Part 10 (2/2)

The old woman plucked Lottie from Collier's arms and threw her over her shoulder like she was a straw doll. Lottie's bare bottom looked Collier right in the face, then was spun around.

”Please forgive this, Mr. Collier!”

”Really, it's no big d-”

”I would just die if you went back to sunny California and told all your TV friends like Emeril and Savannah Sammy that folks in Gast ain't nothin' but a bunch'a drunks'n crackers.”

”Don't worry, I won't tell Emeril.” He struggled for something to do or say, through some sudden obligation. I can't very well let her old mother lug her back to her room. ”Here, let me help you.”

”Wouldn't think of it! You been inconvenienced enough! You can bet corn bread to gold doubloons that she'll be punished rightly.”

”No, please, Mrs. Butler. She was just trying to have a good time and drank too much-”

”See you in the mornin', and please sleep well!” The old woman was already hustling away, her own shapely backside shaking in a loose lavender dress. ”And, again, I'm so sorry 'bout this!”

Mrs. Butler disappeared down a hall beside the desk.

What a night.

And it was finally officially over, he realized, when the lobby grandfather clock tolled midnight. He began to trudge up the steps, amused now by the previous debacle. Mrs. Butler's upset had seemed a bit over the top. So what? Her daughter got drunk in front of a small-time TV star. Not that big a deal. But then he recalled Jiff's little bit of interesting info earlier. The younger man had literally been trying to set Collier up with his mother.

The only one I wish I could be set up with is Dominique...

But how preposterous was that? Just because she didn't have a ring didn't mean she wasn't married or involved, he knew. Brewers, just like cooks or masons, didn't wear rings for obvious reasons. How could a girl that pretty and that on the ball NOT be taken?

And why worry about it anyway? His TV ”stardom” was at an end, he was over-the-hill, and soured by L.A. and a catastrophe for a marriage. Collier knew he wasn't exactly the Total Package.

Back in his room, he dropped his s.h.i.+rt on the floor, stepped out of his pants, and groaned into bed.

At least the bed wasn't spinning, and when he burped he did so as the genuine connoisseur that he was. The burp was light and hoppy, and had good ”nose.” It reminded him that he'd found what he'd been looking for right away: a preeminent American lager. So even with all of the day's disasters and absurdities, it had been a terrific success...

And I got to meet Dominique...

He felt like his first grade-school crush. But it's just l.u.s.t. That other voice crept into his head.

No, it's not!

Yes, it is. All she is to you is what you relegate all women as: a l.u.s.t Object, a dehumanized arrangement of s.e.xual parts.

Bulls.h.i.+t! I really like her!

You don't like anybody, you only ”use” people for masturbatory head fodder. Just like the old lady, who's nothing but an a.s.s and a pair of t.i.ts for you to stare at. Just like Lottie, and that Wisconsin tramp you were about to screw. Good job, Collier. At least admit it. Dominique's no different. You want to use her for a roll in the hay, and that's perfectly fine. Why shouldn't you? You're a man, and men are supposed to do that.

f.u.c.k you! Dominique's nothing like that! Collier hurled back at his conscience. This is different!

He rolled over in bed, clenching the sheets.

Guilt flowed over him like a stinking fog. All humans were s.e.xual animals, one side said, but there was always the other side, too.

s.e.xual animals domesticated by a progressive morality.

You either choose to be good or you choose to be bad. But then he regretted the fact when he considered some of his own thoughts today. Yes, the eyes of his l.u.s.t had been using Mrs. Butler's body for a scratching post all day, and even worse were his deeds in the car. As for the Wisconsin woman...

I came really close, he knew.

For each hour that he was here it almost seemed like his s.e.x drive was doubling.

Just go to sleep...

He thought of Dominique's lovely face and barleygrist tinged hands, hoping the image would lull him to slumber. The cross around her neck glimmered, a hypnotist's tool.

Just...go...to sleep...

A noise jostled the encroaching REM waves. He sat up, aggravated.

Did I really hear something?

Then it resounded again.

Water.

Not water running from a tap but...a long splash.

Like someone dumping water out of a bucket...

Then he saw the dot.

What the h.e.l.l is that?

There was a dot on the wall, like a dot of light, or- A hole?

He squinted at the wall.

Don't tell me there's a hole in the wall...

But when he got up, he found this to indeed be the case.

There's a light on in the next room, and there's a hole in the wall, he knew now. The hole existed between the closet on one side and a waist-high vase cabinet with a marble top on the other. As Collier lowered himself to his knees he was vaguely reminded of this afternoon when he'd knelt similarly to look through the keyhole.

The next room is that bath closet, he thought he remembered correctly. And that's exactly what Collier saw when he put his eye to the hole.

Soft yellow lamplight glowed over finished wood-slat walls. Directly in Collier's view was something he first thought must be a seat, because he noticed the high, curved back swept down to a lower rim with half-circle cutouts. Through his beer daze, then, he recalled what Mrs. Butler had said of this room when he'd checked in.

It's a tub for a hip bath.

He flinched at the sound again: gus.h.i.+ng water.

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