Page 40 of Phoenix Fire

Jason closed the door, walked to the corner and retrieved his blazer, sock, shoes, and returned to sit on the bed.

He tried again to remember yesterday in its entirety. He had started drinking in the afternoon. What happened later in the evening?

His body had returned to a tentative place, the nausea not prominent but still a threat. There was still an unsettling fear within him, and he was in a quiet and uncomfortable desperation. The room was hot and stuffy, full of bad air, and his face felt parched and flushed.

He went back to the bathroom and splashed more water on his face. He let the cold side faucet run for a long time before lowering his head under it and hungrily gulping as much water as his eager mouth could take in.

Back on the bed he fumbled through his pants pockets and his blazer. He found several wadded credit card receipts, car keys, and a lone Visa Gold charge card. He could neither find a wallet or any cash. Another spasm of anxiety hit him and he thought of 'Roy' and 'Hal.' Had they taken his money and wallet? He shook his head in self-disgust. Then, he noticed on the floor in the corner of the room a brown leather wallet. It must have dropped from the blazer when he retrieved it.

He jumped from the bed too fast, causing him to experience dizziness. He sat again until it passed, rose more slowly and went to get the wallet. He leafed quickly through the plastic card holders and the small inner compartments. His cards were all there, as was his money, still wadded in its clip. The money and clip was inside one of the larger pockets. It struck him as a bit odd to find his money in that spot because he usually carried the clip in a trouser pocket. He could not remember having put the money there, but it really did not matter. He was relieved to have found these important items. It was a small victory in this otherwise sordid predicament.

A slight feeling of hope came to him. He had money. He had his credit cards. Apparently, he had maintained some good sense last night, or … Maybe 'Hal' and 'Roy' had taken care of him.

He again tried to remember all that had happened yesterday. Then he felt the rush of time, or, more specifically, the rush of checkout time. He did not want another visit from the 'mouse man,' his 'pal' and his 'buddy.'

Maybe a shower would help him to remember all the details of yesterday. At the very least he would get the unpleasant musk off of his body, perhaps give him some energy and purpose. He peeled off his clothes and went to stand in the cracked and dented tub while broken streams of water came down on him from the clogged shower head. He felt like holding his breath with tightly closed lips so as not to accidentally swallow some of the squalid water.

When he had toweled off and dressed again he felt better. His face was dark with second day stubble, but a shave would have to wait. A faint perspiration odor came from the shirt he was forced to wear again but, overall, he felt relatively clean.

His mind became active again with thought. While he still could not put all of the previous night together, he began to get patches of remembrance. The hard facts of his brother's death and Grandma Myrena's terminal cancer pounded relentlessly upon his brain, and he felt another rush of anxiety.

Carlton was gone from him in this life. He could only hope and pray that he would have known at his death that Jason loved him. The thoughts that plagued him the most were of Grandma Myrena and Jenny. How would they look upon him if they could see him here in this dingy room, used up and without direction? He felt lost and profoundly ashamed. How could he have sunk to this? What was happening to him?

He walked around the small smelly room, checking for any items he might have overlooked. He found nothing except for some crawling things which might have been cockroaches. Involuntarily a thought came to him of a long ago Ray Milland movie called, The Lost Weekend.

With a lingering apprehension he walked out of the room and down a narrow hallway to a red exit sign above a gray metal door. He opened the door, walked down two flights of stairs, and opened another metal door. He cautiously peeked through and saw that he had reached the lobby of the hotel. The large malodorous lobby had a darkly sinister cast to it, depressing in its anachronistic aura. He could see the short registration desk diagonally across from where he stood. He saw only the top of a man's head at a small PBX switchboard and he could hear the little mousy man cursing.

Jason pushed the metal door fully open and stepped into the lobby. He took a right turn and went out a side exit onto a downtown Phoenix street. He had no idea where he was until he saw some familiar reference points, two corner thoroughfare signs that announced the intersection of Van Buren and Central Avenue.

He felt like an idiot. He had no clue where his car was parked, if in fact, it was even in the immediate area.

He thought again of Jenny, Grandma Myrena, and Carlton. Why were the people he loved deserting him? Why was he so unable to cope with the reality of death? Was his problem deeper than the reality of death? Had Carlton's death awakened long sleeping atavistic demons? Was it a karmic anomaly that was pushing him away from Grandma Myrena and Jenny, his only hope of salvation?

He had an urge to walk. It did not matter where his car was. It was most likely still at the Camelback Road cocktail lounge. It would turn up. Maybe he could walk the cobwebs out of his mind. Maybe some sanity would return. Maybe some memory of yesterday would come.

He walked north on Central Avenue until he came upon a public telephone booth. He wanted to call Jenny. He wanted to call Grandma Myrena. He wanted to apologize and to tell them that he loved them so very much.

The neon on the bar in the middle of the block blinked at him like a winking, hypnotic harlot. He felt his resolve to make telephone calls waver. He felt disgusted with himself, but his body had some urgent and immediate need. 'Hair of the dog' held out a promise of relief for his imbalanced and tortured system. He would have a drink or two, strictly for medicinal purposes. Then, he would call the people he loved.

There was an empty seat at the bar.

Chapter Twenty-six

Jenny went back to Jason's house the next day and night. The note was still where she had placed it on the bed. She left his house with a heavy heart. She could only assume that Jason had gone out of town.

She had returned to work but she found it difficult to concentrate. She worked on her projects with forced focus but with little excitement.

She called Grandma Myrena in the early afternoon and Wardley told her that Mrs. Wimsley was lying down and in a great deal of pain.

“It appears that the new medication is not sufficient to relieve the pain. The doctor is stopping by later today.” Wardley sounded as though he, too, was in great pain.

“Has there been any news from Jason?” Jenny asked.

“No, I'm sorry to say. I could be wrong but I think her pain is more intense because she is so worried about her grandson.”

“Do you think it would help if I came over after work to spend some time with her?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Mason, indeed I do. She would not wish to put you out. That's her way. But I know she would be so pleased to see you. She talks of you so often.”

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