Three days after the marriage of his frequent date Celeste Young to his best friend Mike Hastings, Logan Mayfair quit his job as civic affairs reporter for the Claytown Sentinel and took the 12:15 out of town.
Logan had never liked trains and he liked this one even less; the so-called 12:15 departure had been 12.53 and he was in no mood to be kept waiting for an apology of a railway company mouth-piece.
"Why was this fucking train late?" he growled.
The conductor said all trains were late sometimes and asked Logan not to swear.
"What's wrong with fucking swearing?"
"Because it's offensive to some passengers and you are objectionable because you are drunk."
"I haven't touched a drop in hours."
"Yeah, after drinking for a couple of days no doubt."
"Oh fuck, off, get me off this flea-bitten train."
That appeal set that process in motion.
Logan had not been aware he was disturbing other passengers and he waved cheerfully to them as they clapped as the conductor and a much larger guy, in a uniform with 'Security' written across the chest. escorted him from the coach.
He was held in a confined area and had his wish of being put off the train at the next stop - just over 100 miles of his 355-mile journey back to his hometown completed.
Miraculously his suitcase was located and dumped off the train beside him. He never saw his laptop again.
'Chatswood?'
Logan had never visited the city but had heard of it of course. Who hadn't heard of the Chatswood murders of 2002?
Outside the railways station, he attempted to hitch a ride but at least fifty vehicles went by without stopping.
Logan dropped his thumb and sat on his suitcase, head bowed, and thought of the very likeable Celeste being repeatedly shafted on her honeymoon. After those vivid thoughts, her husband Mike Hastings was no longer considered to be Logan's best friend.
He heard someone talking and then a yell, "I said if you want a lift you better climb aboard."
They took off.
The weathered driver of the battered pick-up in check shirt, jeans and ancient boots introduced himself as Josh and with introductions complete, they talked about the weather, Josh talked about grain prices and Logan talked about flea-bitten trains.
"Well, where to?" Josh asked?" a few bumpy minutes along the poorly maintained street.
"A cheap motel on the edge of town."
Josh braked to a stop. "Here we are."
"Here we are. where?" Logan asked, confused.
Josh said on the edge of town outside a cheap motel and drove off shaking his head and grinning.
"My suitcase," Logan yelled and turned to run after the departing pick-up and fell over his suitcase.
"Christ, I need to sleep for a couple of day and sober up."
Inside the dingy reception area, he rang the bell.
"Yes."
Well, thought Logan, it was a flea-bitten hotel, very Spartan but at least reception was efficient. None of this 'Welcome sir, aren't we having rotten weather and I hope you had a satisfactory journey reaching us."
He asked, "Your best unit please."
"Can't do, it's taken," said the tired-faced woman in an old-fashion blouse and graying hair in a bun and no make-up, not even lipstick.
"May I have the next-best available unit please."
"Yes, sign the register while I process your credit card."
The efficiency impressed Logan. The big hotel chains better watch out.
"Betty-Louise!" the woman called into the microphone of the sound system that until that bellow had been playing soft country music.
"My niece will take you to your unit; please don't molest her."
Yeah right, she'll be safe if she has your genes, Logan thought, smiling and saying, "Thank you ma'am."
She actually smiled and showed she still had most of her bottom teeth.
Logan thought the State's beauty queen was making a courtesy visit when a radiant lovely came along the passage.
He stepped back.
She looked at him, frowned, picked up his suitcase and said, "Follow me sir."
Shocked that this could be Betty-Louise, Logan warned himself three times not to molest her and following the beautifully swaying ass. The door to the unit was open so she walked straight in and placed his suitcase on the rack and turned and faced him.
"You look fucked-up; been in a road accident?"
"No, I came by flea-bitten train," he said vaguely.
Her eyes widened. "I know, you've been jilted, you hit the bottle and now you're running away."
Logan's eyes widened more than hers did but he was too fatigued to admire her intelligent deduction or to think about molesting her. He'd seen the bed so was already ninety percent asleep.
"You are so right," he said, crashing to the floor.
It was hours later and dark, no noise from passing traffic. Logan figured he had either become blind and deaf or else it was in the small hours. He found the light switch: his watch advised 3:17. There was an insulated flask beside his bed with a note containing four words: 'Chicken broth. Drink. Betty-Louise'.
Well yes, he could drink Betty-Louise and nibble her anytime soon Err, could her hyphenated name be considered one word?
That question was put aside. He unscrewed the cap of the flask and poured soup into the mug. He sipped and boggled, recalling it was just like grandma use to make it, not at all like the supermarket tinned crap.
He was pouring the second mug when he realized he was nude and remembered opening his eyes to see the floor coming to meet him.
Well, well. Betty-Louise had seen right to his dick whereas the only skin he had seen of her was her face and from fingers to mid-arm. Oh God, he probably hadn't showered for three days. He really couldn't remember.
After finishing the soup, Logan went and showered.
He couldn't remember the name of the motel; had he seen the name? He recalled the city was Chatswood. Perhaps he was at Chatswood's Premium Motel.
Logan slept again until noon when he found more broth. At 6:00 that evening he was awakened by Betty-Louise. She bent over him, her fragrance waffling over him as she pulled down each lid to look inspect his eyes.
"You'll live, the bottoms are whitening up again. You looked shocking when you arrived."
"Self-inflicted poisoning."
"Afraid so, excessive intake of alcohol has that effect," she said with the authority of a daughter whose father was a drunk. "You smell more like a normal man; have you showered?"
"Yes, twice. Sorry you had to endure me at my worst."
"What I saw made up for that," she said straight faced and only giggled when Logan's blush swept down to his chest.
"Go to the bathroom now while I change your bed and then I'm taking you to my unit for dinner; it's almost ready."
"Why are you being so kind?"
"It's a lonely life here and we haven't had a handsome man as a guest in my time at this dump."
Logan said, "Oh manners. I'm Logan Mayfair."
"Hi Logan, my surname is Lemont."
"Miss Lemont, sounds cute," he said. "Look away please."
Betty-Louise giggled as she turned away and watched in the wall mirror his bare-ass-flight to bathroom.
Showered and shaved Logan returned to the room to find his bed was made with fresh linen, a change of clothes was on the bed and his suitcase was unpacked and everything placed in the dresser. Oh, he was expected to stay a few days, he grinned. That was one way to build occupancy rate.
He grinned. A note pinned around his belt stated 'Unit 18, second row back, nearest the kitchen. xxx'
Wow, he was handsome enough to rate paper kisses! He almost ran to Unit 18.
Miss Betty-Louise Whoever greeted him in through the open door with a smile. She was now undressed from motel service uniform in very high cut-offs and just a light knitted top that revealed show-through wobble when she'd waved.
Logan had thought Celeste had the best legs imaginable and had been over every inch of them many times. But hello, Betty-Louise with legs straight off a Top Babes Magazine artist's drawing tablet and they went on forever, well, an unbelievably long way which was as good as saying forever.
He pulled his tongue back into his mouth and beamed, "Hi."
"God you look a million times better. No wonder old folk sounding off medical cures never say too much sleep is bad for you. You've been asleep two days."
"You're kidding. I had the broth this morning and you woke me again at 6:00."
"That was today. I left broth yesterday and you didn't wake up. I wanted to fetch a doctor but Auntie Melanie said you were a victim of the bottle and looked fit enough to make a full recovery unaided. Her main concern was you'd wake up and grope me."
"Oh, sorry I failed to perform as expected. I must have disappointed you."
"You're funny."
She said sit down and pour the wine. He looked at the bottle and gulped. She said a little bit of wine would probably accelerate his recovery if his body was used to running on a bit of residue alcohol.
"You sound very learned."
"Auntie Melanie told me that actually; she's waiting to hear my screams when you attack me. She has her shotgun loaded and Uncle Bert has sharpened the axe."
"Well, that reduces the chances of me molesting you sufficiently to generate a scream."
"Don't go disappointing me now," she said, fluttering her extended eyelashes.
"You're funny," he said, wanting to add, 'and so beautiful' but a beautiful woman doesn't want to be told that again, again and over again no more than a man wants to be asked, 'And how's your gout?'
Logan had a pain in his toe. He felt down and found to his relief it wasn't his big toe, an acknowledged gout signal, but rather the next toe in.
"How old are you?"
"Thirty-one," he replied.
"Good, not too old then. If you stay you can be my boyfriend. The guys around here want to take me out for one purpose whereas you appear to be more mature in your mind and have a mind broader than the single-track minds of yokels around here."
"Oh yeah, sure," Logan said, hoping he sounded sincere and intellectual. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-five. I came home with my degree in communications last year but found my parent's in disarray and our family business collapsing around them as the accountant had run off with my sister and cleaned out the bank accounts plus newly arrived loan money for replacement equipment."
He said, "The cur and his bitch are apparently somewhere in South American, probably in Argentina."
She ignored his contribution and said, "My parents were in a dreadful state after putting off thirty personnel with no money for redundancy but grandma came through with sufficient money to prop up their core business."
Logan expressed his sympathy as he leant towards her to top up her wine. She turned and held up her lips so he kissed her. With a little cry she put done the glass and grabbed him, kissing him passionately.
"Steady on," he whispered when coming up for breath, "or I may have to call Auntie Melanie."
She pulled back and blushed, saying she was so sorry.
