I grip the steering wheel as if it were a shield, but it doesn’t stop her question from stabbing through my chest. Next to me, Viv waits for her answer — and single-handedly reminds me what I’d forgotten long ago. Sometimes you need a slap in the face to realize what’s coming out of your mouth.
“No…” I finally say. “That’s not what I’m saying at all…”
Viv nods, content that everything’s right in at least that part of her world.
“But let me tell you something,” I quickly add. “There’s something else that goes along with feeling like you’re last in the race — and it’s not a bad thing. Being last means you’ve got a hunger in your gut no one else’ll ever be able to comprehend. They couldn’t buy it with all their money. And know what that hunger gives you?”
“Besides my big butt?”
“Success, Viv. No matter where you go, or what you do. Hunger feeds success.”
We sit in silence for a full minute as my words fade beneath the hum of the engine. She lets the quiet sink in — and this time, I think she’s doing it on purpose.
Staring out the front window, Viv studies the long, angled road in front of us and, to her credit, never lets me know what she’s thinking. She’s gonna be a ruthless negotiator one day.
“How much further till we get there?” she finally asks.
“Fifteen miles until we hit Deadwood… then this town called Pluma… then it’s at least a good hour or so after that. Why?”
“No reason,” she says, pulling her legs up so she’s sitting Indian-style in the passenger seat. With her pointer and middle fingers, she opens and closes an imaginary pair of finger-scissors. “I just wanna know how much time we have for you to tell me about your barber shop.”
“If you want, I bet we can grab a bite to eat in Deadwood. Even out here, they can’t mess up grilled cheese.”
“See, now we got something,” Viv says. “Grilled cheese in Deadwood sounds great.”
32
Janos’s trip took two different planes, one stopover, and a three-hour leg with a petite Asian woman whose lifelong dream was to open a soul food restaurant that served fried shrimp. Yet he still hadn’t reached his final destination.
“Minneapolis?” Sauls asked through the cell phone. “What’re you doing in Minneapolis?”
“I heard they have a great Foot Locker at the Mall of America,” Janos growled, pulling his bag from the conveyor belt. “Getting stuck in the airport just wasn’t enough fun for one night.”
“What about the jet?”
“They couldn’t turn it around fast enough. I called every place on the list. Any other wonderful suggestions?”
“And now they canceled your flight?”
“Never was one — I figured I’d find another connection to Rapid City, but let’s just say South Dakota isn’t the top priority on the airlines’ flight plans.”
“So when’s the next-?”
“First thing tomorrow,” Janos said as he shoved his way outside and noticed a sky blue 1965 Mustang convertible passing by. The grille emblem was from a ’67, but the tonneau cover looked original. Nice work.
“Janos…”
“Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes still on the red taillights of the convertible as they faded into the night. “As soon as they wake up, I’ll be standing on their chests.”
33
There are few things more instantly depressing than the stale, mildewed smell of an old motel room. The sour, mossy whiff is still in the air as I wake up. Enjoy your stay at the Gold House, a plastic placard on the nightstand reads. There’s a dot-matrix cartoon drawing of a pot of gold at the bottom corner of the sign, which looks like it was made the same year they last changed these sheets.
Last night, we didn’t get in until after midnight. Right now, the digital lights on the alarm clock tell me it’s five in the morning. I’m still on East Coast time. Seven A.M. it is. Kicking the thin, fuzzy blanket aside (I might as well’ve covered myself with a gauze pad), I look back at the pancake pillow and count seventeen black hairs. Already I know it’s gonna be a bad day.
Next to me, the other bed is still made. When we checked in last night, I made Viv wait in the car as I told the woman at the front desk that I needed one room for myself and one for my kids. I don’t care how tall and mature Viv looks. A white guy in his thirties checking into a motel with a younger black girl — and no luggage. Even in a big town, that’ll get people chatting.
On my left, the seventies-era flower-patterned curtains are closed, but I can still see a sliver of the dark sky outside. On my right, the sink is right next to the bed, and as I grab the toothbrush and toiletries we bought in the gas station, I plug in the iron I borrowed from the front desk. With all the running around, our suits look like we played baseball in them. If we plan on pulling this off, we’re gonna have to look the part and get the sharp corners back.
As the iron heats up, I turn to the phone on the nightstand and dial Viv’s room. It rings over and over. No answer. I’m actually not surprised. After what we went through yesterday, she has to be exhausted. I hang up and dial again. Still nothing. I was the same way in high school. The clock radio could scream for an hour, but nothing got me up until Mom banged on the door.
Putting on my slacks, I again check my watch. Even the earliest flight won’t get Janos in for another ten minutes, not including the two hour drive to get here. We’re okay. Just go knock and get her up.
Undoing the chain lock, I tug the door open. A puff of fresh air shoves back at the mustiness — but as I step out and head to my right, I immediately feel something smack into my ankles. I plummet face first toward the concrete breezeway. It’s impossible. He can’t be here yet…
My cheek scrapes against the ground, even as my hands try to break my fall. I turn over as fast as I can. I can already picture Janos’s face… Then I hear the voice behind me.
“Sorry… sorry,” Viv says, sitting on the floor of the concrete breezeway, tucking her long legs out of the way. “You alright?”
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“I don’t sleep… at least not that well,” she says, looking up from a small brochure. “I don’t mind, though… My mom says some things just are. I’m a bad sleeper. That’s the way I was built.”
“What’re you doing out here?”
“My room stinks. Literally. Like a geriatric barn. Think about it: old people mixed with animals — it’s a good description.”
Climbing to my feet, I roll my tongue inside my cheek. “So you’re always up this early?”
“Page school starts at six-fifteen. The woman at the front desk… she’s all talky, but in a cool way, y’know? I’ve been chatting with her for the past half hour. Can you believe she had two people in her graduating class? This town’s in trouble.”
“What’re you — ? I told you not to speak to anyone.”
Viv shrinks down, but not by much. “Don’t worry — I told her I’m the au pair… taking care of the kids.”
“In a blue business suit?” I ask, pointing to her outfit.
“I didn’t wear the jacket. Don’t worry — she believed it. Besides, I was hungry. She gave me an orange,” she explains, pulling it from her pocket. “One for you, too.”
She hands me a plastic Baggie with an already peeled orange inside.
“She peeled it for you?”
“Don’t ask. She insisted. I didn’t want to upset her. We’re the first guests they’ve had since… since the actual gold rush.”