Austin and Emily

by Frank Turner Hollon

  A surge of nausea pulsed from Austin’s intestines, upward through the swill in his belly, and into the throat, burning like the acid from a truck battery. His face contorted like a knife had entered his bowels. Austin reached his arm to the wall to steady himself. Without warning, a spoonful of yellow bile rose up against the laws of gravity, traveled at great speed, and spewed from Austin’s open mouth, splattering directly in the cleavage of the short whore.

  Before she could respond, Austin McAdoo let out a mighty agonizing yell, “Ahh,” and then turned to run. He was at the glass door and out into the Las Vegas night in seconds, a change of scenery so dramatic he wondered for a moment if he’d even thrown up at all, but the taste in his mouth left no mystery.

  Austin circled the parking lot, unable to remember where he’d parked, searching for a glimpse of Emily. But she was gone, and when he finally found the car, there was nothing to do but sit inside and examine his busted life. That’s where Kenneth found him, wedged in the driver’s seat of the little red car, his cantaloupe head down upon the steering wheel, the door wide open. Kenneth sat down in the passenger seat.

  A few seconds passed. Without looking up, Austin said wearily, “She took the cats.”

  Kenneth turned to look in the backseat. “Yeah, she did. But she left some ham.”

  “I don’t care about the ham,” Austin mumbled.

  “Look,” Kenneth said, “if it’s any consolation, marriage is obsolete. It served a purpose centuries ago, but in our modern culture, it’s primitive. You can’t expect people to make a commitment like that, much less honor the commitment.

  “I think maybe we should have contract marriages. People obligate themselves to a set period of time, maybe two or three years, and when the contract runs out, if either party doesn’t want to renew the contract, it just expires. They go their separate ways. No need for a nasty divorce or some fancy lawyer.”

  The two men sat in silence for an extended period of time. With his head still down, Austin said, “If you really feel that way, I’m sorry for you. The only woman who ever loved me, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, walked in on me in a Las Vegas hotel room where I was drunk, underneath perhaps the most unattractive prostitute in the state of Nevada, and now Emily’s gone forever. She even took the cats.”

  Austin leaned up from the steering wheel and looked at Kenneth Mint. He continued, “But you know what? I feel more sorry for you than I feel for myself. Because Emily was right. You don’t have a heart. You’re a tree, and nobody will even notice when you die of old age.”

  Austin felt dizzy. He put his head down where it had been before. His mind lost track and drifted to the idea of his mother.

  Kenneth’s hand slid down to feel the wad of money in his pocket. There was more in the bag resting in his lap. Kenneth almost reached for the door handle. He almost moved his hand from where it rested to the handle of the door. If he had completed the maneuver, just the simple move a few inches to the right, Kenneth Mint would have walked away and never seen Austin McAdoo again for the rest of his life. But his hand stayed where it was.

  “You’re wrong,” Kenneth said.

  The sound of the voice in the car brought Austin back to the conversation.

  Kenneth said, “We’re gonna find her, and when we do, I’ll explain what happened, and she’ll take you back.”

  “She’ll never take me back,” Austin said. “I broke the promise.”

  “Look, you didn’t break the promise, I did. She’s not marrying me, she’s marrying you. I can’t figure the whole thing out, you and Emily. I’ve looked and looked for the angle, but I can’t find it, probably because there is no angle. She loves you, utterly, completely, and totally, and if you let her get away without doing something, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to imagine how happy you would have been, or unhappy, or whatever.”

  They sat quietly again in the stuffy car. Austin could feel the sticky leather steering wheel on his forehead when he moved slightly left or right.

  “What do we do now?” Austin asked.

  “Find the girl,” Kenneth said. “This is the part where we find the girl.”

  Part Three

  CREMORA WATSON

  “Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it’s cracked up to be. That’s why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.”

  —Erica Jong, American Author

  CHAPTER 9

  “Where would you go, “Kenneth asked, “if you were alone in Las Vegas in the middle of the night, really pissed off, carrying two cats and a suitcase?”

  The thought brought no comfort to Austin McAdoo. He had relinquished the driver’s seat, recognizing his inability to bring his big round eyes into focus. The neon lights were blurry and loud.

  Kenneth answered his own question, “Maybe the bus station. I saw it on the way in.”

  Austin’s hand rested on the top of his medicine-ball head. “Who rides the bus anymore?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Kenneth said. “Lots of famous people ride the bus to avoid the paparazzi. Albert Einstein died on a bus between St. Louis and Kansas City. Everybody just thought he was asleep until he started to smell. The actual bus seat is in a museum in Washington, D.C.”

  “Yeah,” Austin said to himself.

  There was no sign of Emily in the bus station parking lot. The two men went inside. It resembled a human zoo. Midnight riders lay around, slouched in chairs, sprawled on the floor like monkeys lounging in the shade waiting for something. They ate snacks from machines and talked amongst themselves about where they were going or where they’d been.

  Kenneth stood in line at the window. Austin stood nearby with his hand cupped over the crown of his head like a yarmulke. He proceeded to pull his scalp back, causing the black bushy eyebrows to ride up on his forehead.

  The man behind the window said, “Next.”

  He was short, extremely short, perched up on a stool with his oval-shaped head balanced on thin shoulders. The man’s mustache appeared unreal, overly thick.

  Kenneth said, “We’re lookin’ for a girl, early twenties, with two cats.”

  “We don’t let cats on the bus, buddy. Do you want a ticket or not?”

  “I don’t want a ticket. I just want to know if you’ve seen a girl like that. Yes or no?”

  The man-troll furrowed up his brow, feeling quite safe behind the bulletproof glass, and said, “Buddy, do you have any idea the humanity I see every day from this booth? The buffet of genetic freaks, traveling idiots, one-eyed victims of circumstance?”

  He leaned up as far as his little body would stretch, his hot onion breath against the glass, and said in a slow, mocking, monotone voice, “Do you want a ticket or not?”

  Kenneth Mint relished confrontation. His options were always greater than the average responsible adult citizen. So without speaking, he stuck the tip of his long index finger deep inside his snout, fished out a booger, and wiped it lovingly on the glass directly in front of the little man’s eyes.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Kenneth said, “Now, unless you come out of that booth and clean it off, you’ll spend the rest of your shift looking at my green friend.”

  There was another brief silence.

  From the corner of his eye, Austin recognized a face. A girl’s face, familiar, but not immediately placeable. She walked past, wearing a backpack, sandals, and a lime- green bandana on her head.

  Inside the booth, the little man picked up the phone to call the police. He would not be outdone. Not on his turf. Not tonight. He would enjoy the last laugh, watching the disgusting pervert led away in handcuffs. He looked away from Kenneth’s eyes. Any man who would do such a thing is capable of complete anarchy, he thought, totally beyond reason, so look away until the situation is back under control.

  At the sight o
f the little man reaching for the phone, Austin felt a jolt of adrenaline. He was in no condition to deal with the authorities.

  “Let’s go,” Austin said.

  “Why?”

  “Because the man is calling the police.”

  “So what?” Kenneth said calmly. “Boogers are not illegal. They never have been, and they never will be. And you know why?”

  Austin grabbed Kenneth by the forearm. “We’re not going to worry about why right now. Emily’s not here, and we need to leave.”

  Kenneth held his ground, staring at the little man through the glass.

  “Please,” Austin begged.

  Kenneth allowed himself to be pulled toward the door. Austin broke into a full sprint, his ears cocked for the sound of distant sirens. He reached the car, started the engine, and waited for Kenneth Mint to casually make his way to the vehicle. As he opened the passenger-side door, the shriek of a siren sent Austin’s heart into a spasm.

  “Get in. Get in,” Austin bellowed.

  Just as Kenneth’s backside hit the seat of the car, Austin gunned the gas and the tires squealed across the parking lot. They were on the road ahead of the siren.

  “You’ve got a serious problem with authority figures, Austin.”

  Austin’s head pounded, “Excuse me if I choose not to accept mental health analysis from a man who just wiped a booger on a ticket booth.”

  Kenneth hid his smile. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “I don’t think Emily is leaving Las Vegas tonight. She’s got too much baggage, and it’s too late at night. I think she got herself a room, and she’s holed up in that room, and we’re not gonna find her tonight.”

  Kenneth continued, “I think we should go back to our hotel, get a good night’s sleep, take a hot shower, enjoy the many amenities, and wake up fresh in the morning.”

  Austin was exhausted, hung over, and weak. He didn’t have the strength to imagine other possibilities, so back to the room they went.

  “It smells like Tina in here,” Kenneth said.

  “Who’s Tina?”

  “Your hooker.”

  Austin glanced at Kenneth Mint.

  “I’ll flip you for the bed,” Kenneth said.

  Austin gathered his toiletries and began the hygiene ritual.

  “Why would you want the bed? It’s nighttime, Kenneth. Remember, you’re a bat. You stay awake all night.”

  “Not tonight,” Kenneth said. “Tonight, I sleep like a baby in luxury.”

  Austin hardly recognized himself in the bathroom mirror. His face was swollen and red. He just looked at the puffy skin.

  “What have I done?” he said to himself. And then he said it again. “What have I done?”

  It seemed like a dream. A weird, disjointed, half-awake dream. The drinks, the prostitute, Emily running out the door, the bus station. Maybe Kenneth was right. Maybe everything would be clearer in the morning.

  Austin stepped out of the bathroom to find Kenneth, fully clothed, occupying one-half of the king-size bed.

  “You sure do spend a long time in the bathroom, Mr. McAdoo. You must have a lot to work on.”

  Austin stood in his boxer shorts and yellow bumblebee T-shirt. He said, “I’ve never been burdened by the belief I’m handsome.”

  Kenneth thought about the idea.

  Austin was too tired to fight over the bed. He crawled under the sheets on his side.

  They were quiet for a time. The lights from the lamp on Kenneth’s side illuminated the room. Both men felt the oddness of lying in a bed with another man. They were very still.

  Austin said, “What if we don’t find her?”

  Kenneth lay on his back, hands folded across his stomach, staring up at the white ceiling. He said, “Then you’ll end up like me.”

  It was a peculiar statement, a rare opening, and Austin let it linger in the cool air of the room.

  “What happened to you?” Austin asked gently.

  Kenneth barely heard the question. He had fallen into a crack in his memory, a slip in time, and he began to speak. “I did everything I thought I was supposed to do. I found a girl and married her. I worked hard, paid my bills, got up early in the morning. I didn’t smoke dope, or cheat on my wife, or hang out down at the bar. I even remembered her birthday and our anniversary, every time, every single time.”

  Austin noticed how Kenneth’s voice had changed. Distant, as if he were talking to no one in particular, yet strong, like he’d practiced the words inside his head a million times, sounding different in the open air.

  “What happened?” Austin asked.

  “We had a little girl. Amanda. She was three. She was the best thing. Every morning before I went to work, she wrapped her arms around me like we were falling through the sky together. And when I got home every night, she was standing on the front porch waiting.

  “Until Amanda, I had no idea. I hope you find out what I mean.”

  The two men were silent. Each looked up. There was a loud laugh down the hall. A drunk woman’s laugh, sharp like a cackle.

  “Where is Amanda?” Austin asked.

  Moments passed, until Austin thought there would be no answer.

  Kenneth said slowly, “She wanted to go to McDonald’s. It was only a few miles away. She loved the Happy Meal. That’s what she wanted.

  “So I told her I’d take her.

  “We were almost there. One block away. When a guy ran through the red light. It happened in a blink of an eye. Just a blink.”

  The room was quiet again. The drunk lady’s laugh was gone. Austin wanted the story to stop. He didn’t want to hear any more?

  “The guy was just in a hurry. I remember his name. Keith Wingate. He was in a hurry. He ran a red light. And my baby was dead. Just like that.”

  Austin felt a tightness in his throat. He could feel the wetness pool in his eyes. We just don’t know people. We just don’t know how they end up where they do, the sadness that forges all of us, hardens some places and leaves others tender and raw.

  Austin said, “It wasn’t your fault.”

  Kenneth touched his tongue to his lips, closed his eyes, and said, “What difference does it make? Fault is man-made. Do you think a deer cares whose fault anything is? It doesn’t matter. We buried our baby, and the combination of our bodies couldn’t survive. She just walked out the door, and left me sittin’ on the couch.

  “If I had any balls at all, I would have blown my brains out right then, sittin’ on the couch. But for some reason, I couldn’t do it. So I just wander around. I don’t even know what for. Why would anybody wants to live in a world where three-year-old little girls die on the way to McDonalds?”

  Neither man fell asleep for quite some time, but when they did, each slept soundly. Austin woke up first and called his mother from the bathroom.

  “Mom, I asked Emily to marry me.”

  “What?”

  “I asked her to marry me.”

  “That’s what I thought you said. Are you still on the peyote?”

  “Mother, I’m serious. I asked Emily to marry me, and she said ‘yes,’ but now there’s a problem.”

  “What could be the problem?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m quite sure it’s complicated, honey. Life is complicated. Where are you?”

  “Las Vegas.”

  “Where is Emily?”

  “She left.”

  “Left Las Vegas, or left you?”

  “Maybe both.”

  “Give me the short version?”

  Austin cringed. “Kenneth planned a bachelor party. I drank too much.”

  “I’ve been a woman a long time. We don’t usually leave our men for getting drunk at a bachelor party.”

  Austin shifted his bottom on the flat hard seat of the commode. He cringed again, “Well, there was this lady.”

  “Lady?” Austin’s mother repeated.

  “Not really a lady. A prostitute. A middle-aged prostitute. She mistakenly believed I was a s
enator. It was a big mix-up.”

  Austin’s mother sat in her linoleum kitchen, at her old kitchen table, and smiled at the idea of her introverted son in Las Vegas wrapped in a ball of middle-aged prostitutes, marriage proposals, brown whiskey, and runaway love.

  “You know, Austin, you spent most of your years closed up in this house watching life pass you by out the windows. It looks like you’re makin’ up for lost time. If you want, me and this nasty poodle will jump in the car and drive out to Las Vegas, Nevada, to help you out of this mess.”

  Austin took a deep breath. “I don’t even know why I called you.”

  “We’ve already been through that before. You call me because I’m your mother. The sound of my voice is soothing and comforting.”

  “No mother, your voice is rough and hoarse.”

  Lila McAdoo scratched her ass in the privacy of her own home.

  “Austin, next time you call me, tell me how you found the girl, and got married, and you can’t believe how wonderful this world can be, and you plan to move back to Alabama and give me a shitload of grandkids, with names like Luke and Missy. Can you do that? Now get up off the toilet and go look for her.”

  “How did you know I was in the bathroom?” he asked.

  “How did you know I was in the kitchen?” she responded.

  Kenneth Mint’s voice boomed, “Get out of the bathroom, pretty boy. My bladder’s about to explode.”

  “Who was that?” Lila asked.

  “Nobody. I’ve got to go.”

  “By the way,” Lila said, “there’s a big hurricane coming straight up the Gulf from Cuba. It’s off the coast of Tampa, but they say it’s coming this way. Guess what they named the damn thing?”

  “I have to go, Mother.”

  “Austin.”

  “What?”

  “They named it Austin. And it’s a Category Four. A beautiful storm. Perfect eye wall. A hundred-and-fifty-mile-an-hour winds. You should see it, like a white spinwheel. Takes up the whole Gulf of Mexico.

  Kenneth yelled, “I’m gonna piss in your suitcase.”

  Lila McAdoo added, “I think it’s a sign from God.”