Chapter 8

Something was wrong.

Mrs. Bains could feel it, without being able to give it a name. Something was very, very wrong.

She had been in the motel business long enough to know how the minds of her customers worked. She had seen all kinds of couples, both before and after, and she knew when they were right for each other.

Of course, this wasn't the first time that a mismatched pair had asked for a room in her motel. She had seen many aging men with young foolish-looking girls on their arms retire to the unit of their choice. She had seen many frantic, unhappy ladies squiring sullen boys through the door of her establishment. She had heard many times the sound of their strained laughter echoing across the court in the middle of the night.

Those were things she understood. Men, feeling their youth fleeing from them, feeling the old urges and desires fading from their bodies, trying to plunge themselves into the fountain of youth, trying to regain their dying manhood in the arms of a silly young girl. Women, seeing their charms falling, watching the wrinkles and sags creep across their bodies, feeling the changes time was making deep inside them, knowing that part of their lives was ending forever.

Frightened men. Frightened women. And a plaything for the night.

That was part of the normal course of things.

But this was different. These people were wrong. None of them fit the pattern she had come to know so well. In fact, they fit no pattern at all.

The older man and the young girl were strangers. She could tell that immediately. They didn't know each other at all.

The obvious conclusion was that the girl was a hooker. But Mrs. Bains could not believe that. The girl looked too innocent and sweet.

Nor was the man a despoiler of voting girls. Mrs.

Bains had searched his face carefully, and there was no hardness there. He looked like a good man, a gentle man, and not the type to take advantage of an innocent girl.

In fact, Mrs. Bains had not been able to read anything in their faces but desire. And that had been unmistakable.

Well, they were in their room now, and whatever was going to take place between them was happening at this instant. Perhaps there would be some clue in the way they acted afterward.

Now, the lady and the boy were another problem altogether.

They were sitting at a table in the corner of the bar, facing each other tensely over their fifth round of drinks.

They had been like that, fencing, avoiding, refusing to look into each other's eyes, all afternoon.

The woman was frightened, but Mrs. Bains could not figure what was frightening her. She thought for a while that it might be the boy, but she had come to the conclusion that he was as scared as she was. He concealed it better. But it was there, and no mistake.

There they sat, nursing their drinks, letting the ice melt and drinking their liquor warm, watching each other's hands and not speaking more than half a dozen words to each other in an hour.

Mrs. Bains had been thinking about these people for quite some time. And she was no closer to a solution than when she had started.

The husband and wife from Number 17 came into the bar and picked out stools. Red went over and took their orders.

They were easy to understand. Mrs. Bains would guess that they had been married about ten years, that they had a child or two away at summer camp somewhere, and that they now knew everything there was to know about each other. You could see this in the way they sat together, speaking only occasionally, and only when there was something to say. Their attitudes told you their thoughts quite plainly; I know you and you know me and what else is new?

Too bad, she thought, but none of my concern. They have what they want. That's more than some people can say.

Red placed two icy glasses onto the bar and filled them from a shaker.

Planter's Punch, she thought. A good drink for a hot night. It helps you sleep, if sleeping is what you want.

The young couple at the end of the bar signaled Red. He went down to them and refilled their glasses.

Mrs. Bains smiled. They were going to spend the night in Number 10. They were going to enjoy themselves very much. You could see this plainly in the way they sat together, hips touching, arms brushing, legs and hands making contact. They were the kind of people Mrs. Bains liked best-young, happy, in love for the moment. She knew what they were doing and she approved. It's always best to take a shower and have a few drinks first. It's better if you let it build for a while. Then, when it happens you're both ready for it.

It had been that way with her and Norman. Always quiet and easy. Never rushed; never strained. And a few drinks could do wonders, before, during, and after.

Yes, except for the two odd couples, business as usual tonight. But Mrs. Bains could not get them out of her mind.

Red came down the bar, wiping his hands on a towel.

"Pretty good night, hey, Mrs. B?" he said in a jovial voice. "Business should always be this good."

Mrs. Bains nodded. It occurred to her that perhaps Red would have more success figuring her problem than she had. Knowing Red, as she did, in fact, it seemed altogether un-likely that he had even noticed the couples as being anything out of the ordinary. A man like Red was not the sort to analyze people. He was the type to accept what he saw at face value and let it go at that.

But there was no harm trying. A fresh viewpoint might be just what the problem needed.

She opened her mouth to speak, when a motion from the rear of the room caught her eye. She turned and saw the woman and the boy pushing back their chairs and standing up.

Red watched her face as her eyes followed the pair toward the door. "Is anything wrong, Mrs. B?" he asked.

"Later, Red," she said absently.

They were holding hands.

They were holding hands as if to keep themselves from falling from a cliff. She could see the whiteness of the flesh where their hands met in a hard grip.

At the door, the woman stopped and said something to the boy. He looked back at the bar and made a wry face. Then he nodded and stepped outside.

The woman came up to the bar and fumbled her purse open. Her hands were trembling. Red stepped forward to serve her, but Mrs. Bains cut in front of him.

"Yes, Miss?" she said, watching the woman's face intently.

The woman glanced up, apparently startled to hear a woman's voice where she had expected a man's. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Mrs. Bains. Then, the expression fled and the eyes went opaque.

I'm not worth considering, Mrs. Bains thought. She's got something more important to worry about. What on earth can it be?

The woman drew a ten-dollar bill from her purse and laid it carefully on the bar. "Would you please give me a bottle of liquor?" she said.

Mrs. Bains started to ask her what kind, then suddenly changed her mind. An idea had come to her all at once.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but we aren't allowed to sell bottles of liquor over the bar." Red started to speak, but Mrs. Bains stepped quietly on his toe. She heard the sharp intake of his breath behind her.

The woman looked from Mrs. Bains to Red and back again. An expression of anger and frustration whisked across her face and was gone. She reached out and picked up the bill from the bar.

"All right," she said. She turned and started away.

"I'm very sorry," Mrs. Bains said. "It's a State law."

The woman stopped and looked back at her. "I said, all right." Her face was puzzled.

"However," Mrs. Bains went on, "if you would like to have a bottle sent to your room, that's perfectly permissible."

The woman came back to the bar. "You mean, like room service?"

"Yes. That's permitted."

"Oh. Yes, I see. All right, please send a bottle of liquor to Number 13 right away." She put the ten-dollar bill back on the bar.

"Certainly," Mrs. Bams said. "What kind?"

"What?" The lady seemed to be at a loss.

"What kind of liquor?" Mrs. Bains kept her voice even and business-like, not noticing the lady's ignorance. "Scotch, rye, bourbon-what?"

The lady looked at the bill on the bar. She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Anything. What's the difference?"

"You were drinking rye, lady," Red said from behind Mrs. Bains.

"Yes-rye." The lady smiled distractedly. "Rye will be fine, thank you."

"A fifth?" Mrs. Bains asked.

"Is that a bottle?"

"Yes. That's four-fifths of a quart."

"Fine." The lady glanced again at the ten-dollar Dill. "Is that enough?"

"Oh, yes." Mrs. Bains gave her her sunniest smile. "You wish to pay for it now?"

"Yes, please," The lady glanced toward the door. There was a mixture of anticipation and dread in her face that sent a chill up Mrs. Bains's spine.

She took the ten-dollar bill and pushed Red out of the way as she went, to the cash register. She rang up the sale and scooped the change out of the drawer. Red stepped aside for her as she returned and placed the change on the bar.

"There you are, Miss," she said.

The lady took the money without looking at it and dropped it into her purse. She glanced at Mrs. Bains. "Quickly please?" she said.

"Yes, certainly. Right away."

"Thank you." The lady closed her purse, and held it close to her body as she walked rapidly to the door.

Mrs. Bains watched her go. After a moment, the lady and the boy passed the bar window. The neon in the window outlined their profiles in red for a brief instant. Then they passed from sight.

"You want to know what's going on there, don't you?"

Red's voice startled her. She turned and saw he was smiling at her.

"Oh, I'm not so stupid at all that," he said pleasantly. "I know you well enough to know that you couldn't leave something like that alone until you figured it out."

"You noticed, then? I didn't think you paid any attention to them."

"Sure I noticed. I've been serving them drinks all afternoon, haven't I? How could I help but notice?"

Mrs. Bains took Red's arm and pulled him over to the cash register. "What do you think, Red? What kind of people are they?"

He shrugged. "Beats the hell out of me. I know one thing for sure. They don't like each other very much."

Mrs. Bains nodded. "I know. That's what's bothering me. They act like they hated each other. But if they really are like that, then why are they going to spend the night together?"

Red's eyes widened in surprise. "Why, Elsie Bains, what a dirty mind you have."

"Pooh," she said, flapping a hand. "Don't you think I know what people use motels for? I'm not such an innocent as you think."

Red laughed. "I guess not," he said. "But I still think you got a dirty mind. It's possible, you know, that they are just going to sleep tonight. They may not have anything else in mind at all."

"Oh, Red. Use your brains. What would a young man like that be doing in a motel room with a woman that age? And why would they order a bottle of liquor, unless...."

"Whoa," Red said, putting up his hands. "You're getting carried away. First of all, what gives you the idea that they're both going to drink that liquor? After all, she ordered it. Didn't you ever stop to think that maybe she's the drinker in that family?"

"Family?" Mrs. Bains' voice was amazed.

"Sure," he said. "Family. You got such a dirty mind, you never even thought of that. They could be brother and sister, or aunt and nephew, or something like that. Just because they're going to the same motel room doesn't mean they're going to have an affair." Red's eyes were twinkling.

"But-but he was drinking, too. You served him drinks along with her."

"Well, sure. If the kid's old enough, he drinks. Isn't any of my business what his relations let him do."

"But didn't you see the way they sat together-so strained and unnatural?"

"That looks to me to be just the normal hatred of one relative for another. Nothing unusual about that. I hate most of my relatives myself."

Mrs. Bains shook her head. "Maybe you're right." she said. "But I'm still not satisfied."

Red nodded. "I know. That's why you want to get a look at them."

Mrs. Bains smiled. "You figured that out, did you?"

"Sure. Why else that song-and-dance about state laws? Selling bottled liquor over the bar isn't illegal in this state, and you know it."

Mrs. Bains laughed. "Red, you're sharper than I gave you credit for."

"Well, where you're concerned, maybe I am. I can tell when you're itching to find out something about somebody without them getting wise."

He picked an unopened bottle of rye off a shelf in back of the bar. "Dexter's" he said. "That ought to be good enough, don't you think?"

Mrs. Bains nodded. "I didn't take out enough to pay for anything better than Dexter's."

"Shall I wrap it, or do you want to carry it over just like it is?"

"Put it back for a while, and stop teasing me. I'll take it over when I'm good and ready." She took the bottle from his hand and replaced it on the shelf. She looked toward the door. "I want to give them a chance to settle down," she said.

The young couple at the end of the bar signaled Red for another. "Excuse me, Mrs. B., but I've got customers to wait on. Don't do anything rash." He laughed and put his arm around her waist.

"Watch out you don't get in trouble, Mrs. B.," he said, squeezing her quickly. "Watch out you don't get your nose cut off, sticking it where it don't belong."

"Go wait on your customers, you big boob, and leave me be." She slipped out of his embrace.

Red went down the bar, laughing.

Mrs. Bains sat down on a high stool behind the bar. It took a moment for her to realize what had happened.

A simple thing, really. A man you've known for years puts his arm around you for a moment, and squeezes you a Utile. What's so unusual about that? Happens all the time.

But then why was she trembling like this? Why was that old familiar feeling stirring inside her?

She thought, Am I such a dried-up old maid that a man can make me flutter just by putting his arm around me? Am I that far gone?

Time to worry about that later.

One thing at a time.

She let fifteen minutes elapse before she took the bottle from the shelf, put it in a paper bag, and started across the court toward Number 13.