4.

Sunlight woke me early. It was already hot. A farmer glared as he drove past on a tractor. I waved and opened the door – the empty forty-ounce rolling out of my lap and onto the road. I walked to the driver’s door, leant over and opened it from the inside. There were no vacancies at any of the motels when I arrived in Nashville. ‘It’s Friday afternoon and it’s a party town. What did you expect?’ asked a very sage receptionist.

I found a hotel closer to the river and choked at the price. Maybe I could find another cornfield for the night. My aching neck disagreed. I booked the room and found a parking spot on the other side of the river. There were going to be some long driving stints to make up for this indiscretion. Sweat drenched me by the time I’d crossed the bridge over the river and got back to the hotel. I went to shave but decided against it.

A group of three girls and a guy entered their room down the hall as I left mine. They each had bottles of spirits in hand. ‘Reckon you’ve got enough?’ I asked in passing.

‘I think we’ll make do,’ one girl replied with an Australian accent. I stopped and turned back as we shared a moment of mutual recognition through the gap of their closing door.

I had no interest in Broadway. It felt touristy, and I wasn’t supposed to be a tourist. In a way becoming all too natural for me, I found myself gravitating towards uglier places with uglier people but with prettier hearts. This was good for me, because the man I was on the trail of was as ugly as they came. Instead, I found a bar around the corner from the hotel, half-sunken below the sidewalk. A thick haze of smoke filled the place as people with cigarettes sagging from their lips leant over pool tables and tried not to get smoke in their eyes for the brief moment it took to calculate a trajectory. I played a few games against the locals – poorly. Nobody looked at me twice unless I spoke, so I took to using a silent nod or a solemn ‘hmm’ of concurrence when I could.

When I caught my reflection in a mirror as I stood with arms resting on an upright cue, I thought it was another man in the bar. My skin had darkened, my stubble had graduated to a weak beard, and I’d lost weight. The only things I recognised were my eyes staring back at me through the mess of it all. Afternoon sunlight and the lower halves of bodies walking by showed through windows at the side of the room. They formed a triangle, thinning off to nothing as their lower frame traced the gradient of the street outside.

Occasionally, games would come to a complete halt when heels adorning exposed legs passed by; players and spectators alike all swaying in unison towards the windows like trees caught in a silent gale, trying to catch an up-skirt. The wind would pass as the legs did and the games would resume. I managed to sink a few shots by accident and quickly learned the only way a crowd could discern between a successful, calculated move and a complete fluke was by how surprised the person who’d played it seemed. The game spoke volumes to life itself.

Day turned to night, and I headed back. My hotel’s lobby bar was too much to resist as I passed. Taking a seat, I ordered a nightcap.

‘I’m afraid the bar is for hotel guests only,’ the bartender informed me. I spun my room key around my finger. ‘So sorry, sir.’ He placed a bottle down as I removed the letter from my pocket, unfolded and read it again. A loud group took seats across the bar. I looked up and recognised the Australian girl among them, and she me. I raised my bottle and went back to reading.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, suddenly beside me.

‘Shit,’ I said, jolting. I sunk it back into my jeans. ‘It’s a … review.’

‘Of this hotel?’

‘Of this city.’

‘Can I read it?’

‘No, it’s not finished yet.’

‘What did you think of Broadway?’

‘Haven’t been.’

‘You’re reviewing Nashville and you haven’t seen Broadway? What kind of writer are you?’

‘Not a very good one.’

‘Well, we must educate you. Come.’

‘No, it’s alright. Gonna hit the hay.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ she said, taking me by the wrist. ‘My friends have decided you’re coming out with us.’

The Broadway strip was all gaudy neon. Music and crowds flooded out onto the street. Cops yelled at drunks as they ran across the street, squeezing between gaps in the traffic. It was chaos and I was falling asleep where I stood. The group consisted of two Brits, the guy and one of the girls, and the other two, a Canadian and the Australian.

We bounced from honky-tonk to honky-tonk. The Australian came over to me with a bottle of beer for each of us. We toasted and I took a sip. As I placed the bottle back down on the table, she raised hers and banged its base onto the lip of mine. Foam worked up the neck and began cascading out the top like a volcano.

‘Now why would you do a thing like that?’ I asked as froth covered my resting hand and the table.

‘You’re wasting it! Drink!’

‘I shouldn’t have said yes to you tonight.’

Returning from the bathroom soon after, I was greeted by an empty table. I scanned the dance floor and saw the group near a door leading back out to Broadway. Angry gestures were exchanged, before the group left. The Australian yelled something and chased after them.

The lift opened onto my floor. I swayed down the corridor and fumbled keys. As I neared my door, I looked up to see the Australian leaning on the wall beside it. Brown hair fell across her face, obscuring it, but I recognised her knee-high boots. She turned towards me as I approached. She’d done a decent job of wiping away the makeup running underneath her eyes, but I’d been raised by a pro.

‘Mate, you look like shit,’ she said to me.

‘Yes, to be expected. I narrowly survived a kidnapping tonight, y’know?’ I said, pushing my key into the lock.

‘Oh, that sounds terrifying. Are you going to call the police?’

‘I’m undecided. They might want me to describe the assailant to a sketch artist, and I wouldn’t know where to begin.’

‘Really? No idea at all what you might tell them?’

‘Well,’ I said, opening the door and leaning against its frame to face her, pressing my boot down as a doorstop. She linked her hands behind her back against the wall and looked up at me.

‘I might say she’s confident – perhaps a little too much for her own good.’

‘Oh, there’s such a thing?’

‘Yes, though not because she shouldn’t be. Because it makes her fearless.’

‘And there’s something wrong about a woman without fear?’

‘A fearless anything can be dangerous.’

‘I see. So it’s not for her own good; it’s for those she might intimidate in the process?’

‘Yeah, I guess so. Goodnight.’

She clutched my arm as I stepped into my room.

‘Wait, there’s nothing else you’d tell this sketch artist? You’re making their job very difficult.’

‘I’d say she’s beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. And I’d say there’s not a fuckin’ chance she’s without fear, because she’s cried enough in her life to know how to be even more beautiful with puffy eyes and mascara running down her cheeks than without, and that’s the most fearless thing about her.’

She squeezed my arm tighter for a moment, waiting for some other part of her to make a decision.

‘I’m … I’m not really sure how they’re meant to draw that, but –’ I added.

She thrust me into the room and followed behind.

‘Steph,’ she said, pushing me onto the bed and lifting her top. ‘My name is Steph. You didn’t bother to ask.’