The Price of Candy (23 page)

“What’s it like to be so horny you can’t
drive straight?”

I might have drifted a little on the highway.
I placed both hands firmly on the wheel and glanced in the rearview
mirror just to show her I was paying attention. I thought my
question was somewhat cool. I guess she didn’t think so.

Things weren’t working out. She was still
keeping her distance. I needed to change that. She turned away to
look out the window. That gave me a chance to steal another glance
at her. I pictured her in the spotlight at the men’s club, up on
the platform moving to the beat of the soft slow music. Now she’s
unbuttoning her top. Slowly one button after the other, showing
glimpses of her breasts spilling out of a deep red bra. With hips
undulating, she peels the blouse off her shoulders, swings it
around, and tosses it toward me. She steps closer, her eyes fixed
on my face daring me to look away. She runs her tongue over her
cherry-red lips. Other men are wondering why I merit such
extraordinary attention from the star. My eyes are glued on her
captive breasts as she leans over close to me and reaches back to
unclasp the bra. She shrugs her shoulders and the bra is loose now,
but she’s holding it across her breasts teasing. She dances and
sways before me. Then she...

“Watch out you idiot!”

I slammed on the brakes. We swerved. With a
screech of tires, my car spun to the side of the highway facing the
opposite direction. Dust mixed with the echo of angry horns swirled
around us. We slid to a stop off the shoulder onto the grass on the
edge of a ditch. Fortunately, we hadn’t hit anything. Everything
was okay. The other cars kept on going.

“Didn’t you see that goddamn car?”

I sat there for two or three minutes
breathing heavily with my eyes closed tightly. My hands still
firmly gripping the steering wheel. So embarrassed I couldn’t
speak. My daydreams were getting the best of me, as though they
were unconstrained and out of my control.

After a few more moments, I merged back into
traffic with exaggerated caution. I risked asking, “Are you
okay?”

“If you don’t stop leering at me, I’m sitting
in the back seat.”

“Don’t do that. Please. I’m just fascinated
with you. You know how men are.”

“Yeah, I know how men are and it’s not a
comforting thought.” She shook her head slowly as if I was an
exasperating child. “How soon will we get to Florida? Assuming we
make it.”

I glanced at the dashboard clock. “Can’t make
it tonight. We’ll have to stop somewhere.” I was glad I’d thought
of that. I was certain she didn’t have money for a hotel. That
might be an opening.

“You could drive overnight, Freddy.”

“No thanks.”

“We could trade off driving.”

“No thanks.”

“What’s with this, we must stop somewhere
shit?”

She didn’t want to appear too forward. I’d
have to be subtle. “I’ll find a first-class hotel with a fine
dining room.”

“Don’t have money for that. I’ll sleep in the
car.”

She couldn’t be serious. “I can’t let you do
that.”

“So, I get a separate room in your hotel,
that what you’re saying?”

I thought about it a minute and answered,
“No, I guess not. How about double beds, Candy, and you can put
that gun under your pillow.”

“You just called me Candy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Freddy, I have no interest in getting laid
tonight. I think I’ll skip the endless hours of begging and get my
own motel room.”

Perhaps I still had a chance. That wasn’t a
definite rejection, was it? After some wine and a pleasant dinner,
she might change her mind. Isn’t that how it’s done?

After half an hour, I spotted a likely exit.
I thought it safe to tell her I was tired of driving. We came to a
Marriott and I slowed. She said to drive on past. I ignored her,
pulled up into the driveway under the canopy, and stopped. I turned
off the key.

She reached over and turned it back on.
“Sleeping with you wasn’t part of the deal.”

She wanted her own small motel. I told her we
were in rural Georgia and I didn’t think there was much else down
the road going away from the Interstate. Try anyway, she said. A
mile farther into the sticks, at a small crossroad, we came to
Mom’s Cafe and across the road was Papp’s Motel with a flickering
vacancy sign. In spite of how the place looked, the faded sign out
front assured us the place was very up-to-date with not only air
conditioning, but free TV as well.

“Pull up in front, Freddy.”

“You’re not serious. There are no other cars
parked here.”

If Papp was eighty and wore a NASCAR cap,
that must have been him sitting outside the motel office leaning
back on a wooden bench. He wasn’t whittling, but otherwise it was a
perfect homespun tableau.

“Wait here.” She took her shoulder bag and
walked to the office, with her long legs disappearing up under that
skirt and gently swaying those wonderful hips. Her head was up as
if she was about to enter the Mayflower in DC.

The old man jumped as if he was eighteen and
held the door for her. I waited. After thirty minutes, maybe more,
I thought she’d dumped me and gone out the back way. At last, she
came out front smiling and jingling a room key from her
fingers.

I hurried over. “How’d you get that key?”

“A box of crackerjacks. It came as a
prize.”

I had to raise my eyebrows at that. “It’s the
Bates Motel. I can’t let you stay in this dump.” To tell the truth,
the place appeared okay, it just wasn’t a modern multi-story.

“Grandpop in there gave me the best room. He
says the bed is clean, the shower has a new glass door, and there’s
a nice view of the road.”

Clearly, I didn’t understand this woman.
“Okay, but let’s go back to that Marriott and have some dinner.”
Maybe after dinner and drinks I’d have a chance.

“I’m not dressed for that and no money for
anything fancy.”

“I’ll pay. I promise...no obligation.”

“Let just go across the road, Mom’s Café. Do
people eat chili in Georgia?”

There were five other people in the café.
Betty Jo brushed back some of her delightfully curly hair and
stared up at the menu on the wall. No chili. A child in a far
booth, who had been sitting with an open book and writing in a
notebook, skipped over to our booth. When she saw Betty Jo she
stopped frozen, her mouth open. Betty Jo called her over and
managed to get her talking. She was Mom’s nine-year-old daughter.
She slowly recited her spiel, which twice informed us there was no
additional charge for coffee, and we could have all the refills we
wanted. Looking upward and moving her lips slightly as we spoke,
she took our order without writing it down. She then ran into the
kitchen. Through the large window behind the counter, we could see
her talking excitedly with Mom, who gave us a playful wave with a
spatula. Then the child ran back to Betty Jo and asked her if she
was a movie star. I had also decided, in the last eight hours, she
was a very attractive woman.

I insisted on paying and we both ordered the
fried chicken dinner with canned green beans, but real mashed
potatoes. Not at all bad. The Congressional Restaurant should serve
food like that. The young daughter balanced the dishes in
heart-stopping fashion and took them away. We finished up with the
free coffee and Mom’s homemade pecan pie.

I hadn’t had my usual evening drink,
nevertheless I felt surprisingly at ease. Maybe we needed this.
Needed to get acquainted. Do some ordinary things together. She was
pleasant to be with. I suppose I’d be more pleasant if I could
think of just one thing in the entire world other than her.

I wanted to hear her speak, to watch her
talk, to tell me everything about herself. The order in which she
put her clothes on and how she took them off. I wanted to know what
she ate for breakfast, what she wore to bed, the name of her
childhood pet, everything. Of course, I didn’t in fact ask any of
those things aloud.

I did ask about her perfume. I liked it from
the start and now it was even better. It was the warm fragrance of
Betty Jo herself. I hoped the scent would remain in the car
forever. If I knew the name, I could buy some for Ellen. Then when
I was lying with her, I would think about Betty Jo. “I like your
perfume. What is it?”

“I’m not wearing any. You’re smelling
soap.”

I didn’t believe her. She was most likely
embarrassed to mention some inexpensive brand from some common
store. I would learn all such details later once she knew me
better, if she became my mistress. I wondered if she’d mind moving
to DC. I didn’t want to be driving to Baltimore all the time. Of
course, Baltimore would be safer as far as people seeing us out
together. I’d want to be with her inside the apartment most of the
time. She could go out by herself on the nights I was busy.
Although, it’d be best if she told me where she was going.

As we finished our coffee, my thoughts went
back to how to get closer to her. There had been no drinks, so she
wasn’t feeling high. We hadn’t eaten at my hotel, so we couldn’t
just go upstairs. What should I do? What should I say? The day, the
night, the opportunity, was getting away from me. I’d wasted it and
tomorrow we’d be in Florida. She stood to leave and asked me to
take her across the road to her motel.

We drove across to Papp’s and stopped in
front of her room. I gave it another try. I tried to think of
something persuasive. What I said was, “Are you sure you want to
get out?”

“Freddy, you're about as romantic as my dirty
sneakers.”

“I’m just acting like any sensible man.”

“I don’t meet a lot of those. Is this how
they act?” She got out and gave me a little wave. “Goodnight,
Freddy.”

“Wait, wait,” I called after her. I got out
quickly and went around the car to her. “I’ve changed my mind about
the hotel room. You can have your own private room at the Marriott
after all.”

She just looked at me.

“No room with me, no double beds. Is that
romantic?”

“Not at all. But it’s better. A single rose
would be better.”

“I’ll send a dozen up to your room.”

“I already have a room here.”

“Not like this one. I’ll get you the top
floor executive suite if you want. The best of whatever they have.
Drink champagne in the Jacuzzi and whatever. You’ll be like royalty
up there. Order room service...whatever you want.”

“And?”

“No and. I won’t bother you. Won’t even phone
you.”

“Freddy, I do want to thank you for the ride
and the dinner. I truly appreciate it.” She gave me the nicest
smile yet. “I’ll be over at the café in the morning. If you don’t
show up, I’ll understand and I’ll be okay. But I’ll bet you’re over
there before sunrise waiting for me.”

That polite thank you was all I was going to
get from her. She turned and left me. The only night, the only
chance to have her in my arms had passed. So painful to watch that
body with those perfect hips and long legs undulate away from me
into her motel room. Was all that accentuation for my benefit? She
already had me under her spell.

After she was safely inside her room, I drove
back to the Marriott. This was crazy. If Betty Jo hadn’t been
along, I’d have driven on to Florida without stopping. I had two
Martinis in the lounge while I returned some phone calls, and
carried a third drink up to my room. I watched a sexy movie, but it
wasn’t as good as thinking about her. At last I fell asleep.

The next morning, I was up early and rushed
through my shower and shave. My head was full of Betty Jo thoughts
although at this time yesterday morning I didn’t know she existed.
Yesterday my head was clear and full of purposeful direction. I
knew the path I was on, the path my father and wise men before him
had followed for centuries. Get an education, work hard, excel, and
you’ll succeed. It wasn’t complicated for me. I’d already reached
my goal of unquestioned success. I laughed at those frivolous fools
dancing down the purposeless path of dissipation. Until yesterday
morning.

How could I have come this far without
someone exactly like her in my life? She was everything. All my
problems lay outside myself until I met her. Now my mind was
tangled with thoughts of her. They wound around through every
crevice in my head like a dark feverish snake.

I checked out, and rolled my bag across the
lobby, and out into the slight chill of a bright November dawn in
Georgia. I checked the gas gauge as I pulled out onto the side
road. We weren’t that far from the Georgia-Florida line. I’d fill
up around Jacksonville.

I don’t know why I hurried over to Mom’s
Café. I knew I was early. I supposed strippers didn’t get to bed
before 4 a.m. and were accustomed to sleeping late. It was a
glorious morning and I stood outside the café taking in deep
breaths of the fresh Georgia air and wondering why I didn’t get up
to see the sun rise every morning of my life. The morning would be
perfect after she showed up. I could look across the road and see
the door to her motel room. No open curtains. No sign of her.

Maybe she wasn’t coming. Maybe she hadn’t
gone straight to bed last night. Maybe she’d met some man staying
at the motel. She could have borrowed Papp’s car and found some
rough Georgia bar. The entire place would fall silent as soon as
she walked in the door, and they would immediately crown her queen.
She might have chosen some unworthy hunk to take back to the motel.
Some tattooed biker. Maybe I’d never see her again.

After an hour of standing there, I gave up
and went in the café. I had just finished the best country
breakfast ever when she reappeared in my life. She came in looking
unusually fresh and appealing. I greeted her and told her to order
whatever she wanted.

“Just want a coffee to go. Can we just drive
to Florida without all these stops?” An older pigtailed daughter of
Mom brought her a take-out coffee.