she’d get to you. Men are so stupid .’
That was a hard one to argue with.
‘Did she ask you about Randy and me while she was doing you?’
Her mouth was under water at the time, and otherwise too engaged to ask questions, but I knew what she meant. ‘No, she didn’t,’ I lied.
‘Bullshit.’ Alabama looked at her half-glass of club soda and then back at me. Maybe she was considering whether or not to throw it over me. She put the glass down heavily on the counter, spilling some of its contents. ‘I can’t blame you. I’d just love to know what it is about me that makes her so competitive. And you should ask yourself – why you?’
‘Why me?’
‘Well, you’re not exactly her type. No offense, but she likes pretty boys with money.’
‘None taken.’ I didn’t tell her Sugar thought I had a big motor.
Alabama’s eyes crossed momentarily, as if she was grappling with a puzzle. ‘You’re no oil painting, Cooper,’ she said, in case I’d misunderstood.
I’d asked myself the same question Alabama was asking: why me? Maybe I shouldn’t have been satisfied with the answer Sugar had provided.
‘Thanks for nothing, Cooper,’ she said suddenly and walked off a little unsteadily into the hot sun.
The barman took our glasses, wiped the counter and shook his head at me, unimpressed. I countered his look with a mind-your-own-business-pal look of my own, and went back to the pool. A half-hearted attempt to find Sugar failed. She was nowhere around. I’d had enough sun so I picked up my things and handed my lounge chair over to a college girl hovering nearby.
*
There was a flight back East at seven forty-five the following morning, so I booked it. Nothing more could be done for Alabama, not by me at least, and the scene at the bar left me with the feeling that my welcome was worn out anyway. I decided to avoid the morning panic and check out that evening. There was no queue at reception so I went straight up to the clerk behind the computer, gave her my room number, answered the usual questions about the minibar and so forth, and listened to the beguiling magical bells of a bank of Sleeping Beauties down in the pit while she tallied my account. After reviewing a few forms and clattering away on the keyboard, she announced, ‘It’s already been settled, sir.’
‘The bill?’
‘Yep, you’re all square.’
‘Who paid it?’
‘Ms Alabama Thornton.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. I pulled out my cell and dialed my benefactor’s number as I drifted toward the dormitory of Sleeping Beauties. ‘Alabama, it’s Cooper.’
‘Hello.’
‘I just went to pay my hotel bill but you beat me to it. You didn’t need to do that.’ Silence. ‘Alabama?’
‘Yes, I did. You didn’t need to come here. You felt obliged.’ The tightness in her voice told me she’d been doing plenty more crying.
‘I was happy to help out.’
‘It’s over. Randy’s gone. You’re . . . you’re free to go.’
I hadn’t realized there was a lock on the door. ‘Okay, but let me buy you dinner, at least.’
‘I have a show to do tonight. Another time.’ Her tone suggested another time might well be when folks were ice skating in hell.
‘I wish it could have worked out different,’ I said.
‘Me too.’
Silence.
‘Okay, well – goodbye,’ I said, not a lot more to say.
‘Sugar has split.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Sugar. She up and left – back to wherever it was she came from in the first place. Handed in her notice this afternoon; didn’t give a reason. Maybe when she heard about Randy, that he was . . . she just . . . I suppose she just lost interest.’
Was Randy’s death the motivation for Sugar’s departure? Maybe it was. The news of the crash had been made public after my rubdown in the pool. Sugar certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about leaving. ‘If there’s something I can do for you, Alabama, just let me know.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘And thanks – I mean that.’ There
That was a hard one to argue with.
‘Did she ask you about Randy and me while she was doing you?’
Her mouth was under water at the time, and otherwise too engaged to ask questions, but I knew what she meant. ‘No, she didn’t,’ I lied.
‘Bullshit.’ Alabama looked at her half-glass of club soda and then back at me. Maybe she was considering whether or not to throw it over me. She put the glass down heavily on the counter, spilling some of its contents. ‘I can’t blame you. I’d just love to know what it is about me that makes her so competitive. And you should ask yourself – why you?’
‘Why me?’
‘Well, you’re not exactly her type. No offense, but she likes pretty boys with money.’
‘None taken.’ I didn’t tell her Sugar thought I had a big motor.
Alabama’s eyes crossed momentarily, as if she was grappling with a puzzle. ‘You’re no oil painting, Cooper,’ she said, in case I’d misunderstood.
I’d asked myself the same question Alabama was asking: why me? Maybe I shouldn’t have been satisfied with the answer Sugar had provided.
‘Thanks for nothing, Cooper,’ she said suddenly and walked off a little unsteadily into the hot sun.
The barman took our glasses, wiped the counter and shook his head at me, unimpressed. I countered his look with a mind-your-own-business-pal look of my own, and went back to the pool. A half-hearted attempt to find Sugar failed. She was nowhere around. I’d had enough sun so I picked up my things and handed my lounge chair over to a college girl hovering nearby.
*
There was a flight back East at seven forty-five the following morning, so I booked it. Nothing more could be done for Alabama, not by me at least, and the scene at the bar left me with the feeling that my welcome was worn out anyway. I decided to avoid the morning panic and check out that evening. There was no queue at reception so I went straight up to the clerk behind the computer, gave her my room number, answered the usual questions about the minibar and so forth, and listened to the beguiling magical bells of a bank of Sleeping Beauties down in the pit while she tallied my account. After reviewing a few forms and clattering away on the keyboard, she announced, ‘It’s already been settled, sir.’
‘The bill?’
‘Yep, you’re all square.’
‘Who paid it?’
‘Ms Alabama Thornton.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. I pulled out my cell and dialed my benefactor’s number as I drifted toward the dormitory of Sleeping Beauties. ‘Alabama, it’s Cooper.’
‘Hello.’
‘I just went to pay my hotel bill but you beat me to it. You didn’t need to do that.’ Silence. ‘Alabama?’
‘Yes, I did. You didn’t need to come here. You felt obliged.’ The tightness in her voice told me she’d been doing plenty more crying.
‘I was happy to help out.’
‘It’s over. Randy’s gone. You’re . . . you’re free to go.’
I hadn’t realized there was a lock on the door. ‘Okay, but let me buy you dinner, at least.’
‘I have a show to do tonight. Another time.’ Her tone suggested another time might well be when folks were ice skating in hell.
‘I wish it could have worked out different,’ I said.
‘Me too.’
Silence.
‘Okay, well – goodbye,’ I said, not a lot more to say.
‘Sugar has split.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Sugar. She up and left – back to wherever it was she came from in the first place. Handed in her notice this afternoon; didn’t give a reason. Maybe when she heard about Randy, that he was . . . she just . . . I suppose she just lost interest.’
Was Randy’s death the motivation for Sugar’s departure? Maybe it was. The news of the crash had been made public after my rubdown in the pool. Sugar certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about leaving. ‘If there’s something I can do for you, Alabama, just let me know.’
‘I will,’ she said. ‘And thanks – I mean that.’ There
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