Page 6 of Dress Rescue
Ellis
The man at the motel is even older than Betsy Defontaigne.
He waddles out from behind his desk. One hand on his hip. The other holding a cane. Great big streaks of tobacco are stuck in his beard.
“What do you want?” he asks.
“Two rooms?” I say, looking around at the dust-filled reception area. “This place is a motel, isn’t it?”
He shakes his head and goes back behind his desk. Pulls a couple of keys off a hook attached to the wall. From the looks of it, we’re the only guests.
“A smartass,” he mumbles to himself, “that’s all I need. A god damn, out of town, smartass.”
“Betsy DeFontaigne sent us,” Sara says. “We’re here on business.”
“Betsy DeFontaigne is a mean old bitch.” He scratches his chin. Stares off into the distance. “But, I’ll tell ya, she was quite the hot ticket around here when she was younger. Oh, those were the days. Sitting on the side of the church dance with a nice glass of coca-cola watching Betsy spin around. Hoping for a glimpse of her leg as her dress lifted up a little too high. I’ll tell ya, there were many a night I had to relieve myself after watching Betsy DeFontaigne dance at the church hall. Many. A. Night.”
Sara looks like she’s about to be sick. She turns away. Coughing.
I step forward and pull some money out of my pocket. If I tried paying by card, he’d probably go into a speech about how he used to rub himself off to cashier’s checks.
“One night?” he says.
“Yes.” I nod.
Pretty soon, we’re shuffling along behind him on the way to our rooms. When he opens the door, I let out a sigh of relief. It’s nowhere near as bad as I was imagining. A little dated, but clean. Tidy. The kind of place a respectable family man might have taken his mistress in the 70s.
“This one and the one next door,” he grumbles.
“Is there anywhere we can grab a bite to eat around here?” Sara asks.
He looks at her like she’s just asked him to paint the Mona Lisa. “Vending machine,” he says, turning around and then hobbling away.
I look at her and shrug my shoulders. “How about you make yourself at home, and I’ll go get us some food. Maybe find something to watch on the TV?”
“Okay.” The look on her face tells me she might be having second thoughts about borrowing my car and driving home. I don’t blame her. The idea of going a night without a decent meal isn’t exactly a welcome prospect. I’m half tempted to drive a hundred miles just so I can bring her back a pizza and see the smile on her face.
Instead, I walk down the other side of the building and buy so much candy and chips I have to make two trips just to carry it all back.
“You’re crazy,” she giggles, as I chuck the last few bars of candy on the bed. “We’re never going to be able to finish all this. Besides, I’m supposed to be on a diet!”
“To hell with your diet,” I say, jumping on the bed and grabbing a Reese’s Pieces. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
She sits down next to me. Her back to the wall. Her arm almost touching me.
We sit like that for a while. Watching an old Bruce Willis film from when he had hair and talked with a toothpick in his mouth. I’ve seen it about a million times before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.
Sara smiles and giggles when I look at her and mime all the cheesy dialogue.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this at home with a woman. It’s like we’ve known each other all our lives. It’s hard to believe we haven’t slept together, let alone kissed.
When the credits are rolling, I reach over to pick up the last pack of M&M’s. But Sara has the same idea, too.
Our hands meet. Fingers touching.
“You have it,” she says, pulling away.
I pick it up and offer it to her. “No, you take it,” I say. “It’s the last one.”
