“I dated him. He dated me. I ordered him an Uber.”
“Wham, bam, thank you man.”
“Exactly.”
“I'm walking up to Stones Throw to grab something to eat, if you want to tag along.”
“I was just sitting here wondering what I was going to eat. Let me grab a sweater.”
Donnie leapt out of his chair and disappeared into his room, leaving his door open. Three minutes later, Allen decided to sit down in one of Donnie's two chairs. Five minutes after that Allen dropped his head back and loudly sighed.
“Donnie, what the hell are ya doing in there?” Allen finally shouted, after fifteen minutes. “They stop serving food at ten.”
“Hold your horses!” Donnie hollered back. “I'm trying to make myself look moderately presentable. You have any idea how hard that is at my age?”
“Uh, yeah. Aren't we about the same age? It took me two minutes to get ready.”
Donnie appeared at the door. He had changed his clothes, and his hair now contained more product than if he had gotten his head stuck in a deep fryer. His blue jeans were as dark as they were skinny. They were cuffed, slightly revealing Donnie's bare ankles. He had on bright white leather sneakers. A tight gray T-shirt with horizontal stripes accentuated his cut physique. Over his corded arm hung a cream-colored cardigan.
“Too gay?” Donnie asked, jokingly.
Allen laughed. “I don't think so,” he replied. “Do I look too straight?”
“Yes,” said Donnie. “Too straight, and a little too homeless. Did you even comb your hair?”
“I ran my fingers through it.”
“You ran your fingers through it,” Donnie grumbled. He closed his door behind him. “And to answer your question, I'm forty-eight years old.”
“Really? I would not have guessed that.”
“I'll take that as a compliment,” Donnie said, on their way across the parking lot. “I work very hard at staying in shape. Not that Evan ever noticed, or God forbid, paid me a compliment.”
Allen studied Donnie's temple and the side of his head as the man spoke. “You don't have any crow's feet at all,” he observed.
“I owe that to Dr. Emmit Sparks,” Donnie explained. “He did my eyes, and removed a small bump on the bridge of my nose.”
Allen's eyes went to Donnie's nose. “Huh.”
“Dr. Emmit could probably do something about that little second chin thing you got going on there.”
“What?” Allen's fingertips shot to the skin under his chin. “What's wrong with my chin?”
“Well, I just noticed it's a little saggy—not bad, but when you look down it creates a slight second chin.”
Allen rubbed his neck.
“A little lipo and a stretch, and you'd look forty again,” said Donnie.
“I'm thirty-seven.”
“Oh, my.”
It took Allen and Donnie almost twenty minutes to make the mile-long hike from the Sunrise Motel to Stones Throw. By the time they arrived, Donnie was walking a little funny and wishing he hadn't decided to wear his new sneakers for the first time.
“I can literally feel two blisters on my right foot, and one on my left foot,” Donnie complained.
“Maybe you should have had Dr. Emmit narrow your feet,” said Allen.
“I do not have wide feet!”
“I'm just saying, a little lipo around the toes and this could have been avoided.”
“You're very funny, Allen,” Donnie shot back. “Maybe you should have been a comedian instead of a writer.”
“Probably. We're almost there. A few more steps.”
Donnie threw back his head. “Praise the Lord!” he shouted like a tent revival preacher.
Everyone dining on the front deck looked over at the two men.
“Is there something we can do for you?” Donnie asked snidely.
Most of the people looked away.
“I didn't think so.”
“Don't start any fights tonight,” Allen warned. “I don't feel like getting my ass kicked.”
“Don't worry, Allen, I'd protect you.”
“Wonderful.”
The hostess stand was unmanned. Allen searched the area for Mya. He looked to his left, in the direction of the deck across the alley. She was nowhere in sight.
“Looking for your lady friend?” Donnie asked.
“Yes.”
“She's working tonight?”
“She's supposed to be, but I don't see her.”
Just then, a tall, slender Black girl walked up to the podium. She had very short hair, parted on the left side. She was dressed in tan slacks and a matching short-sleeve top. She had a perfect smile.
“Just the two of you this evening?” asked the young woman.
“Yes,” Donnie answered. “Just two dashing men out on the town. Lock up your husbands and sons.”
Allen felt his face redden. “And daught—uh, I mean … I'm not. What I'm saying is—”
“Relax, Allen,” said Donnie. “This lovely young lady took one look at you, and knew you were not a gay man.” He returned his attention to the hostess. “I think he was afraid you thought he was gay.”
“No I wasn't,” Allen said, trying to hide his slight feelings of homophobia.
Donnie rolled his eyes. “It's fine,” he told Allen. “I wouldn't want anyone mistaking me for straight.”
The hostess chuckled.
“Wow,” Allen said. “I never realized how straightaphobic you were.”
“That's not a thing.”
Did you want to sit inside, or out?” she asked.
“Outside,” said Donnie.
“Is Mya here this evening?” Allen asked.
“You're a friend of Mya's—wait, are you Allen?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh, it's nice to meet you, Allen. I'm Wendy.”
“Nice to meet you.” Allen pointed across the alley. “Can we sit over there?”
“You sure can.” Wendy picked up her dry-erase marker and crossed out one of the four-tops on her chart. She picked up two menus. “Right this way.”
“My name is Donnie, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you as well, Donnie,” said Wendy.
Wendy led them across the alley and up the steps to the deck. She pointed at the same table where Allen had sat the day he arrived. “Is this okay?”
“Yes. Marvelous,” said Donnie.
Wendy put the menus on the table. “Oh, and you asked about Mya. Sorry about that. She called in tonight. Said she had something to take care of, and that she would try to make it in by eight.”
“She say what she had to take care of?” Allen asked.
“Nope.” Wendy stepped back from the table. “Enjoy your dinner. Cal will be your waiter this evening, and if Mya shows up, I'll tell her you're over here.”
“Thanks,” said Allen.
“Thank you,” Donnie said. He watched Wendy as she crossed the deck and went back down the stairs.
Allen was watching Donnie watch Wendy. “What are you looking at?” he asked.
“I love her shoes,” Donnie replied.
“And folks wonder where stereotypes come from.”
Donnie chuckled. “What are you ordering to drink?”
“The Painkiller is really good here.”
“Oh, that sounds good. Rum, right?”
“Yes.”
“I think I'll order one as well.”
A few seconds later, Cal arrived at the table. “How are you gentlemen this evening?” he asked.
“Fabulous,” said Donnie.
“And I'm not quite as fabulous,” Allen said.
“Maybe some of his fabulous will rub off on you,” said Cal.
“He better not rub anything off on me,” Allen said, doing his best Groucho Marx impersonation, down to waggling an imaginary cigar.
“You are horrible,” Donnie said.
“I have no self-control.”
“What can I get you gentlemen t
o—hey, you're the guy who got into the fight here the other day.”
“Guilty,” said Allen.
“Fight?” Donnie asked.
“It's a long story,” said Allen.
“Dude, when that guy hit the deck, the whole building shook,” Cal recalled with a grin.
“You knocked him out?” Donnie asked.
“Not actually.”
“Guy had a heart attack or something,” Cal said.
“You gave the man a heart attack?” Donnie gasped.
“He gave himself a heart attack,” Allen said. “And by the way, Cal, thanks for telling the cops I was just defending myself.”
“Well, that's what everyone else said, so I just went along with it.”
“Thanks. I'll have a Painkiller.”
“I'll also have a Painkiller, said Donnie.
“I'll go make those while you're looking over the menu.”
Cal turned and walked through the French doors at the end of the deck.
When Cal was completely out of earshot, Donnie said, “I need to hear the whole story.”
“Not much of a story. I was sitting here. I put in my drink order. Then I got up to use the restroom. When I opened the door, two guys were already in there.”
“Why does that not ever happen to me?”
“Sorry to ruin it for you, but they were only arguing.”
“Were they pulling each other's hair?”
“Can I finish my story?”
“Carry on.”
“The bigger of the two guys hollered at me for opening the door. I came back with a few wise remarks. He tried to grab me, so I shut his arm in the door. I told him to calm down, and I would let him out of the bathroom. He said he was calm. I opened the door. He walked out, clutched his chest, and hit the deck. And Cal was right, the whole place shook.”
“What did the other guy do?”
“Not much. He got down on his knees—”
Donnie opened his mouth and started to say something.
“Don't say it,” Allen warned.
“I can't help it.”
“The smaller guy got down on his knees and tried to revive Bobby.”
“Wait a minute. You know the guy?”
“I do now.”
“He didn't die?”
“God, no. The ambulance came and took him to the hospital. Checked himself out of the hospital the next day. Then he came to my hotel room to tell me there were no hard feelings.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Yeah, he's a wonderful person,” Allen said with a little sarcasm, but not enough for Donnie to catch it.
“Here you go, gentlemen,” Cal said, putting their drinks on the table in front of them. “Have you decided what you'd like to eat?”
Allen ordered chicken wings and a lobster roll. Donnie went with the fish sandwich and a side salad. They were halfway through their meals when Allen spotted Mya at the hostess station. She had her back to him, facing Wendy. Wendy pointed at Allen, and Mya looked back over her shoulder. Allen smiled and waved. Mya waved back, but there was no smile. That seemed odd to Allen, because Mya was always smiling. Something was wrong. Allen could sense it.
Donnie was talking, but Allen couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. He wondered if everything was okay with Mya's great-grandmother. What else could it be? Then it dawned on him, Allen had spoken with Jim Tucker earlier in the day; it was obvious Tucker didn't want him around. Had he spoken with Mya? Was that the problem? But what could Tucker have said that wouldn't paint himself as the jealous jerk that he was?
Allen watched as Wendy leaned in and gave Mya a hug. Then she put her hand on Mya's shoulder. Mya nodded her head. Something was wrong, but what? He picked up his glass and downed what little bit of Painkiller was left in the glass.
“What do you think?” Donnie asked.
“About what?” Allen asked.
“Were you even listening to me?”
“Sorry, I wasn't, Donnie.” Allen continued to look past Donnie's shoulder.
Donnie turned around. “Is that Mya?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder you weren't listening to me. She's gorgeous.”
“Yes, she is.”
Donnie looked back at Allen. “Is something wrong?”
“I'm not sure. Probably not. Eat a couple of these wings.” Allen picked up his lobster roll and took a bite.
Donnie eyed the three wings that were still on the plate. He sighed. “I better not. This sandwich is gonna stuff me.”
Allen glanced back over at the podium; Mya was gone.
“How is everything?” Cal asked.
“Very good,” Donnie answered.
“Good,” said Allen. “Can I get another one of these Painkillers?”
“Of course.”
“Me too,” said Donnie.
Allen took another bite of his roll. His eyes kept going from his plate to the hostess station. Finally Mya walked back into view. She stopped at the podium and wrote something on the seating chart. She looked over at Allen. He looked down at his plate, not wanting Mya to see that he was watching her. He decided not to look over again. He would just wait until he and Donnie were done eating, and then talk to her when they left.
Cal dropped off their drinks. Allen and Donnie nodded their thanks as he hustled to the next table.
“So, are you still planning on never returning to California?” Allen asked, just trying to get his mind off of Mya.
Donnie grinned. “No, I'm sure I'll head back in a few days. I can't hide out here forever.”
“Have you spoken with anyone to let them know you're here?”
“I called my mom and sister yesterday morning. I didn't want them to worry. I told them not to tell Evan they'd heard from me.”
“Have they heard from him?”
Donnie nodded. “My mom said Evan calls twice a day to see if they've heard from me.”
“Maybe he's having second thoughts about his second thoughts.”
“Too bad for him if he is. He had his shot.”
“Hey, Allen,” said Mya.
Allen looked up. Mya was standing at their table. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I didn't see you walking over. How are you?”
“Good.”
Donnie flashed his flawless white teeth. “You must be Mya,” he said. “I've heard so much about you.” He held out his hand.
“This is my friend Donnie,” Allen said. “He's staying in the room below me.”
“It's nice to meet you, Donnie,” Mya said, taking his hand.
“You are just as beautiful as Allen described.”
Mya smiled at Allen. “Well, aren't you sweet. Thank you.”
She looked back across the alley. Four people stood near the hostess station.
“I better get back to work,” Mya said. “I just wanted to stop over and say hi.”
Allen stood. “I'll walk you over.”
“Okay.”
“Be right back, Donnie.”
“I'll be here.”
Allen and Mya crossed the deck and went down the stairs.
“Is everything okay?” Allen asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“You just seem different.”
“Do I?”
Allen stopped halfway across the alley, and turned toward Mya. “Yes, you do. I realize I haven't known you for very long, but I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. Something's bothering you.”
“No, really, I'm fine.”
“Jim Tucker stopped by my motel room today to speak with me.”
Mya said nothing.
“Did he speak with you today?” Allen asked.
“I can't talk about this right now, Allen.” She glanced over at the guests waiting for her at the hostess station. “I need to get back to work.”
“Okay. Do you want to swing by the motel after work?”
“I can't. I'll be tired. I have to go, Allen.”
“Okay.”
Mya spun aroun
d and hurried back to her station. She looked back once at Allen as she walked. “Sorry for making you wait,” Allen heard her say. He turned and went back to his seat.
“She is lovely,” Donnie said.
“Yes, she is,” Allen replied, as he sat back down.
“Is everything okay?”
“She says it is.”
“But you don't think she's telling the truth.”
“No, I don't.”
Chapter Eighteen
By the time Allen and Donnie had finished their meals the sun had gone down, and the streetlights had come on. Allen stopped at the hostess station before he left. He told Mya goodbye, and asked her if they were still on for Sunday evening. She said they were. He mentioned dinner at Rose's house the next night. Mya didn't come back with a wise crack about Rose's cougar wife, or their rumored swinging lifestyle. Allen didn't want to ask her again if something was wrong. The ball was in her court now. He said goodbye, leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and left.
“That was a very good fish sandwich,” Donnie said, as the two men jogged across the street between cars.
They hopped up on the sidewalk and strolled along the seawall.
“My lobster roll was good, but I think I liked the four Painkillers better.”
“Did they work?”
“I ain't feelin' no pain.”
The tide was on its way out now, and the waves were still crashing against the rocks. There was a slight breeze that carried the mist across the beach, dampening the sidewalk and street. Allen and Donnie mused about how wet they'd be by the time they arrived back at the motel.
“Queers!” someone shouted from a passing Dodge pickup.
“Friends of yours?” Allen asked.
“Morons,” said Donnie. “Don't they realize that yelling queer at me isn't an insult? It would be like me driving past you and hollering, 'Straight!' Idiots.”
Allen watched the dual cab pickup slow down and turn right onto Oceanside Avenue. “Does that happen often?” he asked.
“Rarely, these days. More so when I was a kid.”
A few minutes later, Allen observed the same pickup making a left off Beacon Street. The vehicle was driving slowly toward them. Allen had a funny feeling in his gut; he surveyed the steps of the seawall for anything he might use to his advantage when the shit went down. He had pegged some likely weapons when Donnie spoke.
“That's the same truck.”
The Maine Events Page 16
