Driftwood

Driftwood

a short screenplay

by Sam Ford

Copyright 2009 – Sam Ford

All Rights Reserved

***

Ext – Construction Site – Day

A sledgehammer hits brick. A brick wall. And again. And again. Dust rises. And reveals…John Sumner. 30 years-old. Dark hair, dark eyes. Already some leather on that skin. A little too much life beneath it.

His hands are on the hammer. It swings again and again. The wall goes and goes. Pulverized.

The sun’s up. John’s wipes a gloved hand across his forehead. He’s in a big t-shirt. Fucked-up Carhartt’s. Work boots. He’s done this a while.

Other men’s voices are there. Shadows move across the earth. Hard-hats on hard heads. Cigarettes dangle from chapped lips. Black. Dark white. Mexican or Puerto Rican or Whateverthefuck. Jackhammers glisten and pour into the ground. Backhoe engines farting through the air. In a few months it’ll be a high-rise. Or a strip-mall. An American thing.

But our focus is John. That sledgehammer goes hard. Over and over. He breathes a little. It’s about 10 AM or so.

Ext – Construction Site – Later

Men are sitting around eating sandwiches, potato chips. Drinking Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew. There’s a little poker game going on. Four men. Everyone’s winning and everyone’s losing. Voices cursing. Laughing.

John is off by himself. Eating a sandwich. No hero. Turkey and cheese between two slices of white bread. He’s away from the rest of them. Not ‘cause he’s better or worse.

A black construction worker approaches him. He’s in his mid to late 20’s. He’s pissed but off-handed with it. His name’s Justin.

Justin

Foreman wants to see you, man.

John

What about?

Justin

Some fuckin’ bowshit, that’s what.

Justin walks off. John watches him go. Then he gets up.

Ext – Construction Site – Day

The Foreman is on a cell-phone. He’s early in his 50’s. Wears a beer-belly, plaid work-shirt, jeans. Soft eyes.

John approaches him. The foreman notices him. But he’s on his phone.

Foreman (into phone)

Right. Mmm-hmmm. (pause) No, I got it. (pause) I will. Yup. Uh-kay.

The foreman shuts his cell-phone closed. He glances at John.

Foreman

I’m sorry, you’re gonna’ have to tell me your name.

John

John Sumner.

Foreman

Sorry yeah. Sorry. John uhh…I’m getting a call from the company and they’re telling me I gotta’ cut half a dozen men. The schedule’s been shifted around a bit. I dunno. I’m sorry. I don’t have too many more details for ya’. But I gotta’ cut the guys been with the crew the least amount a’ time. I’m sorry.

John

I understand. Not the first time.

Foreman

For any of us. You know how it goes. Some checkbooks ain’t novels.

John

Do they want me to finish out the day?

Int – John’s Car (moving) – Day

It’s a late 80’s/early 90’s sedan. American made. John’s driving. Just off work. Smoking a cigarette. The sun is slowly setting.

Ext – Extended Stay Motel – Dusk

A worn-in motel complex flanked by strip-malls and gas stations. John pulls in, parks his car, gets out, walks toward a door on the lower level of the complex. He’s got a grocery bag cradled in his arm. He opens the door.

Int - John’s Motel Room – Dusk

John tosses his keys on a table by the window. He puts the grocery bag on the same table. He removes a six-pack of something domestic from it. Cracks one of the cans. Flips on the TV. Kicks off his boots. Shirt. Pants.

Int – Shower – Night

John drinks a beer in the shower. He cleans the day off of himself. Runs his hand through his hair. Takes a drink. The hot water hits his back. He stands there under it for a moment. He’s in thought for a moment. The moment gets away from him.

Int – John’s Motel Room – Night

John’s in a clean pair of pants and a clean polo-style shirt. Any stubble on his face is gone. His hair’s wet and combed back. He’s sitting on a chair facing the bed. The bed’s made. John’s smoking a cigarette.

Outside the sound of engines is on the wind. A dog lets its voice go somewhere in the distance. A woman cackles, half pain half joy.

John smokes.

Int – Bar - Night

A bit of a hipster joint. Gentrified boys and girls in skinny jeans drink Jameson on the rocks and PBR. There’s a local crowd as well. Union men unbutton their blue collars over Budweiser bottles and shots of Jim Beam. MGMT or some other new indie band of the month plays alongside Johnny Cash. People talk about themselves and even then there ain’t much. A lonesome thing drifts through the place. Everybody wants an answer but they won’t ask the question. Good-looking boys, pretty ones, are smiling without laughing. Or laughing without smiling.

It’s Los Angeles.

Some people know each other. There’s some kinda’ party going on. Someone’s birthday?

Pool tables. A photobooth. Seems like fun.

John’s at the bar drinking that bottle of Bud with a shot a’ brown behind it. He’s alone there. Knows no one. It must be 10 PM or so. A school night.

There are others at the bar. A girl with two piercings in her lips. Dark make-up. Purple sorta’. Tattoos. Her voice is big and talking to the bartender. John watches her. Then he looks away.

John can see a cluster of girls in an adjacent room. They’re all dressed to be undressed. Lots of talking over each other. Laughing on top of each other. John watches them for a moment.

Int – Bar – Later

It’s getting on midnight now. The crowd has thinned some. The party of girls have dwindled to three and they are at the bar nursing mixed drinks. John is there. There’s another man at the other end of the bar drinking something amber on the rocks. A few other assorted patrons bop about. A new game of pool gets broken with the crack of the cue.

John finishes a bottle of beer. The bartender, a good looking fella’ in his early 30’s hands him another. John’s got some cash in front of him on the wood. He takes six out of whatever’s there.

Then suddenly one of the girls at the bar is next to him. She’s tall. Dark hair. Late 20’s with a nice smile. She’s pretty drunk.

Girl

Hello.

John

Hello.

Girl

Oh…hello.

John

Hi.

Girl

It’s my birthday.

John

Happy birthday.

Girl

You been sitting here a while.

John

Yeah. I guess I have.

Girl

Could we have a little toast on my birthday?

John

Sure. What’s your name?

Girl

Anna.

John

Well happy birthday, Anna.

Anna

Thank you, sir.

John

That’s a nice name.

Anna

Thanks again. What’s your name?

John

John.

Anna

I never woulda’ figured you for a John.

John

Really? What then?

Anna

I dunno. Tyler. Or Brandon.

John

Those seem a lot fancier.

Anna

John’s a good name. My grandfather’s name. How ‘bout that. Now you know my grandfather’s name.

They smile at each other.

Anna

John, it’s not nice to ask a girl how old she is.

John

That’s why I’m not gonna’ do it.

They laugh.

Anna

Are you a sad man, John?

John

I don’t think so.

Anna

‘Cause I don’t want any sadness on my birthday.

John

I don’t want any sadness on your birthday either.

Anna’s friends ease in behind her. They’re about her age. Sally and Kim.

Sally

We’re gonna’ get out of here, dumplin’. Happy birthday birfday birfday.

The girls all hug.

Sally (to John)

Don’t fuck around, you. Her father’s a mafia don. (to Anna) Call me tomorrow, Annalee. Call me in the morn. We’ll get a waffle.

They hug again. Kim, the quiet one, shoots a bit of a sideways look at John. Then she and Sally are gone.

Anna

Ah…waffles. Do you like waffles, John?

John

I’m more of a pancake guy.

There’s some silence then. It ain’t comfortable. It’s getting late.

Anna

Thanks for the birthday toast, John.

John

You’re welcome.

Anna

Do you live around here?

John

Sorta’. I’ve got a room in this place. Let’s you rent by the week.

Anna

Oh. Wow. Like a hotel. Like a hotel? Or a motel? Where are you from?

John

I’m from Pennsylvania originally. A town called Warren.

Anna

I’m from Connecticut originally. A town called Greenwich.

John

Well we’re both from back east, I guess.

That ol’ silence.

Anna

I think we should go back to that room. The rent-by-the-week room of yours. How would that be?

John

I think it’d be fine. It’s your birthday.

Anna

That’s right, John. Don’t you forget that. Birthday for me.

Int – John’s Car (moving) – Night

The windows are open. John and Anna each smoke cigarettes.

Anna

I like driving around this town late at night. That’s the good driving time.

John

Yeah. It sure is brutal during the day.

Anna

I once got stuck on the 101 for four and a half hours. Can you imagine that?

John

That’s a long time.

Anna

Yeah. A whole lotta’ stuck.

Silence.

Anna

I hate this place ‘cause I’m scared to leave it. You know?

John

I used to feel that way about my hometown.

Anna

No serious talk, John.

John

Okay. No serious talk.

Anna

Let’s talk about the…how ‘bout them Dodgers? Let’s talk in that style.

John

Unfortunately for me I’m a Pirates fan. That’s the one thing I took with me.

Anna

I miss the snow. That’s one thing I miss. I like a good change of seasons. But I also like a good taco and they have those out here.

John

What’s your favorite place to get tacos?

Int – John’s Motel Room – Night

Anna sits on the edge of the bed with a beer in her hand. John is in a chair by the window facing her. He’s got a beer too.

Anna

I gotta’ tell you something. And I’m sorry. But it’s you I gotta’ tell, y’know what I mean?

John

Sure.

Anna

I’ve got a boyfriend. I mean we’re having some trouble right now. It’s pretty bad actually. But he’s my boyfriend. And I need to tell you that because here we are, y’know? And it’s okay if some things happen. Birthday me. But I gotta’ say it ‘cause it’s something. It’s a true thing.

John

I don’t mind talking for a while.

Anna

Are you an actor?

John

Nope.

Anna

That’s good. About the best thing you can be is not an actor.

John

I work in construction mostly.

Anna

That’s about the best thing you could be.

John

I paint too.

Anna

Really? Like what kind of stuff?

John

Houses mostly.

Anna

Oh.

John

Sorry.

Anna

For what?

John

It’s nothing too exciting.

Anna

I’m an actor. It’s only as exciting as I pretend it is.

John

That’s a tough business from what I hear.

Anna

Business business business. I wuv business like I wuv a nail in my foot.

John

I was on a construction crew for about a week and a half and they canned me today.

Anna

That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.

John

I was sorry to hear it too. I’ve only been here a few weeks. I was living up in San Jose doing some work with a friend. Some construction work. But he had to go back home to PA ‘cause his father’s got cancer. So I dunno. I came down here. Figured I’d give it a try.

Anna

Do you like it here so far?

John

I’m not sure yet. It’s sort of…real relaxed.

Anna

It’s like everyone’s got a thumb up their ass but they’ve gotten used to it to the point where it tranquilizes them.

John

Wow. You don’t seem to like it too much.

Anna

Nah, nah. I’m just losing perspective.

John

What’s going on with your boyfriend?

Anna

He’s a writer who can’t sell anything. Including himself.

John

What’s that have to do with you?

Anna

Right. Takes it out on the one he loves. Fuckin’ post-collegiate blues. His’ve lasted five years.

John

Why don’t you just break up with him?

Anna

The history’s thick, y’know? We moved here together. The whole thing.

John

What’s his name?

Anna

What?

John

What’s his name?

Anna

Mark.

Silence. Anna lights a cigarette and finishes her beer.

John

You want another beer?

Anna

Yes please. It’s mighty good beer.

John cracks her a fresh one. He lights a cigarette.

Anna

I just turned 26. 26 years-old.

John

Where do you live?

Anna

West Hollywood.

John

Do you and Mark live together?

Anna

Yeah.

John

Is he gonna’ wonder where you are?

Anna

I’m not sure at this point. Probably. But that’d be a reflex.

She takes a long pull from that fresh can. A long drag follows it.

Anna

I spend a lot of time trying to remember what my expectations were. I hate thinking. The older I get, the more I think. There’s more to remember the older you get. Makes sense, right?

John

Yeah. And I’m even a little older than you are.

Anna

I keep thinking I’ll go back to school, go back to school. (she lays down across the bed on her back.) And it’ll all work itself out from there. If I just create…another diversion. I’ll land where I’m to land. You look so hard at the moment. I’ll drink and drink. Or I’ll watch a movie at somebody’s house. I’ll talk about politics like I know shit. Or I’ll audition. No, see, I’m auditioning. I had an audition today, dad. That’s what I did. I had an audition for a Taco Bell commercial. I’m playing the belle. The belle of the fucking ball. And I’m just like all my friends when I think about it. Truly. We are all sitting on the edge of the same pool. With our fucking feet in. But nobody’s gonna’ jump and swim or drown or whatever it takes. Because all the while none of us wants to be the crazy bitch that does. And none of us are young enough or pretty enough now. Wow. That moved fast. I’m 26. Past my muhfuckin’ prime.

John

Is that really how it works?

Anna

I dunno. I think so. Or maybe I’m just creating a diversion.

Silence. Anna lays there with her hand on her forehead.

Anna

Fuck. I feel bad. Real bad all of a sudden.

Anna gets up and hurries to the bathroom. Then she’s puking in there. John takes a deep breath. He moves towards the bathroom.

Int – Bathroom – Night

John holds Anna’s hair back while she loses it. He moves his hand to her back. He rubs her back. She heaves.

Then she’s done and she slowly pulls away from the shitter. She’s sweating. There are some tears in her eyes. She claps her mouth open and shut to try to swat away the taste of vomit. She wipes her mouth. A pretty mess.

She sits with her back against the bathtub.

Anna

Tell me a story or something.

John

Well. I guess…I’m married.

Anna looks up at him.

John

She was my high school sweetheart from back home. And we got married when we graduated, y’know. And…I got a job at…Home Depot...kinda’…stupid job but…And she…sorta’ didn’t know what she wanted to do. She went to Penn State. They’ve got a campus kinda’ close. She was studying English I think. But I don’t really think she knew why. She never said why. I think she just sorta’ chose something, y’know. Anyway. We were married like that for about six years. That’s a long time now thinking about it. She never graduated from college she…dropped out after two years. She waited tables for a while. And then one day she left. She just…moved away.

Anna

Where’d she go?

John

I don’t know. I never heard from her. Haven’t talked to her in five years.

(Silence.)

I know I’ll see her again someday. I mean I figure that’s gotta’ happen down the line. With the internet or something, y’know. But I just really wish I knew where she was now. Just to know she was alright.

(Silence.)

I think maybe I wasn’t enough for her. She was a little more adventurous in a way. She talked about traveling a lot. Leaving town. And I was a little more…I dunno…down home, I guess. I think it’s hard falling in love when you’re young. If that’s what it is – falling in love. ‘Cause you just don’t know shit. You just don’t really know about anything. Maybe you know a little bit about the way it’s supposed to look. But you don’t really know about the way it is.

(Silence.)

She used to read things I didn’t understand and…I think I got real scared.

(Silence. To Anna)

You feelin’ alright?

Anna

Yeah. I think that was a single hurl affair.

John

Well that’s good. Do you want me to take you home or something?

Anna

Not really. I’d rather sleep here.

John

Okay.

Int – John’s Motel Room – Night

Anna pulls her party dress up over her body. She’s standing there in her underwear. John hands her a t-shirt. She puts it on and takes her bra off underneath it. She gets into bed. John sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his boots off. He takes his socks off. Anna is leaning against the headboard watching him.

He sits there a moment.

Anna

Can I use your toothbrush?

John

What?

Anna

Do you have a toothbrush I could use?

John

Yeah it’s…It’s in there. Just use mine. I mean it’s okay.

Anna

Okay.

Anna heads to the bathroom. John sits there on the edge of the bed breathing. And thinking some things. He can hear Anna in the bathroom singing Foreigner’s “I’ve Been Waiting For A Girl Like You” while she brushes her teeth. He hears the sink run. He hears her spit. He hears the sink running. He hears the sink shut off. Anna comes out of the bathroom.

Anna

I’m sorry I was sick earlier. But I’ve recovered quite nicely, don’t you think?

John

Yeah. I think you have. Good as new.

Anna

I like that. New.

Anna moves towards him.

Anna

I’m gonna’ take your shirt off.

John

Okay.

Anna

It’s my birthday.

John

I remember.

Anna pulls John’s shirt up over his body. She touches his face.

Int – John’s Motel Room – Morning

The sun cuts through the curtains, spilling pale yellow on the shitty wall-to-wall carpeting. John’s eyes slowly open. He’s hearing Anna talking. She’s sitting by the window. On her cell-phone. She’s got her dress back on. She’s wearing the t-shirt over it.

Anna (into phone)

See you in a bit…okay bye. Bye. Yes. Huge strawberry milkshakes, muhfucker. Bye.

John pulls himself up. Leans against the headboard.

John

Gonna’ meet your friends?

Anna

Yeah. Waffles and milkshakes. These girls don’t give a fid-uck.

John

Well I’ll drive you to wherever you’re going.

Anna

Well you should come have breakfast with us. Pancake-man.

John

We’ll see. But I’ll definitely give you a ride.

They look at each other a moment.

Anna

There’s a lot to figure out, isn’t there?

John

I think it’s…either a lot…or it’s just one thing.

Anna

I had a really good birthday time.

John

Me too. And it wasn’t even mine.

Int – John’s Car (moving) - Morning

Anna and John are there. She’s still wearing his t-shirt. She’s got these big sunglasses on. He’s in a new shirt, same pants.

Anna

My father’s been talking a lot about money lately. I’ve never heard him so scared in my life. He’s like the guy in Seven. The guy who’s forced to fuck the girl with the knife-harness thing.

John

What does he do?

Anna

He’s a real estate developer in New York City. Have you ever heard of Williamsburg?

John

It’s in Virginia isn’t it?

Anna

No, it’s in Brooklyn. It’s this old neighborhood and my father’s been building all of these high-rises there. It’s just a weird time. There’s all these brand new buildings that’re empty.

Silence.

Anna

Do we have the same hangover?

John

I’m actually feeling alright.

Anna

Ugh. I’ve got that big blah on me.

John

“Big blah.”

Anna

Man, it’s a big’n.

Ext – 101 Diner – Morning

John pulls his car into the parking lot of the 101 Diner.

Int – John’s Car – Morning

Anna

Are you gonna’ involve yourself in breakfast, sir?

John

I think I’m gonna’…I’m gonna’ head back to the motel. I gotta’ take care of a few things. I really gotta’ try to find some work.

Anna

On an empty stomach? Sheesh.

John laughs.

John

Yeah I…I really had a good time hanging out with you.

Anna

Me too. I’m glad you were sitting there all alone.

John

Should I ask for your phone number?

Anna

Yes. I believe that’s a good idea.

John

What’s your phone number?

Anna

It’s 323. 709. 8809.

John puts it into his cell-phone.

John

I’ve got one of these pay-as-you-go phones.

Anna leans in and kisses John. They kiss there for a moment.

Anna

Call me sometime. Maybe even soon.

John

Okay.

Anna hops out of the car. She shuts the shotgun door. John watches her walk off.

Int – Extended Stay Motel Office – Day

John walks into the office. A clerk, Middle Eastern descent, stands behind the desk. He’s got a comb-over. Pleated khakis. Glasses.

John

I’m gonna’ be checking out. I’m paid up for the week but…I’ll be leaving today.

Clerk

The payment is non-refundable.

John

That’s alright. I just wanted to turn in my key and everything.

Ext – Extended Stay Motel – Day

John loads a suitcase into his car. He watches a maid emerge from one of the rooms with her cart. She’s short. Hair tied back. She sees him looking at her and she quickly moves to another room. She knocks on the door. He hears her say “room service” through a south of southern accent.

John moves to the driver’s side. He gets in his car. After a moment the engine kicks.

Int – John’s Car (moving) – Day

John smokes a cigarette. He passes gas stations, strip malls. Every hair, every pimple on the skin of Southern California. He drives for a bit.

He comes to a stop-light. After a moment he cracks open the glove-box. There’s an envelope in there. He pulls it out, opens it, slides a wedding band out of it. He looks at it a moment and then puts it on his finger. He looks at it there. On his finger.

He’s got his bags packed in the backseat.

He looks up at the red-light. He waits for it to turn green. He waits for it to turn…

Green.

END.

for Marty Papazian

Veteran

Veteran

by Sam Ford

Lottie worked as a waitress at the Trail’s End Cafe in Coutell, South Dakota just off Interstate 90. It was a small diner, no more than thirty seats. On Saturdays and Sundays the Trail’s End was jammed with folks from as far away as four counties. During the weekdays there was an early morning rush of hunters and laborers on their way to work. Lunch had its own crowd of locals, truckers, gossiping housewives, and people passing through on their way out further west. The dinner crowd was the same minus the housewives. The place stayed open till midnight. Lottie favored the late shift because it allowed her to come straight home without having to figure out what she was going to do with her evening. If she did work an earlier shift, sometimes she’d drive to the Hilltop Drive-In in Gregory.

She lived in a small single story house on the edge of Coutell. She was 48 years old. She read pulp novels by her wood stove in the winter. In the spring and summer she tended to a decent sized vegetable garden on her property. Sometimes she’d sell the vegetables at the farmer’s market in Hayden.

It was a Tuesday in May of 1974 and Lottie was taking a smoke break in the rear parking lot of the Trail’s End. She pulled a Virginia Slim from her purse, struck a match, and lit it. Two truckers were talking shop by one of their rigs about twenty yards away. Lottie watched them share a laugh and shake hands as they parted. She liked truckers and had certainly known a few in the extra way.

Back inside the restaurant, the late night rush was long over and the place was dying down. It was getting on 11:00. A few stray loners sat at the counter drinking coffee, finishing their meals. A family of four got up from their booth and waved goodbye at Lottie. She waved back as she filled refilled a trucker’s chipped porcelain cup.

The cook, a Lakota named Luke, was starting to break things down. He moved the produce to the fridge along with all of the prepped items, the eggs, the meats, and the cheese. It’d been a fairly mellow night for the kitchen. A handful of burgers and other sandwiches. Maybe a t-bone or two. Luke was fifty-seven years old. He had long hair that he held back in a net. His face had canyons carved across it. He didn’t speak much. His assistant was his nephew, James. James was twenty and full of fire. He moved one hundred times as fast as Luke and talked one hundred times as much. He was a good-looking kid and he always had someplace to be.

The dishwasher was a Mexican kid named Carlos. He was sixteen; fresh eyed, fresh faced, and barely spoke a lick of English. He lived with his mother in a trailer one county over. He smiled whenever James said anything but when Luke spoke he did exactly as he was told.

Lottie put the glass coffee pot back on the warmer. There were three men sitting at the bar, each separated by three or more seats. She yawned and walked back to the kitchen. Carlos was scrubbing down a series of cast-iron frying pans and he looked up and offered a timid grin at the sight of her. James was on his way back from the payphone. He breezed past Lottie and threw an apron on.

“Any big plans tonight, Jamie?” she asked him

“I always got big plans, miss,” James said.

Luke and Lottie shared a look.

“You want somethin’ to eat?” Luke asked her.

“I’m good, thanks,” Lottie said.

“How many left out there?” James asked.

“Just a few at the counter. It’s coffee and pie from here on out. You guys can break it all down.”

Lottie made her way back to the front.

“I’ll take my check,” she heard a man say. He was long-bearded and stout; his gut hung over his brown leather belt with a brass Siskiyou buckle that read, “Ride The Wind”. Lottie tore his check from her pad. The fella’ threw down a five and two singles, lit a cigarette, and walked out.

Lottie stared out the window, watching the headlights fly across the interstate. Another customer dropped a five on the Formica and walked out without a word. Lottie watched him lumber off, his wallet chain clinking against his keys like spurs. There was one man left sitting at the far end of the counter. He was wearing a short-sleeve western style shirt, a mesh hat, and work boots that were beaten to hell. He appeared to be in his late 20’s. A week’s worth of stubble covered his face and his eyes were far away and tired. His skin was raw from the sun. Lottie’d seen a hundred like him. The wayfarers. The almost-hobos. A guy who’d be pumping gas one week, picking oranges the next.

He was sipping coffee and smoking a Lucky Strike. Lottie walked over to him.

“Get you anything else?” she asked.

“I’m fine, thanks,” the fella’ said, cracking a gentle smile. His teeth were pretty bad but the smile worked. Lottie allowed herself the attraction. “If you wanna’ get outta’ here,” he said, “I’ll pay up and go.”

“You’re fine,” Lottie said. “I’m gonna’ go ahead and start closing the place but you let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” the fella’ nodded.

Lottie started breaking down the stainless steel blender, cleaning the countertops, bringing the cakes and pastries from their display cases into the kitchen. The fella’ watched her. He looked at her in her pastel pink uniform dress. He watched her and then he looked outside. He put his knuckle to his mouth.

Lottie started sweeping around the booths. She leaned back and stretched, blowing her hair away from her face. She looked over at the man at the bar. He was watching her. She leaned the broom up against the counter and moved toward him.

“You need anything?” she asked him.

“You know a place to stay in town?” he asked her.

“Where’re you comin’ from?” she said.

“Well...” the fella’s answer faded into a bashful smile.

Lottie looked at his neck, his forehead, his lips. It’d been a while.

“There’s a roadhouse,” she said. “Maybe you passed it. About a quarter mile down the highway. We could have a drink.”

James burst out from the kitchen, startling Lottie and the fella’.

“See you later, miss,” James said, and he was gone, out the front door and into his truck.

A silence fell on the diner. The hum of the neon sign whirred like a horsefly.

“I’m not lookin’ for anything,” the fella’ at the counter said.

“We’ll have a drink,” Lottie said.

“Are you married?” the man asked.

“No,” Lottie answered. He was even younger than she’d thought.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “I might be a bad guy.”

Lottie snickered. She turned and walked into the kitchen.

Luke was almost done shutting things down. A cigarette dangled from his mouth. Carlos was hard at the dishes. Scrubbing the hell out of a cast-iron skillet.

“You let Jamie out pretty early,” Lottie said to Luke.

“I was young once too,” Luke said.

Lottie smiled. “I’m gonna’ finish sweeping. Do the receipts. Then I’m gonna’ get going. You okay locking the place behind me, Luke?”

Luke paused a moment. He took a drag and rubbed his bark-brown eyes. “Yeah.”

“Thanks,” Lottie said. She turned to walk back into the dining room.

***

The roadhouse was called The Range and it was pretty empty save the occasional trucker and local fly. Conway Twitty was crooning from the jukebox and it mixed with the shattering of pool balls from a billiard table. There was an empty stage straight ahead from the entrance. Peanut shells and cigarette butts were scattered across the hardwood floor and in between the planks. A neon Schlitz sign flickered some.

The bartender, Ralph, a beer-gutted crew-cutted man in his early 50’s made his way over to Lottie and the fella’.

“Fixing to shut ‘er down pretty soon, Lottie,” Ralph said. “I’ll give you one fer last call.”

“That’ll be fine, Ralph,” she said, lighting a cigarette. “What’ll you have?” she asked her companion.

“I’ll have a shot of rye and a Pabst Blue Ribbon,” the fella’ said.

“How ‘bout you, Lottie?” Ralph asked.

“I’ll have the same,” Lottie answered.

“You got it,” Ralph said. He placed two shot glasses in front of them, pulled a bottle from his speed-rack and poured the whiskey. Then he opened two bottles of PBR and sat them on the bar. “That’ll be nine altogether.”

Lottie laid a ten and two singles on the bar.

“Much obliged,” Ralph said, ambling off. Lottie and the fella’ heard the punching of the register, the drawer flying open. “Last call,” Ralph barked.

“What’s your name?” Lottie asked the fella’.

“Chris,” the fella’ said.

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” Lottie said. “I’m Lottie.”

“I heard,” Chris smiled at her. He pulled out a soft pack of Lucky Strikes, cracked open a Zippo, and lit one. He put the Zippo on the bar. Lottie picked it up and examined it. It was engraved: “VIETNAM / BINH LONG / 70-71 / If I had a farm / In Vietnam and / A home in hell / I’d sell my farm / And go home”.

A man in his early 70’s with a well-worn fedora and suspenders holding up dark blue pleated pants got up from the bar and staggered out of the place.

“Don’t ever get old,” he grinned toothlessly at Chris as he passed.

“I’ll do my best,” Chris said.

“What brings you to this town?” Lottie asked.

“I’m passing through,” Chris drew from his cigarette. “I’m trying to get out to Los Angeles. I’ve got a friend there who works building movie sets. Says there’s a job, he’s got a job for me if I want. So. I dunno. Figure I’ll get out there and do that for a while.”

“Where’re you from?”

“Originally from Indiana.” Chris drank his shot down. He exhaled and took a slug from his bottle of beer.

Lottie took her shot. She winced a bit. Chris looked at her in her waitress uniform. It was pink and seersucker and it had some lace along the collar and it buttoned in the front. It had a few stains on it and her shoes were big shoes like the ones nurses wore. He noticed a tiny bit of grey in her light brown hair. She had a few freckles on her face. Her breasts were full and he caught their shape pretty good under that pink seersucker waitress uniform.

“You live close by here?” he asked her.

“Why?” Lottie said.

“’Cause I wanna’ take you back to your place.”

“And do what?”

Chris felt his mouth get dry. He stole another sip from his beer and dragged long on the Lucky. Conway turned into The Stones. Chris shut his eyes for a moment.

Lottie touched his arm. Chris slowly opened his eyes. Lottie looked in them. The smile he tried to muster made them sad in the dim bar-light.

“I’m not looking for anything,” Chris said. “Just a place to stay.”

“I’ve got a place for you to stay,” Lottie said.

***

They pulled into Lottie’s driveway around one in the morning. The house was small. One story with a small front yard. Chris followed behind her as they made their way to the front door. There were a billion stars in the sky. Crickets were piercing the night with their song.

Lottie flipped on the kitchen light once they were inside. Chris sat himself at a little table by a window. There were flowers on the table and Chris leaned in to smell them. They didn’t smell like much to him but they looked nice. He noticed some assorted pieces of junk mail mixed with a small pile of photographs.

“You want a beer?” Lottie asked, making her way to the fridge.

“Sure,” Chris said.

The kitchen, and as far he could tell, the whole house looked as though it hadn’t left the 50’s. The wallpaper was peeling in places and in other places the wood was showing through. There were assorted trinkets and souvenirs in places. Tiny porcelain animals lined the kitchen windowsill. Chris picked up a lion and examined it. One of its ears had chipped off.

“Where’d you get these…little critters?” Chris asked.

Lottie turned and looked at him. “They come from all over, I guess,” she said.

She handed Chris a bottle of Budweiser. She had her own and she sat down across from him at the kitchen table. They looked at each other a moment. Chris felt nervous and he sipped his beer. Lottie got up.

“I’m gonna’ put on some music,” she said. “Is there anything you like?”

“Whatever’s good,” Chris said. “I’m not picky.”

He watched Lottie move to another room. He picked up one of the photographs and saw Lottie, some 20 years younger, holding a baby in her arms. She was smiling at the kid, ignoring the camera. Her hair was straight and long and she wore a summer dress. Chris put the picture down and reached for another. There was a teenage boy holding an old Daisy BB gun. The kid had a guilty grin on his face, his eyebrows curled like trigger-fingers. Chris stared at it a moment. Then he heard a man’s voice from the other room. It was music and it sounded pretty good. The man’s voice was soulful, Chris understood. He put the photograph back on the table and Lottie walked back in the kitchen.

“What’s this you’re playin’?” Chris asked.

“Charlie Rich,” she answered, sitting down across from him again.

“It sounds pretty good.”

“Where’re you from in Indiana?” Lottie asked him.

“Umm…little town called Farleigh. Ever heard of it?”

“Nope. I’ve got a cousin in Indiana though.”

“Where?”

“I think the town’s called Taylorsville.”

“Never heard of it.”

They came to another silence. Chris took a long drink of his beer. Lottie shut her eyes and leaned back in her seat.

“You got any…whiskey or anything else?” Chris said.

“Nah,” Lottie answered. “Let’s go to bed.”

She led him to her bedroom. It was dark and Lottie turned on a lamp beside the bed. Chris could make out a lot of dark wooden furniture and rocking chair in the corner. He saw a closet and a painting of some sort of flowers in a field or something. They were different than the flowers on Lottie’s kitchen table. Chris looked at her moving in the narrow light. He stared at the floor and tried somehow to know her better.

He felt her move close to him. Her hands touched his ribcage and then across his back. She put her hands on his ass and held on. He looked into her eyes. She smiled at him. She moved her hand to his collar and pulled on it, pulled him closer to her.

“Touch me,” she said.

Chris caressed her face, running the back of his fingers beneath her cheekbones and down across her chin. He put his hands on the small of her back.

She kissed him. Chris felt her tongue in his mouth and he gave her his and they stood there. Chris could feel his heart pounding in his stomach, his knees, his throat. They kissed and then he kissed her neck, running his tongue from the crook to the earlobe. He heard Lottie’s breath quicken. She moaned.

Chris stepped back and they looked at each other again. Lottie moved against him and pushed him against the wall. She tore his shirt open and her mouth was on his chest, licking and biting through wisps of hair. Chris pulled her away and ripped her dress down across her body, the buttons popping off like skipped rocks. Lottie’s eyes widened and she leaned in and kissed him again. Chris picked her up and moved her to the bed. They fell there together. Lottie’s bra came off and Chris kissed her breasts, seeing the stretch-marks and a scar above her bellybutton. The whole dress was off and Chris got her cotton panties off and his face was between her thighs and she pulled him into her, her fist full of his hair.

Chris was sweating and gasping when Lottie pulled him up against her. She reached her hand down and got his pants unbuttoned, unzipped. She had her hand on him and Chris grunted and pulled her hand away.

“Wait wait wait,” he groaned.

He pushed his pants down across his legs, got his underwear down and felt himself inside her barely a second after. She arched her back underneath him and Chris tried to gather himself. He mustered five thrusts before he wailed out a curse and his body shook. Lottie was giving something back in his ear but Chris sensed it was more the reaction to his orgasm than her having her own. He collapsed on top of her like a sledgehammer, her legs opening to receive him. She folded her arms around his back and felt the tide of his breath, heavy as a coffin.

“I’m sorry,” Chris whispered.

“For what?” Lottie said.

Chris rolled off of her. He ran his hand over his forehead and it was like he’d dipped it in a river. He thought about answering. He thought about an answer and couldn’t find one.

Lottie turned and stroked his stomach. She could see his tanned skin. Her skin was so pale compared to his, she thought.

“You tired?” Chris asked.

“Not really. But you go ahead and fall asleep whenever you want.”

Chris liked her hand on him. She was on her side and she moved her hand to his chest. He felt her fingertips tracing maps across him. Chris saw the maps in his mind. He’d looked at so many maps. He shut his eyes and understood that reading a map was one thing he could do really well.

***

Lottie’s body tore itself awake when she heard the scream next to her. It was the sound of horror like she’d never experienced. Like someone being burned alive. She looked at Chris and he was crying out, his face twisted like a broken limb, snot and spit pissing out of it. His breathing reached a frantic pace and suddenly he was upright, his eyes bursting open, tears filling them like blood in a syringe. His arms swung out with the desperation of a child being taken away. He screamed and screamed.

Lottie realized he didn’t know where he was and her lack of familiarity made her anxious. She feared comforting him. She sat there watching him fight his way through himself.

He put his face in his hands.

“I wanna’ go home,” he wept. “I wanna’ go home…I wanna’ go home…I wanna’ go home…I wanna’ go home…” He cried and cried.

She finally touched his shoulder and the feeling of her hand sent a jolt through him. His neck went limp and his head collapsed as he sobbed. She laid a blanket across him. She put her arms around him and he plowed himself into her embrace.

She held him until the sun came up.

***

When Lottie awoke, she could tell from the light through the blinds that it was getting on the afternoon. She rubbed her eyes clear and turned and Chris wasn’t there. She put a robe on and walked out of her bedroom. He wasn’t in the house and Lottie sat at the kitchen table. She saw the photographs sitting there and she picked one of them up and stared at it for a moment.

She peed and brushed her teeth. She ignored herself in the bathroom mirror.

She made coffee, lit a cigarette and stared out the window. Her neighbor, Tom Easley, had the hood of his pick-up open and he was fiddling around under it. He was in his 60s, wore a tobacco-stained tan hunting vest and had big waterproof boots on. He slammed the hood shut and stared up at the sun. His front yard had five cars on it, three of them with “for sale” signs in the window. There was also an old basketball hoop attached to the garage, a dirt-bike, and a rusting pole stuck in the grass, its flag hanging motionless in the non-wind.

Seattle, WA (2/10/10)