The Mural. Michael Mallory

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СКАЧАТЬ Dani Lindstrom was slender and amply-breasted, and without a trace of the cellulite that Elley was forever fighting. “Coming?” she asked, looking back at him.

      Damn close to it, lady, he thought, watching her nipples rise through the one-piece. When it was no longer embarrassing for him to stand up, he climbed out of the water and reached for his towel.

      Halfway back to his room, Jack said, “You know, I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable in your wet swimsuit.”

      “Jack Hayden, that’s the cheapest, sleaziest pick-on line I’ve ever heard!” she said. “So what, you want me to go to your room at take it off?”

      “No, no, that’s not what I meant! Honest!”

      She began to laugh loudly at his distress, and Jack now realized that she had set him up. He could not help but grin in response. “Man, a guy’s got to watch his guard around you, lady,” he said. “But just for the record, I’m painfully out of practice with pick-up lines.”

      “Because you’re married?”

      “Yes, because I’m married. What I meant was that perhaps we should both go to our respective rooms, dry off, and change clothes so that neither of us will be wet and cold.”

      She smiled. “How about we hook up in neutral territory, like the lounge? I’ll be there, dry and clothed, in a half-hour. You bring the pictures.”

      “It’s a date.”

      Jack raced to his room, toweled off, dressed, and then waited the remaining twenty-one minutes before grabbing his laptop and heading down to the lounge, which was dubbed “The Pines.” It was typical of motel watering holes: dark, wood paneled (not pine, Jack noticed, most likely veneer), with a television, permanently tuned to a sports channel, anchored into one corner at ceiling level, but with the sound muted so that those who cared had to rely on the closed captioning crawl. Only four people were in the bar, which made it even easier to spot Dani, who was seated in a booth. As alluring as she looked in a wet bathing suit, she was even more so in a simple white blouse (with no bra underneath, he could not help noticing). She smiled as he approached laptop in hand, and slid in across from her. “Have you ordered?” he asked.

      “No.”

      “Then can I get you something?”

      “Are you on an expense account?”

      Jack nodded.

      “Great. Then I’ll have the Ridgewood Chardonnay.”

      Jack flagged down the waitress and ordered her wine and a microbrew draft for himself, a local kind with which he was unfamiliar. Then he opened up his laptop and powered it up. By the time the drinks had been delivered, he had the photo file up.

      “You want to run a tab, hon?” the waitress asked, and Jack nodded. To Dani he said, “Cheers,” and picked up the beer, which at first bite was a bit dark and hoppy for his taste.

      Dani, however, appeared to savor the chardonnay. “A dark room, good wine and spooky pictures—do we know how to have a good time or what?” she asked.

      Jack smiled. “I hope you won’t be disappointed.” He began clicking through the photos on his screen. “You’re probably not interested in the pictures of the ruins so I’ll cut to the chase. They should be right...hey.”

      “Something wrong?” Dani asked.

      “They aren’t here,” Jack said. “They have to be here. Shit.”

      She took a sip of wine. “I hate computers. They always let you down.”

      “This is a first for me. Let me go back and check the directory, they’ve got to be there someplace.” Jack spent the next minute clicking and typing, all of which was mystifying to the woman next to him, and then stopped, his head shaking. “Maybe I managed to delete them when I emailed them to my boss. I guess it’s a good thing I was planning to go back tomorrow morning.”

      “Maybe what you need is someone to go with you and help this time.”

      “Dani, I’ve already told you, I can’t take the risk.” Jack took another swig of beer, which got better with the second and third swallows. But he lowered the glass from his lips when he saw her puppy dog eyes. “Oh, for god’s sake, Dani, don’t do this to me.”

      She actually began whimpering.

      Finally Jack began to laugh. “Okay, okay, you can come! Jesus Christ, with your ability, I don’t know why you need an agent. You could just go to the station manager and give him those eyes and he’d give you the drive time slot.”

      Dani Lindstrom blinked but maintained the puppy dog look.

      “Now what?”

      “I was just thinking that some dinner might be nice, as long as we’re here.”

      Jack laughed again and signaled for the waitress. He was not particularly hungry, having eaten an early dinner, but he wanted to stay there in the booth in the bar with this woman, yet did not want to simply keep drinking until he was buzzed, or worse. So Jack got the Pines Burger (for which the kitchen cleverly mixed a few pine nuts into the patty) while Dani ordered the California Salad, which consisted of alternative lettuces heaped with avocado slices.

      As they picked at their meals they made small talk: Dani about her interest in radio, to the exclusion of any other media (clearly despite her film-and-television looks), and Jack about his dick of a boss. In the process Jack learned that she was older than he had assumed—thirty-three, only five years younger than he—and was interested in art and history. When Jack finally glanced at his watch he saw that it was nearly nine. “Good lord, I should probably be getting back to my room,” he said, killing his fifth beer. “I need to check in at home before turning in, and I have to get up early to get all this stuff done.”

      “Well, I’ve enjoyed this evening, Jack Hayden,” she said, sliding out of the booth. Then leaning close to him, she whispered: “I’m in room 207.”

      “Umm, why did you tell me that?”

      “So you know where to come to tomorrow morning to pick me up so we can head on out to your ghost town. Why do you think I told you?”

      “Just that,” he said, too quickly.

      “Tomorrow morning, then,” she said, flashing that damned perfect smile before turning around and striding out of the bar like a model in search of a ramp. Jack exhaled loudly and contemplated ordering another beer before heading back but decided against it. Instead he asked for the check. Like most motel bars, the drinks and food weren’t cheap, and Jack had to put it on plastic. He wrote in a generous tip (Broarty could choke on it) and slid out of the booth. Standing upright, he was a little further gone from the beers than he realized. The damned stuff probably had a higher alcohol content that he realized. Nevertheless, he managed to stagger to the door and was almost out the lounge before the waitress hollered after him to tell him that he had left his laptop in the booth.

      Once back in his room, Jack dutifully called home to resume the truncated conversation with his wife from earlier in the afternoon. This time he used the room phone instead of his cell phone, which was charging.

      “Well, the СКАЧАТЬ