WildRebel
03-12-2005, 08:59 PM
“Nice car.”
I turned around to see the young man I’d seen raising some hell the day before, leaning against a phone booth behind me, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was bareback with mud splattered on his chest and forearms. The skin on his lean body shown in the sun. And I noticed the cuts on his knuckles.
“Do you know how to drive it?” he asked.
What a bastard . . . especially after the episode in the lobby. “No. I just use it to show off.”
“No kidding. You should lose a couple pounds while you’re at. There’s nothing worse than an obese woman pretending to drive a muscle car.”
“**** off!” I turned around to unlock the door.
“I was standing here first,” he said. “I’d return the request, but I always mind my goddam language around women.”
“Yeah? You’re doing an excellent job of it,” I sneered over my shoulder as I climbed into one of my fiancée’s Porsches.
“Thank-you. My mom was very high on teaching me manners. She’d be pleased to hear that you’re encouraging me.”
“Would she?” I said sarcastically, looking at him as I started the car.
“Yeah. She taught me to always open and close women’s doors for them. Don’t expect me to screw your brains out though.”
I slammed my door shut, and gave him the finger from behind the window. He raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his forehead, and laughed. Then he winked at me, looked at his watch, turned, and stepped into the phone booth, flicking his cigarette butt before he closed the door. I sat there looking at his tanned back, watching him put a quarter into the phone and dial a number.
Only then did I notice my body starting to whisper to me.
I moved my attention from one of Steven’s hotels in front of me—where I used to strip until about three months ago—to the mirror to check my make-up and hair. Then I got out of the car and began walking to the phone booth. My engagement ring, I thought. I quickly slid it off and dropped it into my purse. I stopped. What am I doing? I love Steven. And I’ve only been engaged for a day. Why am I doing this? I thought about it briefly.
Let’s find out.
I walked up to and around the phone booth so I was facing him through the glass. He was looking down, his eyebrows lowered, concealing his eyes, and there was a tenseness in his jaw. His lower lip was puffy too. From the day before, I assumed.
I knocked on the pane.
He muttered something into the receiver. A pause. Suddenly, his elbow flew back, shattering the glass behind him. It startled me. “**** you!” he barked into the receiver. I watched his body relax before I tapped on the window again. Hesitantly, this time. He looked up at me slowly and looked me dead in the eye. I’d never been that terrified in my life. I could see a deep pain as if something had punctured him with pins. In those few seconds he held my gaze, his eyes began to water and his jaw began to quiver.
He turned around, argued and cussed some more, then dropped the receiver. I watched it bounce off the walls in the phone booth wildly. When I looked up, I saw his body collapse against one side of the booth as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one of the back pockets on his rugged blue jeans. Blood dripping down his forearm from his elbow.
I walked around to the entrance as he lit it. When I got to the front, he was pulling at the door aggressively, wrestling and fumbling with it before he smashed it open.
He didn’t acknowledge me.
“Are you okay?” I said. “Can I take a look at your arm or get you something?”
No answer. He didn’t even look at me. All he did was stand there, dragging on his cigarette, smeared red from the blood that had run onto his hands.
“Hey!” I bent over, trying to look up at him. “Are you okay?”
Slowly, he looked up at me like a frightened little boy. I could see that he’d been crying. I wanted to hug him, console him. But I didn’t even know him.
He blinked and seemed to come to. “No,” he said finally. “My dog died.” Then he turned and walked away. I stood there watching him for a few minutes. After he disappeared behind a corner, I looked at the phone booth; the broken glass smeared with blood, and the shards laying on the floor, also spotted with blood. Who was he talking to? And what happened? I remember thinking.
My mind went back. What happened yesterday when he got into a confrontation with my fiancée? And why is this guy obsessed with payphones?
Steven and I were just sitting down to dinner in the restaurant of this same hotel, when there was a commotion coming from the lobby behind me. There was a racket, and Steven leaned sideways to look past me.
“John,” Steven said. He was always on a first name basis with his staffs. The waiter came over. “Do you want to see what’s happening out there?”
“Yes, Mr. Drake.” He put his dirty plates down on a nearby table and walked past us to the lobby. Just as he did, another bang came from the lobby.
“What the heck is going on in there!” Then again; another thud. “Excuse me, dear.” Steven pulled his serviette from his lap and tossed it beside his plate as he got up and walked past me toward the lobby. I watched him as he walked past. He had a concerned, yet curious look on his face.
I sat there, looking at my vegetarian dish, and trying to ignore the man glancing at me from a nearby table. God, I miss meat, I thought as I poked at the tofu with my fork. What I wouldn’t do for a good old fashioned sausage dog like dad used to barbeque.
Just then, another thump came from the lobby, followed by the waiter who came rushing past me and burst through the doors to the lounge. A few people looked up. I sat up straighter, trying to look through the door’s windows. Then I turned my head slightly, and looking through the corner of my eye, I tried to get a glimpse of the lobby behind me. Was Steven alright?
Almost immediately, the bouncer, followed by the waiter, hurried out of the lounge, and headed to the lobby. I stopped the waiter, as the bouncer continued. “John. What’s going on?”
“Nothing to be concerned about. We have a troublemaker. That’s all. Jimmy will take care of him.” Jimmy must be the bouncer, I assumed. “How’s your food? Is everything alright?”
“What kind of trouble?” I batted my eyelashes, and leaned forward.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Some kid was boxing the teeth right out of the payphone in the lobby. He punched a hole in the wall too—How’s your food?”
I turned around to look in the direction of the lobby. As I did, the young man came flying through the revolving doors, backwards. He lost his balance along the way, falling over, but rolling out of it gracefully as he came to a stop in a squat. He had the attention of all the guests in the restaurant. There wasn’t a sound. All conversation stopped.
The young man looked around at the startled guests, blood running down his lip. “How’s your guys dinner? Okay?” he said. I turned forward. The rest of the guests stared with disbelief.
“Conan! What the hell are you doing, you damn fool?” yelled a man as he stood up from his table.
Immediately, I heard Steven and the bouncer come through the lobby doors. “You want some more trouble, buddy?” I heard the bouncer bark.
The man who had stood up moved around the table and started walking across the dining room toward the young man. Everyone’s eyes followed the man, including mine. My waiter moved out of the way as the man passed. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing Steven and the bouncer. “This man works for me,” pointing to the young man. “I apologize for any disturbance. What can I do for you, to make up for it?”
“He works for you?” Steven said. “Say. Are you Arnold?”
“Yes,” said the man, puzzled.
Steven looked over at the bouncer and gave him a nod, and the bouncer left for the lounge. “I’m Steven Drake,” he said, extending a hand.
The man’s face froze. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.” Then he meagerly clasped Steven’s hand.
Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I could sense the young man staring at me. But it was different. It wasn’t the way men usually stare at me. It was a look, an energy. The kind of energy that is almost contagious, like a yawn. I began to get lost in the feeling. My stomach began to hum and I felt a little fidgety. Finally, I turned around. And just waited, completely distracted by my sensations.
After a few minutes, Steven sat back down. I guess they sorted things out. “I suppose stranger things have happened,” he said. “Guess who that was?”
I turned around to see the young man I’d seen raising some hell the day before, leaning against a phone booth behind me, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was bareback with mud splattered on his chest and forearms. The skin on his lean body shown in the sun. And I noticed the cuts on his knuckles.
“Do you know how to drive it?” he asked.
What a bastard . . . especially after the episode in the lobby. “No. I just use it to show off.”
“No kidding. You should lose a couple pounds while you’re at. There’s nothing worse than an obese woman pretending to drive a muscle car.”
“**** off!” I turned around to unlock the door.
“I was standing here first,” he said. “I’d return the request, but I always mind my goddam language around women.”
“Yeah? You’re doing an excellent job of it,” I sneered over my shoulder as I climbed into one of my fiancée’s Porsches.
“Thank-you. My mom was very high on teaching me manners. She’d be pleased to hear that you’re encouraging me.”
“Would she?” I said sarcastically, looking at him as I started the car.
“Yeah. She taught me to always open and close women’s doors for them. Don’t expect me to screw your brains out though.”
I slammed my door shut, and gave him the finger from behind the window. He raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his forehead, and laughed. Then he winked at me, looked at his watch, turned, and stepped into the phone booth, flicking his cigarette butt before he closed the door. I sat there looking at his tanned back, watching him put a quarter into the phone and dial a number.
Only then did I notice my body starting to whisper to me.
I moved my attention from one of Steven’s hotels in front of me—where I used to strip until about three months ago—to the mirror to check my make-up and hair. Then I got out of the car and began walking to the phone booth. My engagement ring, I thought. I quickly slid it off and dropped it into my purse. I stopped. What am I doing? I love Steven. And I’ve only been engaged for a day. Why am I doing this? I thought about it briefly.
Let’s find out.
I walked up to and around the phone booth so I was facing him through the glass. He was looking down, his eyebrows lowered, concealing his eyes, and there was a tenseness in his jaw. His lower lip was puffy too. From the day before, I assumed.
I knocked on the pane.
He muttered something into the receiver. A pause. Suddenly, his elbow flew back, shattering the glass behind him. It startled me. “**** you!” he barked into the receiver. I watched his body relax before I tapped on the window again. Hesitantly, this time. He looked up at me slowly and looked me dead in the eye. I’d never been that terrified in my life. I could see a deep pain as if something had punctured him with pins. In those few seconds he held my gaze, his eyes began to water and his jaw began to quiver.
He turned around, argued and cussed some more, then dropped the receiver. I watched it bounce off the walls in the phone booth wildly. When I looked up, I saw his body collapse against one side of the booth as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one of the back pockets on his rugged blue jeans. Blood dripping down his forearm from his elbow.
I walked around to the entrance as he lit it. When I got to the front, he was pulling at the door aggressively, wrestling and fumbling with it before he smashed it open.
He didn’t acknowledge me.
“Are you okay?” I said. “Can I take a look at your arm or get you something?”
No answer. He didn’t even look at me. All he did was stand there, dragging on his cigarette, smeared red from the blood that had run onto his hands.
“Hey!” I bent over, trying to look up at him. “Are you okay?”
Slowly, he looked up at me like a frightened little boy. I could see that he’d been crying. I wanted to hug him, console him. But I didn’t even know him.
He blinked and seemed to come to. “No,” he said finally. “My dog died.” Then he turned and walked away. I stood there watching him for a few minutes. After he disappeared behind a corner, I looked at the phone booth; the broken glass smeared with blood, and the shards laying on the floor, also spotted with blood. Who was he talking to? And what happened? I remember thinking.
My mind went back. What happened yesterday when he got into a confrontation with my fiancée? And why is this guy obsessed with payphones?
Steven and I were just sitting down to dinner in the restaurant of this same hotel, when there was a commotion coming from the lobby behind me. There was a racket, and Steven leaned sideways to look past me.
“John,” Steven said. He was always on a first name basis with his staffs. The waiter came over. “Do you want to see what’s happening out there?”
“Yes, Mr. Drake.” He put his dirty plates down on a nearby table and walked past us to the lobby. Just as he did, another bang came from the lobby.
“What the heck is going on in there!” Then again; another thud. “Excuse me, dear.” Steven pulled his serviette from his lap and tossed it beside his plate as he got up and walked past me toward the lobby. I watched him as he walked past. He had a concerned, yet curious look on his face.
I sat there, looking at my vegetarian dish, and trying to ignore the man glancing at me from a nearby table. God, I miss meat, I thought as I poked at the tofu with my fork. What I wouldn’t do for a good old fashioned sausage dog like dad used to barbeque.
Just then, another thump came from the lobby, followed by the waiter who came rushing past me and burst through the doors to the lounge. A few people looked up. I sat up straighter, trying to look through the door’s windows. Then I turned my head slightly, and looking through the corner of my eye, I tried to get a glimpse of the lobby behind me. Was Steven alright?
Almost immediately, the bouncer, followed by the waiter, hurried out of the lounge, and headed to the lobby. I stopped the waiter, as the bouncer continued. “John. What’s going on?”
“Nothing to be concerned about. We have a troublemaker. That’s all. Jimmy will take care of him.” Jimmy must be the bouncer, I assumed. “How’s your food? Is everything alright?”
“What kind of trouble?” I batted my eyelashes, and leaned forward.
“It’s nothing to worry about. Some kid was boxing the teeth right out of the payphone in the lobby. He punched a hole in the wall too—How’s your food?”
I turned around to look in the direction of the lobby. As I did, the young man came flying through the revolving doors, backwards. He lost his balance along the way, falling over, but rolling out of it gracefully as he came to a stop in a squat. He had the attention of all the guests in the restaurant. There wasn’t a sound. All conversation stopped.
The young man looked around at the startled guests, blood running down his lip. “How’s your guys dinner? Okay?” he said. I turned forward. The rest of the guests stared with disbelief.
“Conan! What the hell are you doing, you damn fool?” yelled a man as he stood up from his table.
Immediately, I heard Steven and the bouncer come through the lobby doors. “You want some more trouble, buddy?” I heard the bouncer bark.
The man who had stood up moved around the table and started walking across the dining room toward the young man. Everyone’s eyes followed the man, including mine. My waiter moved out of the way as the man passed. “Gentlemen,” he said, addressing Steven and the bouncer. “This man works for me,” pointing to the young man. “I apologize for any disturbance. What can I do for you, to make up for it?”
“He works for you?” Steven said. “Say. Are you Arnold?”
“Yes,” said the man, puzzled.
Steven looked over at the bouncer and gave him a nod, and the bouncer left for the lounge. “I’m Steven Drake,” he said, extending a hand.
The man’s face froze. “I’m terribly sorry, sir.” Then he meagerly clasped Steven’s hand.
Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I could sense the young man staring at me. But it was different. It wasn’t the way men usually stare at me. It was a look, an energy. The kind of energy that is almost contagious, like a yawn. I began to get lost in the feeling. My stomach began to hum and I felt a little fidgety. Finally, I turned around. And just waited, completely distracted by my sensations.
After a few minutes, Steven sat back down. I guess they sorted things out. “I suppose stranger things have happened,” he said. “Guess who that was?”