NOVEL: BEWARE THE ABANDONED
CHAPTER 31
RUNNING AWAY
Sue Anne did not go to the elevator when she left Steve, talking on the phone. The entrance to the stairs was just a few feet away from the suite. She almost ran down the four flights. Her suitcase banged against the stair case’s metal railing. On the ground floor, the stairs terminated next to the rear entrance of the hotel. Guests used this rear entrance to access the beach and the boardwalk.
Her anger had triggered an adrenaline rush that caused her to hurry along the boardwalk. Pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked towards the main drag and then went past it. Her cell phone rang. She checked to see who was phoning. Steve's cell phone number appeared on the screen, she turned her phone off and put it in her purse.
As Sue Anne walked along the wooden board walked, she passed from one pool of light to another cast by the street lamps. Couples strolled arm and arm. They paid her no attention.
Every time she thought about Steve she became angry. She wondered how she could have been so blind as to not see what a selfish, egotistical prick he was. His honeyed words of love were just words to get her into bed. The commitment, that she thought was there, must have been her wishful thinking. She wondered was she that desperate for a relationship? She sat on a park bench for almost an hour reliving and questioning every experience she had ever shared with Steve.
She looked at her watch. It was getting late, and she wanted to go to bed. She turned away from the water and noticed a flashing green neon sign on the roof of a small, old-fashioned, one-story strip motel. It announced to the world that this was the Seahorse Motel. She wondered if she would be able to find a room there.
She made her way up a walkway to the front of the Motel. The “NO VACANCY” sign was lit. She was about to take the sidewalk back to the main drag when she saw someone moving in the motel’s office. Sometimes, she thought, people who reserved rooms do not show up. Since she was here, it was worth a try. With the thousands of fans and players, in Benji Beach for the volleyball tournament, she recognized that her chances of finding a hotel room that night were not good.
Although she had never slept on a beach in her life, she convinced herself that she would, if that was her only option. Crawling back to Steve's suite was not an option.
The elderly man, behind the motel's counter, looked startled when she pushed open the motel’s office door. This had triggered a loud buzzer. He recovered and asked, “May I help you?”
“I saw your sign outside that said NO VACANCY but I wondered if you have had a late cancellation”.
He stared at her. Noted her suitcase, and that she looked sad and tired. He had a daughter about the same age. Finally, he replied, “Well, we don’t but we do have one room where the guest has not yet checked in. If you can pay cash and if they are not here by midnight, you can have it.”
He recognized that he was taking a chance. It was a prepaid room. If that guest showed up, they would not only be angry that they no longer had a room but would want their money back. With the crowd in town this weekend, he figured he should be able to get double the rate that the discount booking service had already paid him months ago, for that room. The temptation to keep the prepayment and pocket the cash from the girl was just too great for him to resist.
Sue Anne looked at her watch. It was eleven-thirty. Without asking what the room charge would be, she said, “I’ll wait.”
The desk clerk waved her to a worn, red, vinyl, arm chair in the corner. It was only while she was sitting there that she thought about the cost and hoped she had enough cash to cover it.
CNN was playing on a television, suspended from the ceiling above the counter. In their usual excited babble, the talking heads repeating the same dire story of the latest disaster, over and over again. She watched the second hand on a large, round, ancient wall clock, crawl towards midnight. It amazed her how long a minute could be when you stared at a clock waiting for it to reach your chosen destination
No cars pulled into the Motel. Everything was quiet. At midnight, she approached the counter. The elderly man had disappeared through a door at the back. She stood waiting at the counter for him to appear. A toilet flushed. The old fellow shuffled back to counter looking surprised as if he had forgotten she was waiting.
“It’s Midnight”, Sue Anne said, anxious to get into her room.
“So, it is, so it is. Do you have the cash?”
“How much is it?”.
“One eighty. It is our special tournament, cash, discount rate.”
Sue Anne shrugged and took out her wallet. She figured she was being screwed but was too tired to protest. She took out two, one hundred dollar bills, from her purse and laid them on the counter.
“How many nights will you be staying?”
“Probably two.”
“Well, I’ll need to make a credit card impression then.”
Sue Anne handed him a credit card. While it was being authorized, he then asked for her name and address. He keyed it into some database whose location was not evident.
“You’ll be in suite five.”
He gave her an old-fashioned key with a leather disk attached that had the number five burned into it. As she turned to pick up her suitcase, he asked, “Can I have the license number of your car?”
“I don’t have a car.”
“Oh. Well, have a good night.”
Sue Anne wished him a good night and pushed open the door and made her way past several parked cars to room five. Everything was quiet, except for the muffled rumble of the waves rolling up the beach.
She had difficulty with the lock but after a couple of tries it finally gave a click. She gave the door a push. It opened into a room that was so small that it could barely accommodate the double bed with its ugly, red bedspread. The motel's cheap, pine scented, air freshener had not removed the musty odor. An old-fashioned wooden box of a television set, took up one corner of the room. In the other corner, was a hard, uncomfortable looking, wooden chair. The kind of chair, you would find in a school room for teachers to sit on. A print of a seascape, with random blotches of mildew, decorated the wall above the bed head.
A small, window, plugged by an air conditioner, sat mute. She turned on the air conditioner. Awoken out of its slumber, it rattled and roared to life. In a few minutes, a faint cool breeze escaped from it and battled the heat and humidity.
The bathroom was barely big enough to contain the small sink, the small toilet and the shower. The bathroom would be a tight squeeze for anyone who weighed over one hundred pounds.
Spent from the emotional turmoil. Sue Anne took off her clothes, threw them on the chair and fell into bed naked not having the energy to even open her suitcase.
About six thirty, the sun projected stripes from the venetian blinds onto the walls. She awoke, swimming up from a deep well of unconsciousness, aware of the waves noisily visiting the beach behind the motel. Warm memories of walking on a beach as a child, hand-in-hand with her father, beat back any thoughts of further sleep.
She reached out and groped for her cell phone on the night table and checked the time. It was just before seven o’clock. At first she considered it was too early to get up on a Saturday morning. It was not as if she had to hustle to get to work.
Sue Anne put the cell phone back on the dresser and lay there a few moments. All of last evening’s anger and disappointment came rushing back. Sleep was no longer possible. She needed to get out of the hotel room and walk off her frustration.
After she had had her shower and put on her makeup, she opened her suitcase for the first time. This was her chance to wear that new, flaming red, bikini.
It looked as good now as it did yesterday when she had tried it on at the store. A sexy, black, tassel fringed, swimsuit cover completed her outfit. Yesterday, she had been looking forward to enticing Steve with it.
With a toned, feminine body, she had no trouble in getting men to look twice at her. The bikini was unnecessary bait.
As she sat on the bed, putting on her sandals, she checked her cell phone for messages. The screen filled with urgent messages from Steve. “Screw him,” she whispered to herself. As she left the room, she put the phone in her purse.
It was a glorious morning. Not a cloud in a brilliant blue sky. Frothy waves rolled up the beach only to retreat, defeated, as the next wave charged forward. Seagulls mewed as they coasted and wheeled on the morning breeze, dipping down now and then to pick some sweet morsel from the brine. Only a few early risers had made it to the boardwalk.
It felt good to be out of the city and walking beside the ocean. Sue Anne breathed the clean, salty sea air. She thought about what her dying mother used to say over and over again, "Every day is a gift. What will be, will be."
In front of her a long pier, high above the water, protruded from the beach. It beckoned her, appealing to her curiosity. She strode along the pier, listening to waves rushing through the wooden pilings below.
As she approached the end of the pier, she noticed a tanned man with a shaved head, blond beard and glasses, He was wearing an old white shirt and faded, cutoff jeans, that had seen better days. He sat on a bench, built into the pier’s railing, bent over, absorbed in something. He seemed to be paying her no attention. Curious, she maneuvered closer, so she could sneak a look over his shoulder.
With oil pastels, he was creating a seascape of Benji Beach on a sketch pad. He had not looked up from his work when he startled her by saying, “Good morning.”
Feeling shy, she paused then hesitantly said, “Good morning. Your seascape is beautiful.”
“Thank you, but what do you like about it?”
“I don't know. I guess I like your impressionistic style and the way you've got the beach fading off into the soft colors in the background. Those colored kiosks on the boardwalk, against that blue sky, really bring it alive.”
Still not looking up, he enquired, “Are you an artist?
“No, but my father was. I grew up in house full of paintings.”
He looked up and said, “Are you from around here? I am sure I would not have forgotten you if I had ever seen you before.” He smiled.
“No, I'm from D.C. Is your seascape for sale?”
This elicited a laugh from the artist. The irony amused him as he realized that she thought, he was some poor starving artist. He mischievously replied with a twinkle in his eyes, “No”.
Sue Anne looked disappointed and turned as if she would go. The artist quickly responded, “My pleasure is in the challenge of creating them. I give them away to people I like. I'll finish this one in a few minutes and it will be yours.”
“That would be nice but the only way I could accept it would be if I gave you something.”
The artist smiled again as he asked, “Have you had breakfast.”
“No.”
“Then you can buy me breakfast.”
“Would that be fair?”
“Of course, that would be more than fair. I know a great restaurant, along the strip, that serves a wonderful breakfast. I am sure you would like it. What hotel are you staying at? I'll drive you over, so you can change.”
“You have a car?”
“I sure do.”
“I’m staying at the Seahorse Motel. Do you know it?”
“Of course. There are not that many hotels in Benji Beach. Here, I’m finished, it’s yours.”
He tore the sheet off the pad and handed it to her. She clutched it as if it were million-dollar acquisition. As John Cross closed the lid of the box that he kept his oil pastels in, he stood up and said, “By the way, my name is Raymond Powell.”
“I’m Sue Anne Baker.”
“Well, Sue Anne Baker, let’s go get some breakfast.”
Side by side, they walked down the long pier towards the beach. Sue Anne laughed as this charming man took the time to amuse her and to concentrate all his attention on just her.
CHAPTER 32
THE BIG DAY
At eight in the morning, The Benji Beach Grand Hotel was running on all cylinders. An impatient line had formed at the dining room entrance. The lobby was full of excited guests who spoke loudly as they greeted friends they had not seen since last year’s volleyball tournament. Cars pulled up to let people off and pick up passengers. A harassed-looking concierge, manned a lobby desk, fielding questions about destinations that would amuse the visitors from the big city, arranging car rentals and booking restaurant reservations. The front desk was busy checking in guests.
Liam, like a stork moving through a flock of pigeons, hurried in long loping strides across the lobby to the bank of elevators. He rode to the top floor and almost ran down the hallway to Steve’s suite. Here, he pounded on his door.
Inside that dark room, Steve came awake. He and Liam had looked for Sue Anne, in every bar along the strip, until the wee hours in the morning. At almost every bar, they had run into players that they had played with or against. This required much drinking, accompanied by shouting and loud laughter. In between bar hops, every half hour, Steve had phoned Sue Anne or sent her a text message. It was all to no avail. She had not responded.
He and Liam had finally reached the bleary conclusion that Sue Anne did not want to be found. Steve muttered that she was a big girl who knew where she could find him, when she was ready and that it was time they got back to their rooms, to get a little sleep. Along with their teammates, they had to register and be ready to play by nine in the morning.
Still half asleep, Steve croaked, "I’m coming", as he stumbled, in his underwear, across the carpeted floor. He undid the chain and yanked open the door, just as Liam, had stopped in mid knock and shouted, "Steve, get your ass in motion, we’ve got to check in before nine o’clock."
Steve replied, “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be there. Let me get a quick shower. I’ll meet you downstairs in the dining room. Order me an Eggs Benedict.”
Having done this early wake-up service, more than once in the past, at other tournaments. Liam turned around and headed back to the elevator. He knew that once Steve was up and moving that he could depend on him being downstairs, in time to wolf down his breakfast.
The lineup, in front of the dining room, had shrunk to half a dozen hungry guests. Liam only had to wait a few minutes. He ordered breakfast for himself and Steve.
A half hour later, Steve made his appearance. He looking alert and ready to play. He wolfed down his cold Eggs Benedict. This one was different. The hotel made with smoked salmon, instead of back bacon. They paid their bills and headed towards the beach.
The Benji Beach Annual Beach Volleyball Tournament was a charity fundraiser. Two thousand players took it very seriously. They were just a small percentage of the thousands attending the event.
Volleyball courts stretched for almost half a mile along the beach. Product sampling stations and kiosks, selling everything from T-shirts to hamburgers, bordered the volleyball courts. Many, well-spaced, beer gardens provided the lubricant to keep the players and the spectators happy.
In the hot morning sun, tall, lean, muscular, half naked men and women, in bathing suits and team T-shirts, were gathering. Hundreds of volunteers and officials were busy. It was their responsibility to keep, what was the largest beach volleyball tournament in the Washington-Maryland-New Jersey region, running smoothly.
An auction of donated trinkets, hot air balloon rides and live bands, that played in a temporary amphitheater, created a carnival atmosphere. The bands would blast away, nonstop, for the full two days. Millions of dollars were brought in to the local businesses and to the charities the tournament supported.
While the team check-in started at nine o’clock, Steve as team captain needed to be there before nine to attend the Team Captain’s meeting. The first game would start before ten and play would end at four o’clock. On Sunday, the play offs would start at noon. This later start, allowed enough time, for everyone to recover from their hangovers and Saturday night debauchery.
The teams were self-classified as beginners, recreational, intermediate and competitive. The “competitive” teams were current and former varsity players. They were the only group permitted to spike the ball, do jump serves and play in a physically intimidating manner. All the teams had to be co-ed, with a minimum of two women team members, on the court during play. While the teams registered up to ten players, during a game, only six players could be on the court.
At nine-thirty the starting horn sounded. Play began on all the courts up and down the beach. Each game ended at the sound of the horn every fourteen minutes or when a team reached twenty-five points. To win, they had to beat their opponent by at least two points.
Steve played very aggressively. Leaping high, he spiked the ball into the face of one of the attractive girls on the opposing team so hard that she staggered. Her face acquired a beet red bruise. There were tears welling in her eyes, which she struggled to control. When it was their turn to serve, the same girl leaped high and smashed the ball into Steve’s face. He looked stunned, then he laughed and shook off the pain. When that game finished, he went over to see her. She was tall but appeared short standing next to him.
He nodded and said, “You're good.”
“So are you. I understand that your team has won the tournament for the last two years.”
Steve replied with a laugh, “Actually, it is three years in a row but I see we are going to have a tough time winning it this year. Can I get you something to drink?
“You don't have to.”
“I'd like to. What would you like?”
“Whatever you're getting for yourself?”
“Whoa, that's very brave of you.”
“I trust you.”
“Trust no one.”
“I don't, but it sounds good to say it.”
“Sorry, but I don’t know your name.”
“Rachel.”
“No last name?”
“That’s right, Rachel No Last Name.”
Steve laughed and said, “We must be related. My name is Steve No Last Name. I’ll be right back with something cold and wet.”
Rachel gave him a warm smile and said, “Thanks.”
Steve didn’t have to go far for drinks. Since they had more games to play, he just got Cokes. In a few minutes, he was back to where he had left Rachel. Like flies around honey, she was surrounded by several very tall admirers. Steve stood there ,holding the two, red, disposable, Coke containers, feeling like a fifth wheel. He shifted his weight from on foot to the other, so Rachel would have to be blind not to see his impatience at being left to just stand there holding two Cokes.
Rachel continued to smile and laugh at her admirers’ witticisms and clever repartees. She pretended she didn’t see Steve. She knew how to handle arrogant gamers like Steve. Finally, losing all patience, Steve began drink his Coke. Worried that he might drink her Coke too, Rachel took this as her cue and turned towards him and said, “Oh Steve, you’re back. Thanks for bringing me a Coke.”
Her gang of admirers, all turned, as one, to stare daggers at this interloper. They then turned back to Rachel, who coyly reengaged them. Once again, she ignored Steve.
He stood there, excluded from the conversation. He started again to shift from one foot to another but it was to no avail. Finally, he turned around and walked off to join his team for their next game.
They played hard all day and were one of the eight teams that qualified for the playoffs, the next morning. A little after four o’clock, Steve and Liam were packing their water bottles into Steve’s gym bag. Steve congratulated Liam on playing well but what he was really doing was stroking his own ego. He knew he was the outstanding player on the team. Liam was used to Steve’s ego. He recognized that if Steve did not have such a strong ego, he would not have been able to rally the team to perform at the high level that they reached in every tournament. Pausing, he turned to Steve and said, “I kept an eye out for Sue Anne but I didn't see her. Did you?”
“To be honest, I wasn't really looking for her.”
“Bull shit.”
Steve laughed and then responded, “Christ, Liam, you'd think she was your girlfriend.”
Liam ignored the jibe and replied, “It worries me that we haven't seen her since last night.”
“Liam, you worry about everything. Yeah, she's pissed off with me but it isn't the first time and it probably will not be the last. Yeah, I'm probably an insensitive, self-centered ass hole, but she's a big girl. She can take care of herself. If she wants to see me, she knows where to find me, if she doesn't want to see me anymore, I will miss her, because I do care about her, but sometimes that is just the way things work out. We’re not married. I don't own her. She doesn't own me.”
“Yeah Steve, you are an arrogant asshole. You’re also irresponsible. Sue Anne came with us and I think she should ride back with us. I'm going to go down the strip and see if I can find her. I hope she hasn’t got into any trouble.”
“OK Liam. I'll see you later.”