Wyst

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  “Oh sugar, the $45 on the sign? That’s per person. So for two people its $90, not including tax and service fee.”

  I remember glancing up at Wyst and rolling my eyes while he told me via our link to Calm down, pixie.

  “So what if we share a room?” My question was given with a smirk. “Your sign says you have king-size beds. That would work for us.”

  “That is the price for one room,” she replied with hard eyes and a brittle smile. “And that’s where your savings really come in because, by sharing a room, you only have to pay rental for one set of bed linens and one cleaning fee, payable in advance.”

  Say what?

  “How much are those again?” Wyst asked in a deeper voice as he placed his arm around my waist. A move Ms. Myrtle didn’t miss in the least even though it was done to control me and not given as any measure of affection.

  “$10 for the linens, which includes two sets of towels and $50 for the cleaning fee.” Her eyes traveled from Wyst’s muscled arm, skimming over the hard planes of his chest before they roamed over his face and hair. She didn’t try to hide how attractive she found him. “Plus, I’m giving you the weekly discount.”

  “Weekly discount?” I’d managed to mutter, curling my nails into my palms to prevent me from slapping her silly.

  Pointing a neon-pink talon at one of the forty hand-printed signs hanging around the office, I read, ‘Prepay for 6 nights and get the 7th night half-off’. It was the only one adorned with glitter glue in the shape of hearts, taped as it was right next to the blazing ‘No Refunds’ one, done up in block letters three inches high matching the thick border in not-to-be-missed red. Pursing her glossy lips while dragging her lacquered fingernails over a set of boobs so full and pushed up so high she could probably rest one of her chins on them, Ms. Myrtle batted her eyelashes and crooned, “I’m sure you’ll find my place is exactly what you want, Mr…uhm…”

  My head was immediately filled with a long stream of Picari (or Nutrolian, I didn’t know which) where every other word was ‘frack’, giving me a good idea of Wyst’s opinion of the lodge owner and the way she ran her business.

  I didn’t understand what you said, but I agree with your sentiments wholeheartedly, dude.

  Neither one of us moved a muscle nor said a word out loud, but that didn’t mean we weren’t conversing.

  We seem to have no choice, my Pam, unless you are willing to walk back to the car.

  That’s a big fat, old, hell-to-the-no, big guy. I say we take it and be grateful the room comes with a shower and a bed she doesn’t charge extra to use.

  We must’ve been talking amongst ourselves a little bit too long because the other woman cleared her throat before snapping, “So do you want the room or not?”, all vestiges of flirtation long gone.

  “We’ll take it.” My reply wasn’t given too loudly or even with attitude but it still earned me a reproachful look from our new, short-term landlord.

  Nodding but no longer smiling, she slid a blank three by five card across the counter. “I’ll need your names, address, telephone number and the license plate number of your car as well as a credit card to keep on file for incidentals.”

  Wyst’s arm tightened, pulling my back even closer to his front at her words. “We will pay cash.”

  Myrtle had been reaching into a small cupboard filled with old-fashioned room keys but stopped all movement at Wyst’s pronouncement. “I don’t do no cash business.”

  “You will for us, Miss Myrtle,” he shot back in a firm voice. “I have it on good authority this is not a busy time of year for Wayward. Your parking lot is empty and your key-holder is missing no keys. Therefore, I think it is in your best interest to take our cash and be satisfied you have paying customers.”

  With a face like thunder, she snatched at a key and slammed it down on the counter, keeping her palm over it. “That’ll be an even eight hunnerd, payable in advance. Take it or leave it.”

  “We will take it, but we want a room on the second floor as far from the office as possible,” Wyst responded in that same firm voice. “And we will not be giving you any written information.”

  “I don’t want no trouble so if you two are in some kind of fix, take your business elsewhere.”

  I finally added my voice to the mix in order to call a cease-fire to their negotiations. “We’re paying you more than originally asked, Myrtle. And we aren’t in any kind of a jam, I promise. We just like our privacy.”

  Turning back to the cabinet, she pulled out another key as I unzipped my purse while turning away from the counter. As far as I was concerned, she didn’t need to see our dwindling stack of cash. Not with the amount of avarice she’d already displayed.

  The exchange of greenbacks and key was made without any more conversation. But just as we were leaving, she called us back. “Don’t you want your linens?”

  Wyst paused after inserting the key into the knob, his gaze moving around the doorframe and I heard the trailing end of his thought before he swung the door wide. He was right. As far as security went, the flimsy door armed with nothing more than a push-button lock wouldn’t keep anyone out over the age of four. But when our eyes hit the scarred furnishings and stained shag carpet, I couldn’t hold back a groan.

  Maybe if I shut the drapes against the bright afternoon sunshine it won’t look so bad, I thought to myself but I knew he heard me by the way he huffed out a sigh.

  “Don’t touch anything and don’t sit down, yet,” I advised sharply after yanking the curtains as closed as they’d go. It helped, but only a little.

  The next order of business had to do with the gaudy (read: god-awful) green and gold patterned bedspread. So unhitching my purse and gingerly placing it on the dresser (which held a huge TV that would’ve been considered old in the 80’s), I used a foot to kick the edge of the bedspread back. Then I grabbed the underneath cleaner portion to fold it up before placing it on the top shelf of the tiny closet. Putting my face close to the sheets and pillows, I caught a whiff of bleach which told me they were clean. Actually, at closer inspection the room had been dusted and vacuumed (if the striations in the thin carpet meant anything) it was just the furniture was so faded and scuffed, the walls such a putrid shade of yellow that it just appeared to be dirty. There was old and shabby, but Myrtle’s offering wasn’t on the chic side of the spectrum in any way, shape or form.

  After removing the bedspread, I went to Wyst’s duffle only idly noting him easing himself down onto the edge of the king-size mattress. With his elbows propped on his knees and his head drooping between his shoulders, he looked like I felt—which was worn-out and used up.

  “I’ll be quick,” I told him as I rummaged to find the few things I’d taken from my suitcase to shove in his soft-sided bag.

  Take your time, pixie. And from the slow way the words bloomed in my head, I glanced at him to see if he looked as tired as his speech sounded in my head.

  He was toeing off his boots but doing it with a minimum of effort, as if he just didn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm to reach down and get the job done as soon as possible. Since we didn’t bring your jeilbo, you can use my cleansing products.

  “Your what?” My hands hovered over the messy piles of clothes as I half-turned to him again. “What’s a jay-elbow?”

  As soon as the second boot was off, but with his feet on the floor, Wyst dropped his back onto the mattress with a sigh. It means a small case.

  It was only moments later, after I’d ensconced myself in the tiny shower when the stress of the last two days fully hit me. I let the lukewarm stream of water from the shower cascade over my head as I tried not to cry. But I lost the battle as the tears poured out of me, mixing with the shower water to tunnel down the drain. My only hope was that I could continue to do it as silently as possible or just quiet enough so Wyst couldn’t hear me.

  It had been a bad couple of days, pushing me to the very limits of my endurance on every level: emotionally, mentally and physically. So
the release of a few tears should’ve been expected, welcomed even, but they weren’t. I didn’t like to cry. Crying girls came off as manipulative to my way of thinking. Better to ride a really good mad-on than to let a guy see you cry had always been my credo.

  But that particular philosophy didn’t cut it at moment since I had nothing in reserve with which to back it up.

  Running my hands over my wet skin, I decided another soaping was in order. Because I didn’t feel clean, not after allowing my emotional shields to slip after stepping into the shower and my mind dredged up the memory of Hal and Jerry.

  Of what they’d wanted to do to me.

  What they encouraged each other to do to me.

  And all they actually could’ve done to me.

  I scrubbed the rough washcloth against my skin until it turned pink, determined to scour away their words, their intentions and the lewd expressions on their young faces as they came for me.

  A sob escaped as I added more of Wyst’s shower gel to the cloth for a third time, but I turned it into a cough just in case Mr. Nosy McBossy was listening in. I couldn’t let him see or hear me until I got a grip. And I was determined not to step one foot out of the tub until I had control.

  Of course, it probably would’ve been easier to find if our room at Myrtle’s Motor Lodge wasn’t as dismal as my attitude and thoughts. Not that I had traveled all that much, but when Leah and I got our vacation-groove on, we thoroughly researched all the three star hotels wherever we stayed, attempting to find the cleanest and best decorated for the cheapest price. Myrtle’s wouldn’t have ever made the first round, but since hers was the only lodgings in town we didn’t have a choice.

  Turning off the water, I reached around the garish pink and green shower curtain for my threadbare towel before wrapping it around my hair. One thing I’d noticed when rummaging through Wyst’s bag was my two-handed, grab-and-shove method of transfer (from my suitcase to his) netted me three outfits and only one panty and bra combo. And then there was the fact I hadn’t even thought to bring along my cosmetic case, leaving me without makeup or any of my necessary designed-for-curly-hair elixirs and goo.

  As far as trips went, this gig was turning out to be one of the worst.

  *.*.*.*.*

  Holding the sticky, stiff piece of plastic, Wyst berated himself for not keeping up on his English lessons. He could speak the language well enough and understood most of what was said except for the colloquialisms and slang, but couldn’t read it. And he was waiting for Pam to stop talking so he could ask her to translate.

  “…so you just keep to your side of the bed and we shouldn’t have any trouble. Okay?”

  He blinked and didn’t answer, wondering if she was only pausing or if she was done with what she called her ‘ground rules’. When her eyes dropped to what the waitress called a menu, he decided she was done and he could finally talk. “What are the meals on offer?”

  Without raising her head she looked at him and grinned. “What’re you in the mood for, because this place has just about all the stuff I know you like to eat.”

  Back at the house in Phoenix, Pam was the one who initiated and prepared most of the meals for the warriors. Wyst had to admit she was a good cook and made enough even for the Picari appetite which she called ‘gargantuan’, whatever that meant. “Fried chicken, the loaf of meat, hammer burgers, and the sandwich with the initials,” he stated quickly.

  “Uhm…that’s four dinners, big guy.”

  “Yes. But I am hungry. Those grain bars do nothing to fill my stomach although I like their sweetness.”

  Her eyes went back to the plastic. “After the day we’ve had, I can imagine.”

  “So how do I order those items?” He knew he frequently mispronounced the names of things, calling them by their descriptions instead. But he wanted to blend in, not arouse any suspicions with the residents in town. Which meant he needed to learn to speak properly.

  The pixie pushed the plastic to the middle of the table and gazed at him. “I can order for both of us.”

  No. I want to order for myself.

  Feeling a little out of control, big guy? Need to effing assert your authority by placing your own order?

  Her words hurt as they can a little too close to what he really was experiencing. Just tell me what to say when the lady with the glasses comes back.

  Okay. But she’s called a waitress. And her name is Bernice.

  Wyst filed the information away, but was confounded how Pam knew the names of the people they’d encountered that day. “How do you know her name? Is it something all humans automatically know about each other?”

  She shrugged and folded her hands, resting them against the edge of table. “She’s wearing a nametag.”

  “And Pete? Myrtle?”

  “Pete’s name was on his shirt. And Myrtle’s was on the shiny gold placard on the counter.”

  He made a mental note to contact Arbrynt to ask him to upload the reading program to his tresl so he could study it while he slept, the same way he’d learned to speak English for the part of Earth the Picari’s had chosen for their mission.

  “You two ready to order?” Wyst let Pam go first, surprised she was only ordering one dinner when he knew she had to be just as hungry. The Bernice wrote on her tiny pad of paper as the pixie spoke before turning to him. “And you?”

  Wyst steeled himself, determined to get through the ordering process without making a fool of himself. “I’ll have the fried chicken platter…with the mashed potatoes…and carrots.”

  Did the Bernice notice how slowly and disjointed his phrasing sounded as Pam mentally fed him the right words to say?

  “As well as the me-meatloaf…with macaroni and cheese…and broccoli.”

  Why did the woman raise her eyebrows and shoot him a look of confusion? Didn’t he say the words right? Her reaction made his palms sweat and his hearts beat faster.

  “And the BTL plate…I mean, the BLT…with french fries.”

  The Bernice stopped writing and shot him a look he read as concerned. “You know you just ordered three full dinners, honey?”

  “Yes.” Wyst wiped his hands on his jeans and tried to make his mouth smile, although he wasn’t sure of his success in that endeavor. “I am hungry.”

  “Okay, then,” the waitress replied with a chuckle. “I like a man with a big appetite! I’ll go put this in and get your drinks.”

  When she left, Wyst let out a long, slow but steady stream of air in an effort to calm himself.

  You did good, babe.

  But he knew the pixie was lying. Humans do not order multiple meals at one setting, do they?

  She wouldn’t look at him as she replied verbally. “No, but not because they don’t want to. If they need more food than one plate, they’ll usually hit up a fast food joint or two on their way home.”

  “Fast food joint?”

  “Yeah. You know, those restaurants where you can stay in your car the entire time?”

  Even then, he wouldn’t be able to order properly. And that thought, directly on the heels of the realization he couldn’t function autonomously while on Earth found his ire rising. What the posket had the Quest Committee thought when sending the band of warriors out into the nether reaches of space?

  His companion interrupted his dark meanderings by sliding her hand to cover his entwined fingers. “It’s gonna be okay, Wyst. When I first met you, both Leah and I knew you and Rykhan weren’t American. But we totally bought the idea you were from a foreign country and were unfamiliar with our ways.” She smiled and gave his hands a squeeze. “ If anyone says anything, we’ll just play spin doctor and tell them you’re from Russia or something, all right?”

  He couldn’t deny the calm her touch provided, coating his insides and giving him a sense of peace with nothing more than the feel of her skin on his.

  “And they will believe it?” Where he came from, each individual planet in the Picari solar system had their own customs and language but all
four planets read and spoke the more formal Picari language. He and his warrior brothers were shocked to discover it wasn’t the same for the many different people on Earth.

  He didn’t know the cause, but when she answered him, her voice was soft and her eyes warm as they shared a stare. “Yeah, babe. They will.”

  Mulling her words over as the Beatrice offloaded the plates she carried, Wyst wondered if she was correct. Gyed knew he could play the role of a stranger from a foreign land because it carried the edge of truth, just not the full of it. And as he tucked into his meals, he was determined to succeed even as he’d use the sleep-tapes in order to read the English language.

  After a time, the waitress came to refill their drinks and placed a small piece of paper face down by the edge of one of his plates. “Didn’t think you had it in you to eat all that food, but you sure did, honey! Thanks for dropping by and I hope to see you two again!”

  As the Beatrice cleared the table, the pixie picked up the small piece of paper and frowned while mumbling, “This can’t be right.”

  What’s wrong, little one?

  According to the bill, we ate almost fifty bucks worth of food. And that doesn’t include the tip.

  Is that bad?

  Reaching for her bag, she shook her head so hard her not-so-tidy curls danced. It’s ten percent of the money we have left. So you eating three meals in one go better not be a daily thing, cowboy.

  Even though English gave him difficulties, their number and currency system didn’t. He’d always had a head for numbers, even as a youngling. But with all that had transpired on their trip, Wyst hadn’t paid close attention to what was being spent.

  How much do we have left?

  After paying for the feast you just downed? Less than five hundred, not including the five hundred we’ll still have to pay when the part arrives.

  When Tyshar handed him the three thousand, Wyst believed it would more than cover the cost of their travels and then some. But no one could’ve anticipated the Escalade’s breakdown, or that the much needed part would use up half of their stake.