Sintown Chronicles II: Through Bedroom Windows (12 page)

She faced the showerhead, braced herself and turned off the hot water faucet. She shivered as the cold spray hit her chest, ran over her breasts and down her stomach and legs on its way to the drain which was almost clogged with hair from her head. She laughed as she thought, Thar's gold in them thar hills, and she playfully pulled the hair from the drain with her big toe.

She dried off and returned to the bedroom. Eddie was snoring. She went to the spare room and closed the door before turning on the lights. The expected cold chill did not materialize. “Ida,” she said quietly. “You said you have written something about North Carolina gold mines. Please help me find it.” She searched the four drawers of the file cabinet, but found nothing.

She returned to the bedroom. What do I know about mining for gold anyway? she asked herself as she drifted off to sleep.

The churning water of the Whirl Pool relaxed him so much that George Bennett was dozing when the bathroom door flung open. He sat up with a start, splashing water onto the tile floor and, when he saw Maggie's nude body, he hastily moved the washcloth over his crotch.

She seemed frozen to the spot. “George,” she managed to say. “I thought you were in the den. I could hear the TV when I came in."

His eyes locked on the tangled soft curls of her pubis.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she covered her lower body with the white terrycloth robe draped over her left arm.

Her breasts remained exposed and he drank them in with his eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said again as she turned and made a delayed, but hasty retreat, closing the door behind her.

George shut his eyes and groaned. A vision of the naked gorgeous beauty seemed permanently burned on the inside of his eyelids. “Maggie,” he said. “Maggie, are you still there?"

The faint response was a timid, “Yes."

“Maggie, it's okay."

“I'm really sorry, George."

“It's okay, Maggie. I just hope you don't have nightmares of my wrinkled old body."

There was a pause and then he heard her timidly say, “I like your wrinkled old body, George."

He knew he needed to reply and he fumbled for the right words. “I like your smooth tanned skin much better. Maggie, you're the most beautiful woman in the world."

He had gone too far. He was sure of it. When she didn't immediately reply, he leaned back in the Whirl Pool and sighed.

The door opened a few inches. “George?"

“Yes."

“Would you like for me to wash your back?"

He gulped audibly. “Only if you want to,” he managed to say.

He turned his head away from the door and listened to her entrance.

“George, look at me."

He turned his head. She was wearing the robe.

“Do you honestly think I'm pretty?"

He nodded.

She knelt beside him, pulled the washcloth from his groin and lathered the soft cloth with soap. She gently pushed him forward and rubbed the cloth over his quivering back.

“I think I know what you mean, now,” she said.

“You lost me."

“When you said you love me. I love you too, George—not like a father or a lover—but I do love you."

It's not the best dream I ever had, George thought as his skin continued to tingle at her touch, but maybe if I can sleep a little longer it'll get better.

Mack smiled broadly at the young acne-scarred waitress. “Mary Lou and I both want Dottie's delicious country style steak, June."

“I'm sorry preacher. All we have is today's special—meatloaf."

“Ugh,” Mary Lou said as she wrinkled her nose. “How about fried chicken?"

June shook her head. “Business has fallen off so much in the past three months that Dottie let everybody go except me, and she cut the menu back to just each day's special. Chicken is the Thursday special and country fried steak is Friday's."

Mack looked around at the nearly empty diner. “It's certainly not like old times."

“The Korner Kafe's prices are so much lower than ours that folks just can't afford to pass them up. Dottie says that Mr. Bennett is losing money just like we are, but he can afford it."

“It doesn't make any sense to me, June,” Mack said. “Why would George set his prices too low to make a profit?"

“Dottie says he's a hog. He wants all the business in Dot for himself and is trying to run her out of business."

“That doesn't sound like George,” Mack objected. “He seems to me to be a fine, respectable man."

“Dottie doesn't talk much about it,” June said, “but I know for a fact Mr. Bennett offered to buy her out. He said he'd give her a fair price, but she won't sell."

Mary Lou sighed. “I can understand that. This restaurant is Dottie's life. She must hate George Bennett's guts."

June glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “That's what she'd have you believe. Personally, I think she's kinda sweet on him."

“Now that doesn't make any sense at all,” Mack said.

“You ought to see the way they look at each other,” June replied.

Mack shrugged his shoulders. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose. How's your love life, June?"

June blushed.

Mary Lou spared her from having to answer. “Has Dottie thought about remodeling the place and reducing her prices to match Mr. Bennett's?"

June nodded. “She doesn't have the money. The bank turned her down for a loan. The Dollars were willing to help, but not with a loan. They wanted to buy a half interest in the place and Dottie won't sell."

“I guess we'll have the meatloaf,” Mack joked.

“I don't think Dottie's doing the right thing, serving just one dish,” Mary Lou pouted. “If her prices don't drive people off, her limited menu will."

“I don't think we'll have to worry about it much longer,” June said as she turned to make sure Dottie was still in the kitchen. She leaned over the table and softly said, “I think she's about broke. She got behind on her bills and the suppliers cut her off. They won't deliver anymore. She has to drive to Charlotte every morning and pay cash for what she gets. I think she's just about spent all of her savings."

After June went to the kitchen to place their order, Mary Lou said, “Mack, Dot's Diner is an institution in Dot, like the church. We have to do something."

“We?"

“We have some money in the bank—the advances on your two books and that royalty check you received last week."

“I think she probably needs more than fifteen thousand, Mary Lou,” Mack laughed, “and I certainly would not put Dot's Diner in the same category as the church."

“Oh, you know what I mean."

“Yeah, but still, if the bank refused to make her a loan, the chances of us getting back our money would be slim. If things are as bad as June says, a loan from us would just delay the inevitable."

“I wonder why the Dollars wanted to buy a half interest in the place? They must think there is a possibility of future success."

Mack nodded. “They have the Midas touch all right. Dottie ought to listen to them."

“I remember one time Sandy said something about Dot needing a good pizza restaurant that will deliver. I wonder if that's what they have in mind?"

Maggie found Greta's cleaning cart outside room A34. She let herself in with a passkey and found Greta working in the bathroom. “We need to talk,” she said as she sat down on the closed toilet seat.

“Okay,” Greta replied and she sat on the edge of the bathtub.

“We received a complaint this morning. Mr. Eddings checked out two days earlier than he intended. He said he woke up this morning about six with you stripped to the waist and fondling him. He claims you offered oral sex for fifty dollars."

“It wasn't me, Maggie."

“There's no point in lying about it. You are the only white employee on our housekeeping staff."

“He ... he asked me to wake him up this morning that way. It was his idea."

“Greta, the motel is not a brothel. Our reputation is very important to Mr. Bennett and me. We will not tolerate prostitution on the part of any member of our staff. If it happens again, I'll fire you."

“You're a fine one to talk,” Greta said defiantly.

“What is that supposed to mean?"

“You're the biggest whore I've ever seen."

“Be careful of what you say, Greta. I'm in a lousy mood this morning, but I'm trying to give you a break."

“Hell. You're sleeping with the boss and getting paid off with a fancy house, clothes fit for a queen and probably a salary that's much more than you're worth."

“I am simply staying in Mr. Bennett's home until I can find a place of my own."

“Like hell you are. I've seen him with his hand on your ass and it don't take no rocket scientist to figure out what the two of you are doing every afternoon in his office."

Maggie stood up, glaring at Greta. “Perhaps I should discuss this problem with your husband."

“Maggie, wait,” Greta called out as Maggie reached the exit door of the motel room. Greta burst through the bathroom door and pleaded, “Don't tell Eddie. He'll kill me."

“I should think he would be very unhappy to learn that his wife is a prostitute."

“Ain't that,” Greta said. “He'd be pissed ‘cause I was holding out on him."

“I don't understand."

Greta sat heavily on the bed and sighed. “We ain't married and I am a whore. He saved my life one night when he found me in an alley with three johns beating the shit out of me. I've lived with him ever since."

Maggie sat on the edge of a chair. “Want to talk about it?"

Greta nodded. “He treats me like dirt. He keeps all the money I make. If he knew I was holding out on him, he'd be furious. I ... I've been saving up a little so I can leave him."

Greta looked so pitiful that Maggie moved to the bed, sat beside her and put her arm around the woman who began to cry softly. “Maggie, I don't know what to do."

“I don't know what to tell you, Greta, but you just can't continue selling your body to our customers."

“Can I tell you something else?"

Maggie tightened her arm around Greta's shoulders.

“There's a ghost that lives in our house and she talks to me sometimes."

Greta's tone was so serious that Maggie was not tempted to make light of the notion.

“Her name's Ida Jenkins. She was a schoolteacher and the previous owner of the house. I know it sounds stupid, but I found a letter she wrote to me before she died."

“Tell me about it."

“Why ain't you making fun of me?"

“Greta, I don't believe in ghosts, but that doesn't prove they don't exist. Tell me about the letter."

“The letter is addressed ‘To Somebody.’ After reading it, I think I am the Somebody she had in mind. She tells a little about herself as a girl and as a woman. She never married."

“What does that have to do with you?"

“I'm getting to that. She said if she could live her life over again, she'd do things differently and then she goes on to tell what she would do."

“I still don't believe in ghosts, Greta, but maybe she has some advice in her letter that fits you. Maybe that's why you think she wrote the letter to you."

“She wasn't anything like me, Maggie. For one thing, I don't think she ever slept with a man in her whole life. She said if she had it to do over again she would find a man and make him the happiest guy in the world, but she would never be a regular housewife. That part didn't make much sense to me. She said she'd still work, maybe as a schoolteacher, but probably not."

“Sounds like she wanted to maintain her independence while enjoying a close relationship with a man."

“I reckon."

“Certainly you don't want to teach school. What other options did your ghost list?"

“Maggie, would you recognize a gold nugget if you saw one?"

Maggie laughed. “I doubt it."

“Miss Jenkins said there used to be gold mines in North Carolina. She said she thought it would be fun to search some of them to see if she could find a hidden vein, whatever that is."

“So, you want to become a gold miner?"

“I don't know anything about it, but I can't get it out of my head."

“You can probably find some books on it at the library in Charlotte."

“I don't read so good, Maggie. It took me an hour to read that letter I told you about. I have to look up so many words in the dictionary."

Maggie nodded. “You know, Greta, prospecting for gold sounds like something I might enjoy."

Greta's countenance brightened and she turned sideways on the bed, facing Maggie. “Would you help me find the gold?"

“Hold on, Greta,” Maggie laughed. “We don't know that there is any gold and we don't know how to recognize it anyway. Do you have any idea where these old mines are?"

Greta's shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “Miss Jenkins said in her letter that she has a whole notebook on gold mines, but I haven't found it yet."

“You think it's in the house somewhere?"

“I guess. Eddie's always there when I am, so I haven't had much of a chance to search for it."

“I have an idea. I have both you and Eddie scheduled to work Wednesday through Sunday with Monday and Tuesday off. If I leave Eddie's schedule as it is, and change yours to working Monday through Friday, then you and I can search for the notebook together on Saturday and Sunday without him knowing."

Greta grabbed Maggie's hands. “Would you do that?"

Maggie squeezed Greta's hands and stood up. “Consider it done. Now I have to get back to work."

As Maggie reached the door Greta said, “I'm sorry I called you a whore and I won't do it no more."

Maggie closed the door behind her and pressed her back against it. Was Greta right about her? she wondered. She wasn't sleeping with George, of course, but their tender moments together were becoming increasingly passionate. Was her interest in George due solely to the benefits he was pouring out on her? She certainly didn't mean for it to happen that way, but was there anything she truly cared about other than George's money? She shuddered and slowly walked back to the restaurant.

George was standing behind the register. She edged up to him, slyly patted his buttocks, and then remembered what Greta said.