Constance 'Dusty' Miller
Howard
Johnson’s, home away from home. He had an expense account, within reason. It
didn’t pay to go too nuts, and he was a rational man.
The
game was on, with the volume turned down low. He had the lights mostly off, and
a cold beer. The remains of a deluxe pizza, everything on there but anchovies
or the kitchen sink, sat on the table, still sending out that smell. It was
warm, and he had a roof over his head.
He
lay on the bed, hands up behind his head, propped up on the pillows.
The
score was two-one, with the Wild uncharacteristically leading the Bruins.
What
with the modern highway system and a fast, reliable car, Connor rarely had to
stay in a motel for more than one or two nights. It wasn’t so bad once in a
while. With the big Colorado Clipper still roaring outside his windows, it
looked like he wouldn’t be home for a while. This sort of enforced idleness was
a rare and welcome relief from a life that had become increasingly fast-paced
and stressful. Success, at first not easily-built, had accumulated and then
snowballed.
They
were calling for him up at head office—maybe even vice-president in charge of
sales. If he wanted it—and maybe he did. It’s not like he had anything better
to do.
At
one time, he would have had a quick shower, changed into something a little more
casual, and gone out for a prowl. It’s not like he had any real hobbies,
although he owned a set of golf clubs and went out religiously, three or four
times a year, early in the season. Inevitably, it always fell by the wayside as
the weather heated up, both weather-wise and work-wise. That was the thing with
the agricultural industry.
It
was all about them solar heating units.
He
might have made a pretty good golfer.
The
trouble was, he just didn’t care.
The
money he spent on a luxury, executive suite in downtown Minneapolis would have
bought a pretty fair house, and covered the taxes at least. Admittedly, there
would still be heat, hydro, water and insurance. It would make a ding in his
lifestyle, and yet at the same time he’d been thinking of it—possibly, as he
saw now, for all the wrong reasons. Buying a house just so you could have a
pool, or a garage or a deck, a freaking lawn
for Christ’s sakes, didn’t make much sense for a single man who was rarely
at home.
His
sister was single, she had a place and she worked full-time, retail hours. Her
days off were taken up with chores, yard-work, and cleaning the eaves-troughs.
She’d just laid out four or five grand for a roof. No, having a house didn’t
make much sense unless you planned on making it a home. That sort of implied a
wife and a kid, maybe even more than one…he was only thirty-two.
It
wasn’t too late for him. It might be too late for some other guys, but not for him…nothing’s
for free.
That
was for sure.
Sometimes
he prayed that it wasn’t too late, and that he wasn’t too set in his ways.
The
phone buzzed on its charger beside his bed.
It
was Reb. He touched the screen and accepted the call.
“Hello?”
“Hey,
buddy. Mission accomplished.”
“So.
How did it go?”
“Yeah.
Anyways. I drove the truck over—the thing’s a real pig, I don’t know how she
puts up with it. Anyways, she drove me back and I reckon she’ll be going to
work in it. She works tomorrow, she told me that.”
“Okay.”
“Are
you all right?”
“What?
Yeah.”
“Just
wondering.”
The
line went quiet for a while.
“Whatcha
doing?” The weather was bad, and there weren’t too many places to go anyways.
Reb
didn’t get too many calls, but sooner or later, someone would need a tow or a
boost and he had to stay by the phone. Connor was fifty miles up the road,
trying to keep to some kind of schedule, so drinking or a game of pool, all of that
was of out of the question.
“Just
watching the game.”
“Yeah.
Me, too, likewise…even.”
Connor
chuckled, taking a look at the clock. He planned on being out of there by seven
or seven thirty a.m. at the latest. A good night’s sleep would be nice. In the
meantime he had time to kill.
The
other thing was to call his mother.
At
some point. All part of the narrative.
“Did
she ask about me?”
“Not
really, but I told her you and I have been friends for a long time…since
college. What if I see her around?” Reb had been known to eat at the Circle-J
himself from time to time.
They
made a pretty good roast-beef sandwich. There were one or two little boutique
eateries downtown, and then some family-oriented places. The choices were
limited for bachelors and Reb wasn’t much for cooking. Sooner or later, she had
to shop for groceries, or go to the dentist, and there were only so many places
in town.
“Don’t
make too big a thing about it.” Connor’s plan required a bit of time, in fact
it relied upon it.
There
was some risk—she could meet somebody else in the meantime, but for whatever
reason, he didn’t think so. She worked full time. She wasn’t rich, she didn’t
get out much, and she had the kid.
The
ghost of that Richard guy would always be there in the background.
“So
tell me again, what’s the next part of the plan?”
“We
wait.”
Reb
snorted softly.
“Yeah,
that’s what I thought you said.”
Left
unsaid, on your own head be it.
And I sure hope
you know what you’re doing.
Waiting
broke with all classic theory, which said to strike while the iron was hot, and
that to hesitate was fatal…on the other hand, this was no ordinary bar-fly
pickup.
