams were hidden from view, lost in the smothering trees. These infrequent and enticing glimpses of dazzling light, in the otherwise overwhelming dark of the forest, were wholly enchanting. Rita, drowsy from the long journey, fell to daydreaming; imagining the shades of ancient peoples who might for centuries have offered worship to their gods at magical places such as these.
Jeff glanced across at his wife. It was good to see the smile on Rita’s face. She was already happy and they hadn’t even got to the hotel yet. He knew this was going to be a great holiday.
A few miles behind them, Neil and Dave were driving into Losien. In his haste to get to the meeting with the new client, Neil had left his copy of the instructions back in his apartment. Dave had tried calling Jeff, but Jeff wasn’t picking up. Luckily the name of the town had stuck in Neil’s mind and had got them this far, but now they needed to find someone local to give them directions to the hotel itself. Unfortunately, the streets of Losien seemed devoid of any life, local or otherwise.
They drove quietly into town, past the derelict stores with their whitewashed windows and perfunctory graffiti. Neil was at the wheel, but driving so slowly that he had time to look carefully to left and right. Searching for signs of life, he peered forward over the wheel.
“Where the hell is everyone?”
“Look around you. Does it look like anyone actually lives here?”
“Well, better just hope there’s a gas station here somewhere. We’re running low.”
Dave shrugged in reply, untypically lost for words.
“There’ll be a gas station,” said Neil, “Hell, they have gas stations out in the middle of the desert. Even if no one still lives here, there’ll be a gas station.”
“Wouldn’t bet on it man.”
“There will be. And we can ask them for directions to the hotel.”
“First, find your gas station.”
“We could use your new satellite positioning thing.”
“No. Battery’s got to charge up first.”
“OK. So we just keep looking.”
They motored slowly on.
“Man, this place is a ghost town.”
“Yeah, like in the movies, with the tumbleweed rolling by.”
“Man, that’s right,” said Dave, “there’s always tumbleweed rolling across the deserted, dusty street, just so’s you know it’s a ghost town. There’s gotta be like, some guy out in California making a living, rolling up balls of tumbleweed for the movies. Some niche market, huh? Any money in it, you reckon? No? You sure? ‘Cos like, every godforsaken Wild West town has tumbleweed. First, the tumbleweed blows across the scene. Then cut to a low angle shot from just behind the bad guy, as the new sheriff slowly steps out to face him, knees knockin’ and sweat pouring down his face. The gunslinger flexes his hand near his holster. There’s a sound like, oh I dunno, a burst of loud acoustic guitar strumming, and terrified townsfolk rush to close the drapes, pull down the shutters. And, oh yeah, one guy always tries to hide by diving head first into an empty barrel outside the livery stable.”
“This Wild West town of yours seems kinda busy for a ghost town.”
“OK, so it’s not always a ghost town, but the tumbleweed? Man, that’s a given, there’s always tumbleweed; sets the scene; lends authenticity. You see tumbleweed and right away you know you’re in some desolate, one-horse town in Arizona or New Mexico.”
“Whereas, in reality, you’re in Spain or Morocco.”
Dave held up his hands in mock surrender.
“OK, well maybe the guy in California exports the stuff. What do I know? Me, I’m just making conversation here so’s we don’t focus too much on the fact that we’re lost. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in a ghost town, we’re totally lost and we’re nearly out of gas. Just thought I’d make some conversation to lighten the mood.”
“Like you ever needed an excuse to talk.”
“Oh man, that hurt,” said Dave, all mock indignation, “OK, I’ll keep quiet…Won’t make a sound…You’ll see…Not another word…Nothing...Zip…Nada.”
“OK, enough,” Neil protested. “Look, there’s some cars parked up ahead.”
“Oh praise the Lord! Some small pocket of humanity has survived the apocalypse. How many d’you think? Enough to rebuild civilisation, or what passes for it in these parts? God, I hope so, else we’ll have to selflessly put aside the fact that we’re both so very queer and do our patriotic duty to help repopulate the earth. Eugh!”
“Are you done?”
“Well, can I say once again and this time with feeling, eugh!”
Neil raised an eyebrow.
“OK. Sorry man. I’m done,” said Dave with a shrug, “It’s just I get really, really bored on long car rides. My brain has to have something to do.”
“Nature abhors a vacuum huh?”
“Something like - hey, wait up. Are you suggesting my head is empty?”
“I’m a lawyer, so I’d naturally need proof. But can you prove to me that it’s not?”
“Ouch…Tricky…OK yeah, how’s this? I’m a good, and I mean a spectacularly good, ideas man. Ad campaigns don’t make themselves y’know. So there you are. That’s all the proof you need,” Neil didn’t look convinced. Dave capitulated, “No? OK, then you got me,” he feigned a blow to the chest, “and that hurts me man,” Dave paused, for dramatic effect, before he brightened up, “FYI, you should know that I can only tolerate these cruel truths because I love you man?”
Neil said nothing. He was manoeuvring the SUV into a space outside a dilapidated five and dime. Rather disconcerted, Dave tried again,
“Hello? Are you listening? I said that I love you.”
Again Neil appeared not to have heard him.
“That would be where you get to say, ‘I love you too’ man.”
Dave’s face showed no sign of hurt, but the hint of uncertainty in his voice begged for reassurance.
As always, Neil was noncommittal, almost insulting, “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
But Dave was happy to accept even this meagre acknowledgment. He made very few demands on Neil, because he really did love him. He loved Neil probably more than Neil would ever know and certainly far more than he deserved. Perhaps naïvely, Dave simply assumed that his love was being reciprocated.
The two men climbed down from the vehicle, yawning and stretching, legs stiff from several hours of inactivity. They made an odd-looking couple; Dave in his spanking new woodsman gear, and Neil in his now rather creased business suit. But there appeared to be no one about to notice or pass comment, no sign of the drivers of the other parked cars.
The bell above the door jangled as they entered, but otherwise, the store was quiet save for the angry buzzing of a large fly. Waiting for the store owner to appear, Dave watched the insect repeatedly fly at the large window, fall, then fizz around in a frantic dance on its back. There were already several other flies lying dead and undisturbed in the dust at the bottom of the glass, composing what seemed to Dave to be a bizarrely bleak window display. He wondered if such neglect drew many passers by into the store. Surely, even in a town with as little to offer as this, you had to make some effort to pull in the customers, so perhaps the dusty dead flies explained the emptiness of the place. It was several minutes, during which Dave and Neil wandered the small store, checking out the shelves, before they heard a bead curtain abruptly clatter. A woman entered from a back room. She was perhaps in her late twenties and quite pretty, but her eyes were dull. She looked utterly bored.
“Can I get you fellas something?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Neil answering for them both as usual, “We’d like a map of the area.”
“Don’t have none. No call for’em round here. Nobody comes here who don’t already live here.”
“Well, we’re here and we could do with some assistance so, if there’s no map, could you tell us where the Whitewater Hotel is?”
The woman didn’t even pause for thought.
“Nope.”
“You sure? The Whitewater Hotel? You’ve no idea where it is?”
“Like I said, nope.”
Neil was beginning to get annoyed. As with everything in his life, he took the woman’s disinterest personally. Dave recognised the warning signs and quickly insinuated himself between Neil and the woman.
“Do you know of anyone else who might know the hotel? Someone else we could ask?” he asked, smiling hopefully.
“Nope.”
“Well, thanks for your help,” Neil snapped. He walked away, “Come on, we’ll go find someone else.”
He was already leaving the store, but Dave hung back.
“While we’re here I could get you some more suitable gear. OK?”
Neil paused for a second, but didn’t look back.
“Knock yourself out.”
Dave could tell that Neil was annoyed with him now. Wanting to make a dramatic gesture, sweeping out of the store and probably slamming the door behind him, Neil would be angry that Dave’s delay had ruined the effect.
Having bought a few items and thus all but clearing the clothing shelf in the store, Dave emerged and carried his bag to the SUV. Neil was not in the car. Dave eventually found him in a diner, hidden away down a dusty side street. Neil was sitting at a table by the window, but made no response when Dave waved at him. He was still angry. Dave knew he’d have to soothe Neil’s injured pride, but he was used to that; Neil was given to sulking whenever things failed to go his way. To most it would seem a tiresome habit but, in Dave’s eyes, it was quite endearing, the one childish aspect of an otherwise very cool-headed and rational individual. As with all of Neil’s faults, Dave found a way to excuse or ignore his sulkiness, loving Neil regardless; seeing worth where others saw only self-absorbed superficiality.
Dave took a deep breath as he pushed open the door of the diner but, always easily distracted, his intention to placate Neil was forgotten the instant he saw the décor. The interior of the diner looked to have changed little in fifty years. From the faded red cushioned bar stools at the rounded counter, the black and white chequered linoleum floor and the sun clock with its chrome rays, the look was straight out of American Graffiti. Full of enthusiasm, Dave hurried over to Neil’s table.
“Man, just look at this place! Talk about your timewarp. This is your actual retro, the real deal. None of this is repro. How cool is that?”
Neil looked away.
“Oh yeah,” Dave suddenly remembered. Dragging his enthusiastic gaze away from scanning the room, he forced himself to focus on Neil, “Sorry about that.”
“Sorry about what?”
“You know, back there, in the store.”
Neil shrugged.
Dave shook his head indulgently, “C’mon man, I know you were set to make one of your big exits, and I blew it. So I’m sorry.”
“Whatever. Drink your coffee. It’s getting cold.”
Dave had barely raised the cup of cooled coffee to his lips when Neil got to his feet and turned to leave. Dave quickly replaced the cup, grabbed some notes from his pocket and scattered them onto the table.
“Money’s there,” he called to the waitress. She nodded indifferently and, though hurrying to catch up with Neil, Dave felt obliged to say something more, “That was great coffee by the way. Great coffee. Thanks.”
The waitress watched the flustered city boy hurry out, in his spanking new clothes and pretty yellow boots. Slowly she shook her head. You could never understand city folks. They were just different is all. Why, that young man hadn’t had but a drop of his coffee and anyhow, she knew for a fact that that it was godawful coffee; she wouldn’t drink it. And the other man had wanted to know the way to the hotel they’d made from the old workers’ building out in the forest. She’d never been to the place herself but she was pretty sure that the Whitewater wasn’t the sort of fancy hotel he’d be used to staying in. That guy had money. The sharp suit told you that much. Clearing their cups from the table, she peered out at the two men; Dave scampering after Neil, and he striding purposefully on, ignoring Dave’s calls for him to wait up.
City folks! Are they weird or what?
“Are you sure we should listen to that waitress?” asked Dave, “She didn’t look all there to me.”
“She got us here didn’t she?”
The SUV roared into life and they lurched away from the town’s gas station.
“OK, but the gas station was like, just round the block. You sure she knows where the hotel is?”
“Yeah. She said it’s right at the end of a track that they built way back when they were going to build a dam and flood the forest.”
“There’s a flooded forest?”
“No, the dam was abandoned, never finished. Back then, the hotel was an accommodation block for the workers.”
Dave laughed.
“A block? And near a half-built dam? Sounds peachy. Why, the name ‘Whitewater’ hardly does it justice. Surely something like, ‘The Bunkhouse’, or even ‘The Doghouse,’ would better conjure up that certain ambience that we aesthetes so crave in our holiday accommodation.”
Neil ignored the irony.
“She said the hotel doesn’t get many visitors -”
“No shit?”
“She said it doesn’t get many visitors. But could just be that it’s selective, you know, exclusive. Could be one of those places that people get to hear about it through personal recommendation only. You do a hard sell on a place like that and, bingo, the place loses its prestige.”
“So I can forget the Starlight campaign?”
Neil glanced at him, but didn’t bother to reply.
“No campaign then. Don’t want any visitors swamping the place.”
“So it’s quiet. So what? We don’t like crowds.”
“No, only the most selective and exclusive bunkhouses for us.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Neil, becoming exasperated, “and it’s only for a few days.”
Dave smiled.
“It’s OK, man. I’m just messing with you. I mean, how bad can it be, right?” Dave was already moving on, “It’s going to be so great meeting up with your friends. I want to get all, and I do mean all, the dirt on your past. There must be some good stories; you can’t have been so middle aged all your life.”
“I’m not middle aged. I’m jaded, what can I say?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know; you’ve seen it all, you’ve been everywhere, done everything and bought the Brando. I know.”
“Brando?”
“Yeah. Streetcar named Desire.”
“You’re weird, you know that?”
“No. It’s the T shirt,” Dave grinned, “Just a fantasy of mine. Go on.”
Neil gave Dave a quizzical look.
“You are weird. But, let me tell you, I am not middle-aged. I’ve just seen it all in my time. Nothing much impresses or excites me any more.”
“I’d keep that one to yourself if I were you. Don’t think you’ll stay at the top of the greasy legal heap with that attitude.”
“Firstly, no one describes heaps, legal or otherwise as being greasy. Poles or ladders maybe, but heaps, no. And, second, thank you, but I can still function perfectly well as a brilliant lawyer. I may not be impressed by anything anymore, but I can fake impressed with impressive sincerity.”
Dave looked across at Neil, wondering for a fleeting moment just what else in Neil’s life might be a fake. For the briefest of instants, Dave even allowed himself a tiny doubt as to Neil’s feelings for him. In insecure moments like this it seemed to Dave that Neil could be altogether too rational and detached than was good for either of them.