The Crew Pt. 08

My mom and I traded off in five hour shifts through the night and into Thursday. By 8:00 Thursday night, the doctors were confident that Dad would be able to be released Friday morning, some time before noon. At that point they ganged up on me. Told me I needed a shower, a real meal and a good night's sleep if I was going to drive them home the next day. Then my mother handed me forty bucks and threw me out on my ass. Said she'd call the hotel if anything changed, but otherwise didn't want to see me again before ten the next day.

I didn't offer much resistance. I knew the routine. I'd been through it before. The doctors were happy. My parents were happy. We all were relieved. My mom would spend the night by my father's side. Talk and watch TV. Finally doze off in the big recliner in the hospital room. After another round of tests and a ton of paperwork in the morning, there would be another meeting with the doctors. I'd have their stuff in the car and meet them outside the main entrance. They would probably both sleep for most of the trip back home.

I went back to the room, got naked, and called to check in with Sharon and Scoot at the farmhouse. To let them know we'd be heading back the next day. Sharon picked up and was happy to hear it. She promised to pass on the information. She told me that Scooter was out at the quarry unwinding with Marcie, Pete and Izzy, along with a couple of friends named Oscar and Kelly. The last couple days had been busy but they would fill me in on the week when we got back. I could only imagine what that was about, but I put it out of mind. So be it. Or...as Billy Pilgrim would put it...so it goes. I hate to admit it, but I really didn't want to think about it. For just a few hours, I didn't want to think about anyone or anything back there. I simply wanted to settle into a place...a moment...where nothing was pressing. We kept the call short. Long distance charges and all.

I showered, smoked up, and picked at the song for another hour. There was no rush. The hotel is right across the street from the research hospital. Less than a two minute walk. The Clam Shak is just across a side street from the hotel. I can see their parking lot from my window. Another two minutes. I knew that the restaurant was open until eleven so I didn't hurry. I even took time to write out some thoughts before I got dressed and walked over.

Hannah, the waitress, appeared to be roughly the same age as me. She made me think of the girl in an Eagles song that Sal always wanted to learn. She was dangerously pretty. And, she recognized me immediately. She had waited on my parents and me in the past. Remembered us from our three identical orders on Tuesday night. I remembered her for her quirky sense of humor, cute face, quick knee buckling smile, blue eyes, and the short black skirt that hugged her hips as she scurried from booth to table to booth. I couldn't say much about her hair, other than that it was brown. Folded and rolled up into a haphazard knot of some sort at the back of her head, defying gravity and held in place by what looked like a pair of chop sticks and a pen. I did also clearly remembered the way she made sure to lean slow and low across me when handing my parents their orders. The extra button unbuttoned that opened her shirt and showed off the cleavage pushing up from a ruby red bra. The way she had grinned when she caught me looking. The way my mother had rolled her eyes and laughed and swatted my arm as I watched the delightful young woman scamper away. The view from behind gave me one more reason to think of clothing as an annoyance.

There were only a handful of tables or booths that were occupied when I walked through the door. She seated me in the same corner booth I'd had with my folks two days earlier.

"You're Jamie, right?" she asked, setting me up with a water and napkins and utensils and such.

"How did you remember that?" I asked her back.

"I've seen you in here before. There were three of you in the other night. I remember lots of things. You were wearing a t-shirt with the cover from 'Hooker 'n' Heat'. I love that album. I love driving blues," she said. "You're alone tonight."

"Yeah," I responded. "Those were my parents with me on Tuesday. We always come here at least one time whenever we're in town."

"So tonight?"

"It's a bit of a story," I told her. "Tonight I'm on my own."

She looked around the restaurant, then back to me. Smiled that crazy knee buckling smile again and shrugged. "I like stories," she said. "and I've got time. We're not busy. You look like you could use a friend."

"I could talk," I admitted.

"I bet you could," she said. She reached in and ran a finger across my forehead, brushing a stubborn curl. "You look like you're frowning at the world. You should stop. You'll get wrinkles."

"So I've been told," I told her. "Recently."

"Someone was pretty observant," she volleyed back. "Maybe you should think about taking our advice."

"I'll give it some thought," I laughed. I liked her. She seemed to have crappy boundaries.

"Good to know," she replied. "I'm off in forty-five if you'd really like to talk. But I need to close out my other tables, so let's get your order in."

"That works," I said.

"So...Do you need a menu this time, or will you be having your usual heart attack on a plate?" she quipped. "And no, we still don't have Vernors. How about a nice iced tea with lemon?"

"Iced tea would be great," I told her. "But let's change things up a little. I'll have the poutine for here."

"OK..." she nodded wryly, "...a Canadian heart attack. Nice change of pace."

"...and I'll take the Clamburger Deluxe and an order of shrooms to go," I added. "For later. I'm predicting a serious case of the munchies will set in sometime around two in the morning." I don't know why I said that, but I think it had something to do with the "no inhibitions" herb from my mother's suitcase.

"Really? And just how accurate is this predictive power of yours?" There was that smile again!

"Pretty accurate, based on a lot of experience."

"Hmmmm..." She looked at me closely. Eye to eye. Leaned down and rested her elbows on the edge of the table. The front of her shirt opened up as her boobs squished together and pushed. I think there were two extra buttons unbuttoned and the bra was blue this time. Of course I looked. Of course she noticed. She smiled a half smile but didn't move. "I'm assuming you'll tell me about this experience."

"It's part of another story," I said. "This could take time."

"I told you, I've got time. Seems like you have a lot of stories."

"I do. I'm a writer. Or plan to be."

"Oh...are you planning to make me a part of one of your stories?"

"You already are. This one. Right here and now. I think we're writing our own stories every day. Moment by moment. All of us. You. Me. That cop in the booth over by the front window. I simply happen to write mine down. Some are true. Some are made up. Sometimes I just need to change up the names and places and circumstances a little. You know. Protect the guilty. At least until the statute of limitations runs out."

She broke out laughing. "So do I have a say in all this?"

"Sure," I told her. "I can write you in any way that you like. You could be a rich young vivacious Australian entrepreneur, living and working in Mumbai. Or a British secret agent in Argentina." I allowed my gaze to drop from her smiling eyes for second, down to the cleavage she knew she was showing. "Or I could write you as a buxom singing fraulien serving up pilsners in a crowded Munich biergarten. And I could be the spy."

She drew in a slow deep breath, accentuating her fleshy wonders even more. "It sounds like this could be worth pursuing," she said, raising one eyebrow. "But I do need to get your orders in and cash out some tables. I'll be back in a few."

Hannah turned and hurried off, disappearing through the swinging door to the kitchen. Not two minutes later, she returned with my tea and a hasty promise that my 'Canadian heart attack' would be up in ten minutes...give or take.

I watched her work. Running from table to kitchen. Smiling and chatting. Doing all the things that servers typically do. Glancing in my direction on occasion and giggling with the girl on the register. After a few minutes, I dug out the book I had stashed in the side pouch of my cargo shorts. A dog-eared copy of 'The Cat Who Walks Through Walls'. Richard and Gwen had just been towed into Hong Kong Luna when my food arrived. I put down the book as Hannah put down the poutine. She looked at the cover.

"So, do you own any talented cats?" she asked.

"I know several," I said, "but nobody owns them. No one ever really owns a cat. They simply tolerate the fact that I live in one their barns." That seemed to catch her off guard. Score.

"Okaaay..." she said. "No doubt, another story. I'll be back."

She didn't wait for a reply. She was off and running again. I dug in. Who couldn't love a heaping Canadian pile of fries and gravy and cheese and shredded meat and more gravy, eh? In spite of the fact that I was dividing my attentions among the food and the multiverse in the book and Hannah, I managed to make it through without dribbling gravy down my shirt or onto a page.

She had long since refilled my tea and whisked the empty plate away when she quietly sat down across from me. Startled, I dropped the book.

"I'm sorry," she said with a chuckle. "I didn't mean to yank you back from wherever you were. I hope you didn't lose your place."

"It doesn't matter," I said, attempting to be reassuring. And cogent. The herb made it difficult. "I've read it before. It jumps all over in time and space so the order of scenes can be almost irrelevant. Or at least interchangeable. Just now, I was somewhere between sabotaging a crooked mayor's office and waking up in a Chinese space hostel. I think I won our sleeping berths in a floating craps game. My brand new wife was about to protect my honor by ordering a busty naked teenager back to her own bed."

"Right..."she said, picking up the book and turning it over in her hands, a combination of curiosity and careful suspicion seeming to war in her expression. "I've never read anything by this person, but I have a feeling that's going to change. Soon. It sounds fascinating and disturbing enough to hold my interest."

"I guess it depends on how disturbing your interests are," I said. "I think he's one of the great pulp fiction storytellers."

"And he includes buxom naked teenagers..." she smirked.

"That too," I admitted. We both laughed.

"So...I'm done and clocked out. Rachel is closing tonight." She pointed toward the girl who'd been tending the register. "I've got until midnite. Then I need to pick up couple of hours at my other job. If you'd still like to talk, I'd like to hear some of Jamie's story."

We ended up playing twenty questions, starting with why I was on my own that night. I explained about our regular trips to Rochester. A few of the details regarding my dad's experimental treatments. The fact that my parents had thrown me out and bribed me to kick back and relax so I could drive them home the next day.

I found out a little about her as well. She was actually twenty-six. (Oddly, my own age hadn't come up and I left it that way for the time being. We were just talking.) She grew up with her mom. Hadn't seen her dad in years. She was on her own. Had an apartment. Was working two part-time jobs and going to school part-time as well. Physical Education and English. She had been a swimmer and diver in high school, and also a closet gaming and sci-fi nerd. I couldn't believe she'd never heard of Heinlein. Ended up recommending "Stranger in a Strange Land" and "The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress" as required prequels before she tackled "The Cat Who Walks Through Walls."

We talked about writing and writing styles and snooty opinions on what gets to be considered great literature versus what gets written off as the work of hacks. I told her about my dad's fascination with Edgar Rice Burroughs and that led to William Burroughs which led to Hunter S. Thompson. We covered a lot of ground in a little over an hour. And...we agreed that we wanted to spend more time together the next time I got into town. Probably six to eight weeks down the road.

On the sidewalk in front of the Clam Shak, there was none the awkward "should I or shouldn't I" stuff that so often comes into play. Again with the no inhibitions. I didn't hesitate for a second before I kissed her. She didn't hesitate for a second before she kissed me back. Nothing passionate or lingering, but hardly a cursory friendly peck on the part of either of us. I guess, more like a curious bit of pleasant leisurely exploration, with some serious friendly tongue.

She looked down at my bag with the take-out in it. "You'd better get your munchies into a fridge. Where's your car? I'll walk with you."

I laughed. "I didn't drive. I walked." I pointed across the side street to where my mom's Buick was parked outside our room.

"You didn't tell you were at the Travel Haven."

"You didn't ask."

"That's where my second job is," she said. Then she got shy and hesitant. "It's...uh...it's kind of a story too."

"I'm listening," I told her. "Come on. Walk with me. I'll put this stuff in the mini-fridge and you can give me the gory details." We crossed the street and the parking lot. I let us into the room and stashed the food. "How much time do you have?"

"Oh, half an hour or so," she said.

"Do you need to wash up or change clothes? You're welcome to..."

"No...that's cool. Thanks." Again with the suddenly shy. "The job is...well...it's pretty low key. I've got what I need in my purse." Her "purse" was a multi-colored over the shoulder bag as big as what some people drag to the beach. One side featured Bob Marley's face and the other had a Jamaican flag with a ganja leaf painted over it. "Can I use your phone, though?"

"Sure."

"How do I get an outside line. I need to call the office and I don't want them to see the call coming in from one the guest rooms. It might look...you know..."

"Hey, no problem," I said. "Hit #6 and then wait for the dial tone. Do you need a minute in private?"

"No. Nothing like that," she said, punching out the numbers. I only heard her half of what was said. "Hi Jack. It's Hannah...Yeah, I just got off. I should be there on time...Oh...Really?...OK. So there's no rush then?...Great...No, you don't need to do that. I've got my keys. I'll meet them and let them in, then just hang out until they leave...Right...No, Dave said they've never been a problem. Out the door and locked up by three...OK, thanks. Bye."

She heaved a deep sigh. "So...some people are running late and that means I've got an extra half hour to kill. I think I will take you up on the offer to change here. I won't be long. Then I'll get out of your hair."

"Stay as long you want," I offered. "I like the company. A lot."

She smiled, again shyly, then picked up her "purse" and closed herself in the bathroom. The Marley Jamaica theme made it seem a safe bet that she wouldn't care, so I was still packing a bowl when she re-emerged. Whatever the second job was, it definitely qualified as low key. She had let down her beautiful chocolate brown hair and there was a lot of it. Well past her shoulders. In place of the button up shirt was a concert tee from UB40's 1986 Moscow Live gig. I was impressed. And I was fairly sure that the bra was gone. The short black skirt was also missing and replaced by...well...I couldn't tell. But it had to be shorter. There was nothing but leg showing south of the t-shirt's hem.

I held up the pipe. "Oh, God yes!" she said in a breathy reply to my unspoken question.

I lit up and took a deep draw, then paused before handing it over. "I think it's only fair to inform you, this may be more potent than what you're used to. I told you about my dad's treatments. Well...my mother grows this to help with the side effects. Her own hybrid strain. Strictly organic. It helps him a lot. But it happens to pack a few side effects of its own. She calls it her 'No Inhibitions Herb'. And that pretty much sums it up."

"Well then..." she laughed, accepting the pipe, "...I guess I've been warned." She took a pull and held it in for a surprising amount of time before exhaling. She said nothing. Just waited a couple of moments, then took another smaller hit and handed it back.

We passed it back and forth a couple more times before I set it down. "Give it a minute or so," I advised. "You'll see what I mean."

"I'm guessing another side effect is the emergence of your special predictive powers," she teased. Like, are you still sensing the imminent onset of a serious case of the munchies?"

"It's been known to happen. Among other things," I said.

"I'm not exactly a lightweight," she giggled, "but thanks for the...woah!!!" I could see the expression change on her face...in her eyes...as the high powered mellow kicked in. At the same time, the tension I'd been holding in all week seemed to drain from my body. "Mmmmm," she murmured, "that's almost orgasmic...Crap! Did I just say that out loud?" Another wave hit. "Oooo. I need to sit down." She sat down on the bed abruptly and pulled her feet up into a lotus. Looked down to her lap where her shirt had ridden up. Of course I did too. Yes. Panties. Little ones. Blue. She made no move to cover. Looked back up and smiled into my eyes. She straightened her shoulders and pushed out her chest...nope...no bra...and stated with feigned authority, "Maybe some inhibitions are overrated!" She laughed at herself and adjusted her ample boobs. Her nipples were clearly visible, pressing against the fabric of the shirt.

Then she looked me up and down. Sighed. "Please tell me I'm not going to make a fool of myself...or get my ass fired."

"You'll be fine," I assured her, hoping I was right. "Trust me. You ought to level out in about half an hour. Forty-five minutes. Or so. In time to take care of whatever you were talking about on the phone."

"Yeah. That..." she said. Her eyes regarded me guardedly. Like she was still deciding to trust me or not.

"So what do you think you'd be doing right now if I wasn't here?" she asked, still steering the conversation away from her second job.

"Do you really want to know?" I asked in return. "Under the official rules of the diminishing inhibitions herbal self-management handbook, I'd probably be required to tell you the naked truth."

"OK. I'll bite," she responded, grinning. "I really do want to know."

I liked this girl, but I didn't know her. Still, the herb was having its way. "Can I be nakedly honest?" I asked, deciding the push the envelope.

"Nakedly honest? No inhibitions? Sure," she replied. "I don't know many people who are willing to be like that."

"Well..." I said. "I would probably be sitting here naked. I spend a lot of time that way. Writing or picking around on my guitar. I'd be working on a song that's been giving me fits."

"Really?" she asked, semi-skeptically looking me up and down again. Apparently thinking at me. Hard. "We are talking naked naked... in the literal sense. Zero clothes. Right?"

"Yep. And if this is the part where you run..."

"I'm not going anywhere," she laughed. "I asked. It wasn't exactly the answer I was expecting, but...I don't know what I was expecting."

"Fair enough," I said.

"OK...but you're sharing this room with your mother. She could decide to come back and wander in for something at any time."

"Yep."

"And that wouldn't bother you? Or her?"

This time I laughed. "No. You clearly don't know my mother. Our family and close friends prefer to wear nothing but all over skin as much of the time as possible. It's the way I was raised."