Chapter 1.
It's been dark for hours now, and I'm still walking down long city blocks carrying my two suitcases. It's way too warm to be wearing much of anything, but I've got my raincoat on to protect me from the stinking weather. And I mean the word stinking literally. My coat is covered in slime from a really awful dank and oily mist. A summer fog with some drizzle rolled in off the lake a while ago, and at first I thought the light rain might help clean the air of the fumes from the car pollution. What a joke. The air smells more noxious than ever now. It stings my eyes and irritates my throat. Fucking hell on whole wheat, that's what I say, really stinking weather. I tell myself not to get too depressed.
It's damn frustrating to be stuck in this city, and that's damn with a capital D. The place is absolutely hellish. Everything here is run down and dirty, and I am so incredibly eager to curse this city and shake its dust off my shoes and more on. And why don't I? There's a nationwide transportation strike going on now. The airline, rail, and bus unions are picketing everywhere and good luck trying to make a private deal for a cross country trip. Good luck.
So what is it now, my third week here? Maybe my fourth, and with my suspended driver's license I am absolutely stuck. At least my employer Competitive Capital keeps depositing my salary and my travel allowance into my account. I can still eat and sleep, not to say this dump hasn't killed my appetite.
I'm an instructor, and my training courses with the local branches were only supposed to last a few days. I can still remember the last time I was at the district hub. I tried to earn my pay, I really did. I made myself available for follow-up questions. But the classroom was deserted. I left after an hour. It was kind of embarrassing. The district manager is officially my boss while I'm stationed here, and I told her maybe I would try doing follow-up at the branch locations. She just shrugged her shoulders. It was a gesture of supreme indifference.
So I figured, what the hell? If nobody cares, I'll just coast for a while until the strike is over. I'll lie low and call the home office occasionally and leave when I have a way out. And sure enough, the money keeps piling up in my Competitive account. Some crazy accounting logic even boosted my travel allowance 30% a few days ago, some sort of automatic bonus for an extended assignment. Stupid computers, but I'm not the complaining type, not about stuff like this anyway.
So I get this bonus and I ask around for a nicer place to stay. And what I hear is absolutely fabulous. Across the city by the lake is a really grand place, a complex of tall buildings with new modern hotel rooms on the upper floors and a huge single's bar in the lower levels called Liar's Lair. The only question is: do I mind that the place is located in the city's red-light district?
Mind?! Hell no! I haven't slept with a woman since Maggie divorced me, actually since a couple of years before that. I'm not sure what I think of pure sex-for-money deals, but I do know it's legal here if you're in the right zone with the right license. A single's bar though, yeah. I start to daydream as I walk.
Maybe I'll find someone nice. Even if she's a prostitute, I won't mind if she's pleasant to be with. Wow, having a drink or a meal with a woman who isn't nagging me. Wouldn't that be different? Maybe we'll even dance. Do I remember how to dance? Will I look attractive to a woman? How about to a woman who is attractive herself? I find myself not wanting an honest answer. At fifty-five, am I too old for this? Time to think about something else.
Ouch! My wrists! That's certainly something else to think about! Maybe carrying these suitcases across town is a really stupid idea. I broke both my wrists a long time ago playing football in high school. Man, I should have thought about this before I started walking. My hands feel so cold and numb now, so cold. Pins and needles and it hurts! It feels as if my hands are submerged in buckets of ice water and meanwhile I'm sweating everywhere else. Fucking hell on rye, that's what I say, what a situation! But what choice do I have? I mean, good luck finding a freelance cabbie around here. Good luck. All the regular cabbies are out on sympathy strike with the other transportation unions.
I heard at my old hotel that the red-light district wasn't too far away, across town yeah but maybe only an hour or so of hoofing it, maybe a tad more with the suitcases. So I checked out of the old fleabag and here I am walking the streets. I must be close now. I hope the place has some vacancies. Ouch. My cold and aching wrists won't take much more of these suitcases. Yeah, vacancies. And maybe some good food would be nice too, though surprisingly I don't feel hungry. And I absolutely need a shower before checking out a bar scene. Maybe a room on the upper levels, yeah. Maybe a room with a view of the lake, that'd be nice. It doesn't hurt to dream.
I pick up the pace and I stumble and almost drop my bags as my foot sinks into boot-sucking mud hidden under a sheen of oily water. Fucking hell on Melba toast, that's what I say! Where the hell's the sidewalk?! Did somebody steal it?! This city is such a dump! I'll take any room they've got now. I sure as hell don't want to hike back all the way to my old hotel, not with all this muck in my shoe. It feels as if my foot is packed in slimy shit and my hands are getting freezer burn. Time to think of something else.
My nose catches a different odor. On top of the car fumes there's a new smell of stale grease. It's coming from the Cheap Eats joint across the street. I haven't eaten in a while, so long that I pause and stare at the neon lights showing a sleazy image of a plate of nondescript blue food, complete with fake white steam from another neon light. I laugh to myself. Neon lights, wow, that takes me back. And who would ever be dumb enough to name a restaurant Cheap Eats? Are those blue lights supposed to be a steak? The sight and the smell kill what little appetite I might have had. I move on. Liar's Lair, where are you?
I turn the corner and for a moment I'm so surprised I stop walking. Wow! The buildings are huge, a series of them right on the lake, almost on the lake anyway. There're some docks and stuff beyond. But wow, the buildings, they really do look modern and a damn sight finer than anything else around. This has to be it! With a lopsided squeaking noise from my left shoe that I'm trying not to think about, I walk through some super-thick glass doors and up to a lobby desk.
Wow, what a difference! The air inside the hotel lobby is so cool and dry, clean too. It must be filtered. I struggle to the front desk with my bags. "Do you have any vacancies?" I blurt out as I plop my suitcases to the floor. I'm just too worn out for small talk, even just to say hi.
There are several men and women stationed at the desk. They all look about twenty to thirty years younger than I do and are dressed in crisp royal-blue uniforms with shiny brass buttons. The women have a white frilly handkerchief tucked around their necks, very sharp and professional looking. A guy and a woman both make eye contact with me for an instant. The guy is closer to me but it's the woman who comes over.
The name on her badge says Cintia and yeah, she does look Hispanic, very pretty too. She gives me a bright cheerful smile and says, "Good evening, sir. Yes, I'm sure we can find you something you'll like. Would you like a room for a day, more than a day, or less than a day?"
I blink for a second. I never heard of renting a room for less than a day, and I ask out of sheer curiosity. "How short a time would you rent?"
"Two hours is normally the shortest period, sir, but if you're a regular customer other arrangements can be made." The warm professional smile never leaves her pretty face.
I blush when I realize what she's talking about. This is after all the red-light district. Here is this young woman right in front of me, very attractive and professionally dressed, talking about renting a bed for some quick sex as matter-of-factly as if I were checking into a normal hotel room. I shift my weight as I think about this, and a loud squishy squeak from my left shoe brings me back to the conversation. The woman is waiting patiently for me to answer.
"Uh, yeah. Well, I might want to stay here long term, until the transportation strike is over."
A look of instant sympathy crosses her face. "Oh, are you stuck here?"
I nod glumly.
"That really is a shame. The strike looks as if it'll last forever. May I suggest a rolling monthly rental? We have a super steep discount going on right now. It's the perfect solution for a person in your situation. It's called a special residency. And if you take a suite now the rate will be locked for as long as you're here."
I think silently about my budget. A suite? Whoa, what am I getting into? I mumble out loud, "A monthly rental? Oh hell, you don't think the strike will last another month, do you?"
