* * *
When they returned after having two free drinks apiece (their choice! They’d tried G and Ts with that new gin, Tanqueray Ten), then ordering veggie burgers and leaving a sizable tip, there was some action at the motel. Rooms glowed at each end like luminous bookends. The Norwegians were in their room, but the curtains were closed, so the light was not very noticeable. Only one room remained empty, and Moira felt vaguely happy for the motel owner but also a little disappointed, since so far they’d had such a private vacation. Which was also one day closer to ending. Which increased the pressure to have the talk — to at least give it one more try; to see if they could arrive at any conclusion, even temporary, that might make her feel better, that might be an incentive to get back to work. He was correct that editing the scientific pieces only took a few hours a week now, since the Internet was so much help and she was working with such professional writers that they sent almost all the primary source material to her along with their pieces. The things she’d found out about moth communication. The amygdala. A rare orchid that bloomed underground whose stems might be useful in pain management. Fracking (so depressing).
Two SUVs were wedged into one and a half parking spaces. A motorcycle sat at the opposite end. The motel owner was standing outside the office, chatting with someone inside. She and Hughes waved as they opened their door. Hughes immediately turned on the TV. She went to the bathroom. She peed and fingered her arm for the little matchstick-size Nexplanon the doctor had injected near her armpit. What the doctor had said was true: you could locate it with no trouble, but you couldn’t see it. No birth control pills for her; she’d read enough about what harm they did after a certain age (she was three years older than he). She brushed her hair and thought to put the loose strands into a Kleenex and drop it in the trash basket. Yet again, she avoided looking in the mirror as she took the clip out of her hair and let it fall to her shoulders. Past her shoulders, and her mother didn’t approve. “It makes you look older, not younger!” she always said. Her eyes flicked to the mirror, then down. She didn’t have much of a sense of how old she looked. Men still tried to pick her up sometimes. Hughes had called her beautiful. So next would come sex with Hughes, a Coke or a ginger ale from the machine, maybe a little package of Hydrox to split, if he was in a really good mood. There was a knock at the door and she waited while Hughes answered it.
“The people who have just checked in are from Hollywood. Good evening, Hughes. I’m sorry I am so excited, I have hurried to state this information, but the two men in unit one have me a little upset, due to the urgency of their request. They need to light the parking lot and wonder if you will be inconvenienced by their doing that. We did not know about this until only one hour ago, perhaps less. I phoned your room, but you were not back yet. We understand totally if this would not be what you want.”
“What do you mean, Kunal? They’re making the motel into a movie set?”
“Yes, that is exactly it, but they are not now making a movie. They will send a video to the director, and he must decide how to proceed. To be honest, this is a sudden plan and yes, we will be given some money, though we honor the wishes of our other guests, and except for perhaps buying you dinner — if you have not had dinner — we are wondering whether the matter of a couple of hours would truly inconvenience you.”
“It’s fine,” Moira said, coming out of the bathroom. Her molar hurt, as well as the place she’d rubbed repeatedly under her arm. “No big deal. Can we watch?”
Hughes turned toward her. She could see that he was about to say something, then decided against it. She had a quick flash of them the night before — no, two nights before — entangled on the bed, the sweat on his face, the curtains not pulled together tightly enough, but no one was there, no one but the Norwegians, who seemed to sleep all day and night.
“Of course,” Hughes said. “But yes, do ask if we keep out of their way, whether we could sit back by the pool and watch.”
“I will ask,” Kunal said. “Thank you. Tomorrow night, Mr. Reed would like to buy you dinner, then. You have been a pleasure to have at the motel.”
“You sound like you’re out of central casting,” Hughes said, smiling a bit.
“Sir?”
Again, Hughes altered his expression. “I mean, we all suddenly become extras, or something,” he said. “We’ll just sit out by the pool and see if this amuses us.”
“Okay,” Kunal said, bowing slightly as he turned away. Then he stopped and turned toward the still-open doorway. “I turn like that man, Columbo!” he said. “Do you remember that show? He would take his leave and then turn and say, ‘One more thing,’ or something like that?”
“Yes,” Hughes said, smiling. “Peter Falk. That was a great show.”
“So for this minute I become Columbo,” Kunal said. “Were you saying before — this is my one more thing — did you mean I said something that sounded like an actor who would be hired from central casting?”
“What?” Hughes said. “I was just joking.”
“Of course. It’s what I thought,” Kunal said, turning without bowing. “Good, then, I will make arrangements for you to sit outside.”
Hughes shook his head and closed the door. He’d lied. He’d suddenly realized Kunal was a stereotype. A stock character.
“People do notice when you’re being a shit. You must realize that. I happen not to be able to do without you, but you’re far from a perfect person.”
“That’s a backhanded compliment,” he said.
“No, it’s a straightforward comment. I save my backhand for tennis.”
“Well, aren’t you the clever person?”
“Let’s leave that a rhetorical question and not miss the goings-on.”
“Really?” he said suddenly. “You’d get off on watching some stupid movie made in this obscure little motel? That’s your best thought for tonight?”
“You could have said no,” Moira said, sliding her hands in the pockets of her Bermuda shorts. “Were you deferring to me when you agreed it would be great to have everything lit up? Or maybe you were deferring to the servant, Kunal?”
“The servant? He’s not my servant. What the fuck! You’re this way on two drinks?”
“That’s a low blow. You know two drinks certainly are not affecting anything I say.”
“Oh, okay, I’ll just throw open the door and they can film around us. They can get two for the price of one: some pointless couple arguing in their little room and then whatever else they’re filming.”
“Listen to yourself. You think you’re pointless?”
“You can be so maddening, Moira. You listen, yourself. You’re being a bitch. Let’s not do this, okay? Let’s sit outside.”
“Sure, sure, the world’s for our entertainment,” Moira said, walking past him.
The wind chimes tinkled. Would the film people take them down? Or would they like ambient sound? In the distance, the owner raised a hand again as he hurried into the locked closet and came out with a vacuum, which he carried to the man with the motorcycle in the far room. There were five or six — six — men already in the parking lot. “Don’t move the cars, leave ’em where they are,” one shouted. “No way!” another shouted back. “We move the cars and see what the light’s like first.” “That’s unnecessary, I’m telling ya,” the first man said. Well — good. They wouldn’t have to move their car.
In front of the fence around the pool sat two chairs side by side. Moira sat in one, unnoticed by the work crew. Hughes came out of the motel room, pulling the door shut. She could only hope he’d remembered a key, since she hadn’t. Not like her, but she’d been rattled.