Escape

by Francine Pascal

  “What’s going on, Sam?” Gaia whispered urgently. “What’s going on with you? Why are you so nervous?”

  “What? What’s going on with me? Nothing! I’m just trying to pull a dying car off a highway and force it down the road to that motel. What’s going on with you, Gaia?”

  She had rarely seen Sam get so openly angry, but she realized that she’d chosen the wrong time to quiz him on his awkward driving habits. He was right. Whatever had happened to their car, it was now running on fumes, and if he couldn’t gun it a hundred more yards to the blinking neon light of the motel at the end of the road, they’d be pushing that pile of junk themselves. This nightmare day had turned into a nightmare evening. And it still wasn’t over.

  The car did manage to putt its way up to the tiny office of the S-Stay Motel, and then it simply died. Two plumes of black smoke streamed out from either side of the hood. The engine let out a series of horrid coughs and burps and groans, and then all the sound gave way to a complete and deadly silence.

  Sam and Gaia sat motionless in the front seat for quite some time, just staring at the smoke—just trying to accept the inhumanly cruel nature of fate. Dmitri’s steady snoring didn’t make this any easier. Nothing said “cruel twist of fate” like the sound of a snoring ninety-year-old man in a crappy motel parking lot.

  “What time is it?” Gaia muttered in a monotone, staring out the smoky windshield at the S-Stay Motel’s garbage dumpsters.

  “It’s almost eleven,” Sam replied just as numbly, not moving an inch.

  Unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Just problem solve, Gaia. All you can do is keep problem solving. . . if you ever want to get home.

  She didn’t want to admit it out loud, but she had no choice. Because no one in the car had a triple-A card, and there sure as hell wasn’t a twenty-four-hour mechanic in the neighborhood. “We’re never going to get it fixed tonight,” she announced bitterly. “I don’t know what the hell happened to the car, but I know we are never going to get it fixed until morning. . . . We have to stay here. We have to get rooms at the freaking S-Stay Motel, and then we get the car fixed first thing in the morning and we drive the rest of the way home. That’s it. That’s the whole thing. That’s all we can do.”

  “I know,” Sam replied, staring straight ahead at the overloaded dumpsters. He let out a long, painful sigh and slid down farther in his seat, shaking his head. “I know.”

  Gaia would have to accept Dmitri’s snoring as his vote of agreement. “Come on.”

  Gaia and Sam just about fell out of the car with exhaustion, closing the doors behind them quietly and dragging themselves into the three-foot “office” of the motel. A middle-aged Pakistani man had fallen asleep at the front desk with a newspaper still open on his lap. Gaia cringed when she realized he’d been reading the Macy’s underwear ads.

  She slammed her hand down on the bell on the counter, watching as the man nearly fell out of his seat from the rude awakening.

  “Yes, hello. . .” He dropped the paper to the floor and forced a smile.

  Gaia pulled a credit card out of her wallet and Sam pulled out his bankcard. “How much for three rooms for the night?” she asked, laying her card on the desk.

  “Thirty dollars for three-hour stay,” the man said. “Fifty for the whole night.” He stared at Sam and Gaia, and then a lascivious grin spread across his face as he turned to Sam. “Hey, man. . . you sure she’s eighteen?”

  “What?” Sam squawked.

  Gaia’s jaw nearly dropped from a combination of shock and disgust. The flashing neon sign of the motel had been nothing other than a safe finish line for their dying car, but now that she had a chance to look around, she was beginning to understand the nature of this particular motel. It gave new meaning to the term seedy. The handwritten price list on the desk even had pricing for a one-hour stay. The price was, of course, higher if you wanted twenty-four-hour porn on TV. One-hour stays, three-hour stays, and plenty of porn—she hadn’t really stopped to consider what the S in S-Stay stood for. She had thought perhaps that it stood for “short,” as in a “short stay,” but now she realized that the S most likely stood for something far more disgustingly blatant.

  She looked back down at the man’s repulsive little knowing grin as he stared at Sam and Gaia. In his perverted eyes, they were a guy and an underage girl who had just pulled up in the middle of the night, asking for an all-night “S-Stay.” She was too tired to even know which emotion hit first: her embarrassment at what this lowlife was insinuating, her totally irrational sense of disloyalty to Ed just for what it looked like, or her very serious desire to reach over the counter and pound most of the teeth out of the pervert’s face.

  “Three rooms,” she repeated, feeling her fists begin to clench. “Three separate rooms.”

  The man looked mildly confused, and then a dour expression took over his face. “Whatever,” he grunted. “Three rooms for the whole night, one-fifty. No credit cards.”

  Gaia’s hand froze as she was handing him her card. “What? What do you mean, no—?”

  “Cash only” the man insisted, pointing at the block letters in faded blue ballpoint ink at the bottom of the handwritten price list.

  Of course. Of course, cash only. This just kept getting worse. And with a dead car outside, it wasn’t as if they had any other options for the night.

  “How much do you have?” she asked Sam, digging into her pockets.

  “How much do I have? I have nothing,” he said, staring angrily at the man for making this night still more complicated. “I have twenty bucks.”

  “I have eighty left,” she said. “That’s enough for two rooms. One for Dmitri and one for. . . us.” The moment she’d said it, both her and Sam’s eyes seemed to drop down to the floor.

  “That’s. . . that’s fine,” Sam uttered uncomfortably. He tossed his twenty on the counter and shoved his hands in his pockets, stepping away from the desk.

  The pervert smiled again as if he knew exactly what Sam and Gaia were “up to.” What he didn’t know was that he would be dead in ten seconds if he didn’t wipe that grin off his face.

  All those damn questions were bubbling up again. The questions Gaia had absolutely refused to entertain for the entire car ride up. Nagging questions about her and Sam’s murky, unspoken, leftover feelings. Sharing a motel room was not exactly the best way to avoid those nagging questions.

  This is not a big deal, she chided herself. Don’t be ridiculous. After the day you’ve both had, this is nothing. You’ll just go straight to sleep. No conversations, no questions. Besides, cheap motel rooms have two beds. All cheap motel rooms have two beds.

  “That’s fine,” Gaia agreed, staring angrily at the clerk as she threw the cash down on the counter. He handed her the keys to the two rooms, and Gaia and Sam slammed the door behind them.

  They were operating almost completely in silence now. Maybe out of awkwardness. Maybe out of exhaustion. Probably out of both. They were able to wake Dmitri just enough to carry him out of the car and into his bed, though he seemed to stay basically asleep the entire time. Dmitri’s room, Gaia noticed, had only one bed.

  That’s just one of the rooms, she told herself as she and Sam silently dragged their tired bodies down a few doors to their room. Your room will have two beds.

  But the moment she unlocked their door, she saw the bed. The one and only bed in the tiny brown room. The bed with the coin-operated vibrating function.

  Sam immediately turned to Gaia. “I can stay in Dmitri’s room,” he offered nervously. “That’s no problem. . . .”

  She hated that he’d even offered it. He was confirming the weirdness, and the last thing she wanted to do was confirm the weirdness. If they didn’t acknowledge the weirdness, then the weirdness wasn’t there. That was Gaia’s theory.

  “No, it’s fine,” Gaia said as nonchalantly as possible. She made a beeline for the bed and collapsed on it. She shoved herself as far to the left side as she could without falling
off. “We just need sleep,” she said. “Let’s just get some sleep, and we’ll take care of the car first thing in the morning.” She shot back up in the bed and ripped her shoes and her jacket off before diving back under the covers.

  “Okay. . .” Sam stepped over to “his” side of the bed. “You’re right. I’m going to drop if I don’t get some sleep. We’ll just. . . get some sleep.”

  He sat down on the side of the bed and hunched over on his knees, probably just trying to collect himself.

  A calm silence took over the room.

  Gaia turned away from Sam and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no weirdness if she did not acknowledge the weirdness. No weirdness if she did not acknowledge the weirdness. . .

  I’m coming home, Ed. I swear to God I’m coming home. Just wait for me, okay? Wait for me.

  Spinning and Spinning

  THE MUSIC AND WORDS HAD ALL started to blend together. The thumping bass drum and the incessant chirping. The howls of laughter and the drunken shouting. The plush couches and the harsh white lights. It was all melting into one huge ugly and sensational mass. Even Tatiana’s face had begun to blur, as had her black dress, and her vanilla shoulders, and her rather stunning blond hair. They were all just parts of the same overwhelming whole. Or, to put it more specifically, they were all parts of Ed being totally plastered.

  Tatiana had been right about the vodka. It had made him forget about Gaia—although now that he remembered that he’d forgotten, he sort of remembered again. Though not really. The thirty or forty thousand vodka shots (more like four) had made him forget just about everything, including his middle name and address. Actually, his last name had become a little blurry, too.

  Fargo? Is my last name really Fargo? What the hell is that about?

  All he was absolutely sure of right now was that his name was Ed and that he was drunk. And that a beautiful girl named Tatiana was sitting next to him in a dark, secluded corner of Pravda with her beautiful face far, far too close to his.

  “Ed, are you drunk?” she asked, breathing warmly onto his cheek as he stared out at the blurry shadows and light.

  He held his hand out in front of his face and spoke slowly. “Well. . . how many fingers am I holding up?”

  “All of them.” She laughed.

  “Okay, I’m drunk, then. I thought it was my foot.”

  “Shut up.” She giggled, slapping him hard on the shoulder.

  “Owww”

  “Oh, no, did I hurt you?” She held a guilty hand to her mouth.

  “No, I’m just kidding,” he said. “I actually can’t feel anything.”

  “Aha! It works!”

  “Oh, it works,” Ed agreed.

  “Then here is to the great Russian medicine! Did I tell you or did I tell you?”

  “You told me,” he said, holding out his glass and letting her pour him another shot. “To vodka,” he said. “And to a fine drinking buddy.” They clinked glasses and downed their shots. Ed couldn’t even feel the burn going down his throat now.

  “So then, drinking buddy. . . you are clearly drunk,” she said.

  “Clearly.”

  “Good. Because I wanted to tell you something. But only if you are drunk.”

  “Well, then, you’re in luck,” he said, realizing how close he actually was to slurring his words. He couldn’t believe that. He’d really thought the word-slurring thing was only for bad drunk acting, but apparently one could in fact be drunk enough to slur one’s words. Live and learn. . . .

  “See, if you are really drunk,” she said, “then you probably won’t remember what I am about to say. And if I am really drunk. . . which I am. . . then I probably won’t remember, either.”

  “Of course,” Ed said, tilting his head ninety degrees to experience the sideways view of the world. “It’s always good to say things that no one will remember.”

  “Well, in this case it is. . . .”

  “Go ahead,” Ed offered. “I’ve already forgotten what you said.” He lifted his head back upright, and the entire room seemed to spin the rest of the way around. And then it wouldn’t stop. Spinning and spinning. . .

  “Perfect.” She placed the vodka bottle down on the floor and took Ed’s face by the chin, turning it to face her own. With her face this close, Ed suddenly felt a rush of strange heat drop down through his chest.

  “Whoa, there,” he slurred, seeing that his face was now about three inches from hers. “Close-talking alert. We need to have a talk in which we talk about your close talking. . . .”

  “When we’re sober,” she said.

  “Right. But just let me say that this is too close for talking even if—”

  “Ed,” she interrupted, gluing her eyes to his. “Here is what I wanted to say that you should forget. You know that. . . I have come to care for Gaia almost like a sister, you know?”

  “I know.”

  “And believe me, Ed, I really do care for her.”

  “I know. . . .”

  “And I know that you and I have been through all of our. . . whatever. . . and now we are just good friends.”

  “Right. . .?”

  She slid her glossy hair behind her ears. It was an opportunity for Ed to pull back, but he found himself. glued at this point to her eyes. Her eyes kept the room from spinning.

  “But all I wanted to say. . .” She sighed and leaned closer. “. . . while drunk and knowing that we will forget I said it. . . is that. . . well. . . if there were no Gaia, then I would probably tell you. . . that I am a bit in love with you.”

  The music suddenly seemed to double in volume. Ed couldn’t feel much, but he could feel all the blood rush to his head. Or maybe it wasn’t blood. Maybe it was vodka. That or the loud music cutting into his brain. Or it might have been that he was so drunk, he could actually feel the confusion swirling around in his brain. The confusion mixed with his depression and his pitiful lack of any assurance with Gaia. But for a deeply unfortunate combination of reasons, he didn’t turn away from Tatiana or stand up. Actually, he probably couldn’t have stood up if he’d wanted to. “I, uh. . . I think I should just—”

  “Don’t worry, Ed,” she assured him with a smile. “I am not making a pass here, okay? We are only two drinking buddies talking. I know that we have already been through this. I know that I am officially supposed to stop liking you like that; I know that. But there is nothing official about feelings, Ed, you know? I can help what I do, but I can’t help what I feel. . . .”

  “Well, I. . . I understand,” Ed said, having absolutely no idea what else to say.

  Tatiana’s face suddenly seemed to have moved closer. The perfect tip of her nose was nearly touching Ed’s as the words fell from her lips—so close now that he could hear every word no matter how softly she spoke. The light scent of flowers and sweet lemons was floating up from her neck, and the rich scent of expensive lipstick was floating from her lips.

  “For instance, right now,” she said softly, “I feel like kissing you.”

  He could hardly move now. Every ounce of his drunken focus was on her warm breath and her naked shoulders. “But you wouldn’t,” he said.

  “No,” she whispered, leaning her lips and her body toward his. “No, I would never. . . .”

  Her lips were so close, Ed could nearly taste them. . . .

  What are you doing, Ed? What the hell are you doing?

  “Whoa!” Ed lurched backward like he’d just been hit with a thousand volts of electroshock. He jumped up out of his seat, tripping over his own feet and stumbling his way back to a standing position. “No more vodka,” he announced, waving his hands wildly in front of him. “That’s it for the vodka.”

  Tatiana shot up, too. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” she moaned. She buried her face ashamedly in her hands. “Oh my God, Ed, I am so sorry!”

  “It’s okay,” he insisted, taking a few steps farther away from her. “It’s okay. No harm, no foul. . . no vodka. . .”

  “No more vodka,” she agreed. �
�I promise no more vodka for me.”

  “Or me.”

  “Oh God, I’m terrible. I know I’m not supposed to do that anymore, I know.”

  Ed was having major problems maintaining his balance. A horrid dizziness had begun to take over. Or maybe he could just feel the guilt spinning around in his head. He’d stopped them both before anything had happened, but somehow, at the moment, that didn’t seem to make him feel any better.

  “Oh God, Ed, please don’t tell Gaia about this; I feel just so. . . Oh God—”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he said, leaning his hand against the wall for balance. “Just forget it, okay? It never happened. Just two very drunk drinking buddies. That’s it. Never happened.”

  “It never happened,” she agreed.

  “Nothing did happen!” he reminded her. And himself.

  “That’s right. Nothing did happen.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing.”

  Come home, Gaia. Wherever the hell you are, just come home. Please.

  “What’s going on, you two?”

  The next thing Ed knew, Jake was standing right behind his shoulder with the world’s most annoying sly grin. “You two having a cozy ‘just friends’ moment over here?”

  Had Ed been even a little more sober, he would have socked Jake straight in the mouth. But considering Jake’s rather formidable karate skills and Ed’s being a walking bottle of vodka, he opted to just sock Jake with his eyes. “Nothing is ‘going on’ here, Jake.” Had he actually liked Jake for a second earlier in the day? What a freaking joke. Gaia had it right. Jake was clearly the loser of the century. And what was up with his newfound obsession with Ed’s screwed-up love life.

  Tammie stepped up behind Jake, wrapping her arms around his stomach and peeking over his shoulder. “What’s up, girl?” she squealed at Tatiana. “Are we not the party geniuses of the decade?”

  “Geniuses. . . ,” Tatiana echoed, still bathed in guilt as she stared helplessly at Ed.

  It’s okay, Ed wanted to tell her. I was drunk, too. Let’s just not think about it anymore. Let’s not think about it ever again.