Das Road

The taste of victory turns to ashes in my mouth.

  ***

  I make frequent trips to the drug store to get film developed and to buy sundries. Actually, I’m trying to make a connection with Lynn. First, she is on vacation. Then, when she comes back to work, her schedule is out of sync with mine.

  Pam, a petite blonde like my old girlfriend Julie from college, usually takes care of me at the store. I give her serious consideration but decide to obey the universal law: Chase two rabbits at the same time, etc.

  Besides, Lynn has an exotic air with her coy little smile and almost Eurasian features. The moment we first met, I heard the call of romantic adventure. She seems to be my type, with a capital T.

  Finally, I get to see her again at the store. A surreptitious glance confirms that she is not wearing a wedding ring.

  “How about getting together after work some time?” I ask, feigning confidence that I am miles away from feeling.

  “Sure,” she says. “I’m taking care of Mom this month, so I’m pretty busy. My brother is taking over in a couple weeks, though. Let’s make it then.”

  37: A Promising New Year

  We often find, by experience, that young men are too opinionative and volatile to be guided by the sober dictates of their seniors. – Gulliver’s Travels, Jonathan Swift

  The holidays pass. Our family get together is stressful with the growing animosity between Victor and Sharon barely concealed. Jason has lost his bubbly enthusiasm and keeps to himself, brooding. I try to reach out to him but fail. Grandfather Alois looks on with a saddened face, helpless like the rest of us.

  Mom and Ed are not talking much to each other, having settled on a modus vivendi of silence and resentment.

  My job is going well, though. I am a respected, if small-time, journalist treated with deference by the powers that be. The new mayor, police chief, city councilmen – no one wants to look bad in print, so they give me my due. I see apprehension on their faces, as if they are in the presence of some large, generally polite dog that might turn vicious any second.

  Maybe journalism is the career for me. Hell, I might be the next Walter Cronkite!

  The weather remains unseasonably warm; rain and overcast alternate with an occasional clear day. The round trip to work is a hassle, and I check out inexpensive apartments along the route. Rosewood itself has a some nice ones, but I’m not interested. Working there, living there – how long before I became overly wired into the place and lose my freedom of action?

  Vance invites me to a Lions Club dinner. The food is nothing special, and the speaker is hardly ‘edge of your seat’ fascinating. I recognize some of the town’s movers and shakers among the members.

  “This crowd might be a little old for you,” Vance says. “Maybe you’d prefer the Jaycees; they cater to the younger guys.”

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “The important thing is to get in with a group that can help you go places and make connections,” Vance says.

  I lean back in my chair. Vance is talking good sense, but I find it to be unsettling. Somehow, the thought of joining a service club with its expectations and group dynamics is depressing.

  Me, Tyler Lakatos, ‘one of the boys?’ Me, standing at intersections in a foolish cap and vest selling candy bars?

  My necktie feels tight, so I loosen it.

  A light drizzle has kicked up by the time the meeting is over. We shake hands in the parking lot. Vance begins walking toward his car, then turns back to face me.

  “You’re at a wonderful stage of life, Tyler,” he says. “You’ve got the world by the hind end!”

  He disappears into the mist leaving me alone and a bit disoriented. I recover quickly and make a bee line for the Riverside Inn.

  The lot is jammed when I get to the Inn, and I have to park in the nether regions by the river. I dash to the back door and enter the crowded, smoky atmosphere. There she is at the corner of the bar with a cigarette and a glass of beer. Lynn!

  “Hi,” she says. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

  “Thanks for waiting, Lynn,” I say. “The meeting ran over time.”

  She flashes an incredible smile and blows out a stream of smoke.

  “That’s the way it goes, eh?” she says.

  “Right, don’t want to front off the boss,” I say. “Of course, you know that already, being a boss yourself.”

  She laughs. “Sit down, Tyler, have a drink.”

  “Let’s go someplace else,” I say. “I spend too much time here already.”

  “Sure, Tyler.”

  She stands up. Without the concealment of the bar, I get the full view. The shapeless store uniform has been replaced by jeans and a form fitting top that displays her assets to excellent effect. I follow her like an obedient dog.

  Outside, the rain has picked up. I look doubtfully toward my distant Nova in the muddy lot.

  “Let’s take my car,” Lynn says, “it’s close.”

  She indicates a little purplish-blue AMC Gremlin. Bob West pops into my mind. He once owned a Gremlin, he told me at some point during our travels.

  God, less than six months have passed since we boarded the ferry in Pusan! It seems like decades. Is Bob getting on as well as me? Not likely.

  We approach the car. It looks as if somebody has sliced off the back end with a butter knife. There is a surprising amount of room in front, though. Lynn starts the engine, and we’re on our way.

  “I’ve never ridden in one of these before,” I say.

  “How do you like it?”

  “Fine, it’s got a smooth ride.”

  “Uh huh.”

  An amused little smile crosses Lynn’s face, as if she’s enjoying some private joke.

  38: Rollercoaster Ride

  She drives us to a country type bar where we spend the next hours drinking and dancing. At first I have some difficulty adjusting to the music, but soon I am jamming as well as anybody there. Hell, all I need is a cowboy hat!

  Opportunities for conversation are limited by the blasting music and the noisy patrons. No matter. Lynn and I are developing an intimate, nonverbal mode of communication. Sitting close together drinking, arms and knees touching, sharing a cigarette. Slow dancing, hemmed in tightly by the crowd, moving sensuously in place.

  Holding her close on the dance floor, my horizons expand to include her. I feel very comfortable with Lynn, very right. This emotion is a wonderful complement to the sexual excitement raging through me. She just might be the girl I am looking for!

  I envision us going home together and making love, discussing the day’s events afterwards amidst a warm and committed glow. A woman like her could make all the agony worthwhile – like having to stay in one place and be continuously employed.

  When we go back outside, the weather has cleared and gorgeous star light peaks around the clouds.

  “I’m starved,” Lynn says. “Let’s get something to eat.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. “Want me to drive?”

  “No,” Lynn answers quickly. “I’m okay.”

  She takes us to a late-night drive through. The menu displays the usual jumble of fast food items.

  “What do you want, Tyler?”

  “Whatever you want, I want.”

  “Good answer.”

  She gives her amused little smile again. Dang, if she doesn’t remind me of Kathy when she does that. And she reminds me of Yun Hee, too – in the low light with her black hair and almond eyes. She orders tacos, fries, and a large lemonade.

  “What nationality are you, Lynn?” I ask.

  “This and that,” she replies. “Scots-Irish, Italian, and some Cherokee. What about you?”

  “Hungarian, 100 per cent.”

  She leans toward me. “So, I’ll have to take you straight, huh? Like a fine whiskey.”

  She kisses me full on the mouth, a lightning bolt that takes me totally by surprise. Of course, the goddam order has to arrive at this precise moment.
The guy at the window gives us a knowing smirk.

  Lynn sets the bag on the back seat. “Let’s go someplace nice to eat.”

  “Lead on,” I say, still reeling from the kiss.

  She drives for some miles, then turns off onto a dirt road. I resist the temptation to ask where we might be going. Lynn is in charge of our destination. Then I notice a sign indicating that we’ve entered the state game area where I’d covered the duck hunters’ tournament.

  This is going to be very interesting, I think.

  She pulls into a small parking area and shuts off the engine. We roll down the windows part way, dissipating the smoky bar atmosphere which has soaked into our clothes. Wind rushes through the high, dried-out marsh plants in a mysterious rustle. A broad, open field spreads out in one direction, and a black smoothness the other way indicates the presence of water.

  Lynn glows in the starlight and the sliver of moon. I want to reach for her, make passionate love. But it isn’t yet time for that. Whatever happens is going to be on her timetable. I wait for her to speak.

  “I really don’t know anything about you, Tyler,” she says, “except that you work for the newspaper.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything.” She holds up the bag. “There’s plenty of food, and I’m a good listener.”

  “Maybe if you knew more about me, you wouldn’t be interested,” I say.

  “I doubt that,” she says. “You’re a real cut above the other guys I’ve met. From the start I could see that you have brains and class.”

  “Thank you.” I feel suddenly awkward.

  “So, tell me more, Tyler.”

  “Okay.”

  While chewing through the tacos and fries, I give my thumbnail biography: My pleasant early childhood in a semi-ethnic home where I heard the Hungarian language only when the older generation gathered to socialize; the catastrophic interruption of Dad’s illness and death; my undistinguished public school career; the unwelcome appearance of Ed.

  The car becomes chilly, and Lynn starts the engine for a while to run the heater. I speak of my start at a big state university and transfer to a small private college, summers in Wyoming, Mexico, and Spain. The Peace Corps and my DAS ROAD travels.

  I split the last French fry with Lynn.

  This should be the end of my story, but for some damn fool reason I start talking about Jon Glass – his mysterious slogan, the mistaken identity episodes, the chase across Mindanao, even the bizarro mirror in Coloane. The atmosphere starts to cool again, and not just from the night air.

  “You’re blowing it, Tyler,” my inner voice warns.

  But I can’t help myself. Now I am telling Lynn about the wire service blurbs in the Clarion. It’s like Jon is in the back seat egging me on, turning the Gremlin into a deep freeze. Lynn moves away against the driver side door and wraps her arms about herself. He mouth becomes a hard, thin line.

  “Shut up already!” the voice cries.

  Finally I do shut up. A long silence presses down. I fear that Lynn will start the car any second and roar me back to Rosewood for a quick dump off. Then she speaks.

  “What will you do when you find him?” Her voice is very small.

  I let out a sigh. “That’s a good question.”

  “You are a very different sort of person, Tyler. I’ve never known anybody who’s done so much.”

  I bask in her admiration, perhaps all is not lost. I place an arm around her shoulders.

  “Thanks for hearing me out, Lynn. Maybe some of that stuff sounded weird, but like my Grandpa says: we’re all a little boingy in our own way.”

  She laughs, and her warmth starts to return.

  “How about you, Lynn? Tell me what’s happened in your life.”

  “Nothing spectacular, pretty dull, really,” she says.

  “So, let’s hear it.”

  She stretches luxuriously.

  “Plenty of time for that later,” she says. “Let’s have some dessert first.”

  “Dessert” consists of a mad, erotic groping, a frantic coupling and thrashing that nearly breaks the Gremlin’s suspension. Then a pause for lemonade. Then another session of passionate love making. More lemonade. More lovemaking ....

  When it is finally over, we sit quietly holding hands and smoking. The marsh night deepens, flattens out, and prepares to begin its slow ascent toward dawn.

  “What are you thinking?” Lynn asks.

  “I’m thinking about how happy I am,” I say. “And that I may have sprained my neck twisting it around the steering wheel.”

  “Poor baby.” She massages my neck. “Is that better?”

  “Very.”

  Cigarette in one hand, my neck in the other, Lynn begins her story.

  She has a brother and a sister, she says, and enjoyed an ordinary childhood. She went to junior college for a while after high school but dropped it. She worked as a waitress before taking a clerk job with the drug store chain. This past year she’d been promoted to assistant manager at the Rosewood branch.

  The job is a hassle, she says, but it has gotten her thinking about a better future. She wants to go back to school and make something of herself. And, by the way, her truck driver husband is out of town on a long haul and will be back tomorrow evening.

  I jerk forward out of the grip of Lynn’s fingers.

  “I didn’t know you were married!”

  “I was going to tell you, Tyler. In fact, I just did.”

  “Yes, but ... a little late, isn’t it?”

  Lynn takes a long drag on her cigarette.

  “Would you have asked me out if I’d told you before?”

  “No!”

  “See?” Lynn says. “I noticed you checking out my ring finger the first time we met. Good thing my uniform vest has pockets.”

  My whole world has suddenly been torn off its moorings and flipped upside down. The Gremlin presses in on me like a sheet metal tomb. I fling the door open and step outside.

  “Tyler!”

  I turn back toward Lynn. In the dome light illumination, she appears tiny and vulnerable, her hair mussed and make up smeared.

  “This isn’t right,” I say.

  “You’ve got something good here,” she says, “don’t push it away!”

  “I know that. It makes everything worse.”

  I glance about the empty land. The wind is gusting up, sending eerie rustles through the dead marsh plants. Water laps in the distance. Utter barrenness everywhere.

  “It’s cold out there,” Lynn says. “Come back in. I won’t bite – unless you want me to.”

  I can’t help a strangled chuckle.

  “Come on, Tyler, it’s a long way to town. Let me drive you.”

  I get in.

  The trip to Rosewood is a very silent affair. I am wound tight as a watch spring. Finally, Lynn pulls into the vast, muddy parking lot of the Riverside Inn.

  My Nova reposes alone under the yellowish glow of a lamp post. Somebody has written Fuck the World! on the windshield with soap.

  “Will I see you again?” she asks.

  “I don’t know, Lynn. I need time to think.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve got the next two days off,” I say. “I’ll come see you Monday morning. Will you be working then?”

  She nods.

  I open the Gremlin door and start to leave. Then I think better of it and give Lynn a parting kiss. Her cheeks are wet with tears.

  Alone now, I watch the red tail lights of the departing Gremlin.

  Six: Underground Realtor

  39: Abrupt Changes

  “You are entering a cantankerous cycle and are vulnerable in romance.” – Clarion horoscope

  During the next two days, scarcely a moment passes that does not include thoughts of Lynn. One minute, I’m convinced that I have to cut her off flat; the next I am equally certain that I can’t survive a minute longer without her. The debate runs around my brain like a hamster i
n a wheel.

  By the time I’m ready to return to work, I have decided nothing other than to ask Lynn some very direct questions. Is she planning to divorce her husband, soon, or does she simply want an extramarital fling? Is there a legitimate place for me in her life or not? I have to know the answers.

  And I get them. Very quickly.

  The store is nearly empty when I walk in. Pam is at the photographic counter.

  “Hi Pam,” I say. “Is Lynn here?”

  She looks up, startled. Anxiety shoots across her face.

  “No, she isn’t.”

  “What’s wrong, Pam?”

  She glances around, then continues in a low voice.

  “It was horrible,” she says. “Lynn’s husband came in yesterday and forced her to quit.”

  A band of apprehension tightens on my chest.

  “Why?”

  “A buddy of his said that he saw her out dancing with another guy – some friend!”

  I stand at the counter like an idiot, totally speechless.

  “The vicious things he said!” Pam shudders. “He’s a real pig if you ask me.”

  I nod dumbly and turn to leave.

  “Be careful, Tyler,” Pam says.

  Out in the parking lot, grief and paranoia contend. What’s going to happen next – is some lunatic going to come charging up? Where is Mr. Itami when I need him? Better yet, that macho captain from Sorak San with a couple of .45’s.

  But nothing happens to disturb the peaceful morning. The sky is clear, the water puddles have dried, and the weather is almost balmy. The only turmoil is inside myself. I walk across the road to the Clarion office. The door is locked.

  “What the hell?”

  I peer in through the little side window. All the lights are off.

  “You must not have heard,” someone says.

  I turn to see the secretary from the next door insurance agency. A tragic expression creases her face.

  “Heard what?”

  “About Mr. Cooper,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What happened?” My voice has shot up an octave.

  “He suffered a heart attack yesterday – here about one o’clock. He died, I’m afraid.”

  ***

  The next thing I know, I am stumbling through the door of the Riverside Inn with no recollection of how I got there. I flop onto a stool. A gray and desperate face peers back at me from the bar mirror.

  “Beer – please!” I croak. “A large one.”

  The girl brings it quickly, thank God, and I down most of it in one gulp. A tiny sliver of normality pokes into my suffering mind. W. J. sits farther down the bar, muttering into his own beer mug. I slide towards him.