Leaving Serenity (13 page)

Carlos laughed a huge ha-ha. “Not to worry, Girlie! It’s on Miss Wednesday!”

Wednesday called after Carlos as he walked away. “Yeah, thanks a heap, Carlos!”

I looked from Carlos to Wednesday. “Are you sure this is okay?”

Wednesday waved a hand. “Sure, why not? I buy the steaks. He just cooks them.”

My mouth watered as I carved a chunk of the T-bone. “Wow, I haven’t had steak in a long time. This smells great!”

Wednesday pointed with her fork and talked with a full mouth. “I used to work here, see. Carlos is a straight-up guy. You ever have any problems, just see ole Carlos. He’ll straighten everything out.”

I hesitated and approached the subject gently. “Uh, so you don’t work here anymore?”

Wednesday waved her fork in the air. “Nah, waiting tables is hard work. Besides, I can make four times the money with a fraction of the effort turning tricks.”

I felt relieved that Wednesday’s occupation was out in the open. The mere thought of sex reminded me of the night I was raped, and I couldn’t imagine earning a living that way. Fortunately, Jack was more interested in getting high than having sex, and I really didn’t have to worry about it.

“Is that what made you start, turning tricks, I mean?”

Wednesday chewed her piece of meat and winked at me. “Sure. I got me a brand-new Firebird. I’m carrying a two-hundred dollar purse, and I’ve got a nice bank account building up. When I get enough dough saved up, I’m high-tailing it to Miami. That’s where it’s at, Miami!”

I nodded and used one of Jack’s sayings. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, do you do your own hair?”

Wednesday nodded. “Sure, why?”

“It looks really cool. Would you do mine?”

Wednesday smiled. “Hey, that sounds like fun! How about tomorrow?”

I felt the sparkle in my eyes as I agreed to meet my new friend.

***

  I slept until noon the next day and took care of the motel chores in the afternoon. At five o’clock, I knocked on the door of Room 8. Wednesday’s eyeball looked at me through a small crack in the door. She stuck her hand out, pulled me into the room, and slammed it shut.

“Hey! I didn’t know if Jack was with you. I don’t want Ray to see this place.”

The walls of Wednesday’s room were covered in a collage of posters and pictures cut from magazines. Posters of tropical islands looked down from the ceiling over her bed. My eyes jumped from one piece of the puzzle to the next. The collage felt energizing, as if the walls held a magical power.

             
Not wanting to break the spell that it cast over me, I whispered, “This is really cool.”

             
Wednesday sat cross-legged on the bed. “Yeah, well, see why I don’t want Ray in here? That’s why I do my own cleaning.”

             
I sat next to her and said, “Ray thinks that you turn tricks here.”

             
Wednesday laughed. “Huh, shows how much he knows, that dumb junkie. Nobody comes in here. This is my secret, and you’re the only one who has seen it.”

             
I looked up at the pictures of sprawling mansions with huge swimming pools and beautiful models dripping in diamonds. “It’s really nice.”

             
Wednesday jumped off the bed and threw her arms out. “It’s more than nice; it’s visualization! I see it. I want it. I make it happen. That’s visualization!”

             
I nodded at the images that filled the room. Wednesday held out her hand. “Come here. I’ll show you.”

             
She led me to the bathroom where a large poster of her car was pinned over the toilet.

             
She pointed. “See that? I didn’t get that poster
after
I paid cash for that car. I saw this poster on the wall when I rode with Carlos to the car dealership to get his car fixed. I sweet-talked a salesman into giving it to me. Then I came home and hung it in here. I looked at it every day, twice a day, and said, ‘That’s my car.’ Exactly one year later, that car was mine.”

             
I nodded. “Cool.”

             
“Hey, do you want some coffee?” she asked, as I followed her back to the bedroom.

             
“Yeah, I like it with a bunch of sugar and cream.”

             
Wednesday poured two cups of coffee from a percolator sitting on top of a small fridge. I looked around the room, noting the nice comforter, refrigerator, coffee pot, and color television that didn’t come with it.

Wednesday continued to dig through the refrigerator, calling back, “I have sugar and milk. I have some glazed doughnuts, too, if you want one.”

I smiled. “Sure! It’s been ages since I had a doughnut.”

             
Wednesday turned up her nose. “Only problem is, they’re dated today. So I think we’ll have to eat the whole box.”

             
I laughed and said, “That’s fine by me!”

             
Wednesday and I sat on her fluffy white comforter with the box of doughnuts between us. She cocked her head to one side as she surveyed the pictures around the room.

             
“You know, I didn’t have to get that car. I could have just crawled in a hole and died when my daddy left me at that truck stop a little over two years ago. But I didn’t. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Carlos hadn’t been there. He gave me a job and talked Ray into letting me have this room.”

             
“How did you come up with the idea of visualization?”

             
Wednesday laughed. “An old tightwad used to come into the Waffle Stop. Instead of leaving a tip, he’d say, ‘As you believe, so shall it be.’ After a while, it stuck in my head, and I started pinning stuff I wanted on the wall.”

Wednesday pointed to the pictures. “There’s my leather handbag, my Chanel No. 5, and a $5,000 dollar bill that I drew myself. Next stop is Miami!”

             
I plucked another doughnut from the box. “Will you do what you’re doing now, when you get to Miami? For a living, I mean.”

             
Wednesday sipped her coffee, thoughtfully. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter what I do to make money. As long as I believe it and see it, I know that I can make it happen.”

             
I nodded, looking at the pictures. “Wednesday, why did you call Ray a junkie?”

             
“Because he shoots smack, that’s why.”

             
I scrunched my nose. “Eww! For real?”

             
She sucked the sticky glaze from her fingertips and said, “Sure ’nuff!”

             
“Man, heroin is real bad. Isn’t that what killed Janis Joplin?”

             
Wednesday nodded. “Yep.”

             
I stared at the purple violets on the white coverlet. “Jack likes to get high, but I don’t think he’d ever do that.”

             
Wednesday hopped off the bed. “Do you want to do your hair now?”

             
I smiled. “Yeah!”

             
Wednesday trimmed the dead ends and colored my hair bright yellow, just like I always wanted. I parted it in the middle and added two thin braids on each side
. Later, we held her hairbrushes like microphones and
followed along as Tony Orlando and Dawn
sang “Knock Th
ree Times
.
”

Wednesday and I became close friends after that day. Hanging out with Wednesday made up for the sleepovers I had missed growing up. Hanging out in Room 8 helped me become independent and find my own dreams for the future.

The next week, Wednesday brought her friend to
the Plaza Inn
. I watched him hang a light blue curtain as
a
background for my picture ID. The swarthy man smoked a menthol cigarette that stung my eyes. I blinked and grinned into the camera. He focused the lens and said, “Don’t tear up on me or smile too much, Sweetheart. This ain’t no photo shoot.”

I straightened my face and held my breath as he snapped the picture. He gave me a ballpoint pen and sheet of plain paper and said, “Put the name, address, and social security number you want to use on this piece of paper.”

I shrugged. “I guess I’ll just use Nikky Harris and this address.”

The man looked at Wednesday and then at me. “You might want to add a middle name. It makes it look more legit.”

Wednesday chewed on ice from a Styrofoam cup. “Yeah and use my address, 125 Wilshire. It’ll look better than the grand roach motel.”

I thought for a second. “Jack’s middle name is Daniel, but I don’t have a middle name.”

Wednesday snapped her fingers. “Hey! How about Nikky Dan Harris? That sounds pretty cool.”

I wrote the name on the blank sheet of paper. “Nikky Dan Harris. I like it!”

The man folded the paper. “You need anything else fixed? Marriage certificates, diplomas, titles?”

“Yeah, I have a car title. Can you change it, too?”

“Yep,” the man said, as he packed the curtain away in a brown satchel.

I ran to the car, picked up the title, and paid him seventy-five dollars for
a
new
social security card, driver’s license, and car title
.
And
I was officially Nikky Dan Harris.

Dreamland

As Wednesday and I spent more time together, Jack and I saw less of each other. Jack and his friends were always searching for a buzz. Wednesday and I were busy comparing dreams and counting our money.

Driving to the motel in the shivering rain, I wondered what
happened to Jack’s Florida where it’s summertime all the time
.
I had a rotten cold, and Carlos sent me home two hours into my shift. I parked in front of the office and fumbled for my keys in the gushing rain. My heart fell to the floor when I pushed the door open and saw a needle poised toward Jack’s arm. He was fully focused on what h
e was doing and didn’t look up.

A timid voice fluttered up
from
my throat. “Jack?”

He jerked the needle away and blew out a frustrated sigh. “Geez, Babe. Don’t scare me like that! You’ll make me miss.”

I was still finding my voice when I quietly asked, “What are you doing?”

             
The corners of his mouth turned down as he slowly shook his head. “Just copping a buzz, Babe. How about you? What are you doing here?”

             
“I live here—last time I checked.”

I shivered in the wet clothes. The needle was lying across a dinner plate I’d never seen before. I started to sit down on the bed. Jack stopped me with his hand and pointed to the chair.

“No. Don’t sit here. Sit over there.”

             
I declined the sagging upholstered chair and chose to pace the floor. “Jack, why are you doing this? What is it? Heroin?”

             
Jack stared at the syringe in his hand and thumped it with his fingernail.

             
I stood over him, trying to capture his attention. “Don’t you realize that this stuff can kill you?”

             
When he looked up at me, I saw that Jack’s beautiful green eyes were streaked with red lines. The lack of feeling in his voice sent cold chills down my spine. “This is who I am, and no amount of bitching is going to change that. If you’re so worried, you can stay and watch; if not, you can leave. It’s up to you. I need to do this now, before it goes bad.”

             
I stood still and watched him grab the leather tourniquet between his teeth. He pulled it tight. Within seconds after
the
needle dropped on the bed, Jack was transported into another world. I finally sat in the frumpy chair, crying, sniffling, and blowing my nose until I fell asleep.

             
Over the next year and a half, I spent many hours watching Jack fly away to dreamland. I felt like I needed to be there for him, in case he needed something. He never n
eeded anything but another fix.

In December 1972, Wednesday left for Miami. I was sad to see her go but happy to see her dreams come true. I felt lonely without her positive reinforcement and ideas of visualization. More than that, I felt sad that I was left with a husband who was a dysfunctional junkie. I continued to work long hours and save money, while supplying Jack with enough money for his stas
h.

I worried about Jack’s wild and reckless friends. The more I expressed my concerns, the farther we drifted apart. Jack called me his pretty lady, when h
e
held out his hand for money. To his friends, I was the old lady, and sometimes just the bitch.