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Room 527

Eric Burbridge

    For weeks he planned to move the antiquated wrought iron framed bed from in front of the screenless window. Many a night Terry Rush laid there listening to all the activity on the corner of Clark and Division. The mixture of tourist, residents and employees of one of the Chicago areas busiest intersections was interesting and, on occasion, deadly. He tried not to dwell on what got him in this transient hotel room on the fifth floor; he was a soon to be divorcee, who still had a job and was in the process of battling, with the union’s help, to keep it. He gazed up at the useless ceiling fan and the bottle of vodka on the table. Next to it a clipboard with a few ideas for a story he jotted down earlier. He sighed and reached for the half full glass from the previous night. A drink this early meant one thing...he’s a drunk who needs detox and a twenty-eight-day program. Detox he could do himself, but it made him a nervous wreck and a program would have to be outpatient only. He needed encouragement not criticism, but that’s all Consuela offered. They said he married up, she’s so classy with a well-connected law enforcement family, but they didn’t live with her either. To hell with thinking about his soon to be ex-wife! He had important business at work. He downed a shot of vodka, got dressed and out the door he went.
    They predicted a hot day, but not until the late afternoon. Fine with him. He did not want to sweat out the shot of vodka at the hearing with management and the union people. Sunny and a nice cool breeze gave him a sense of optimism. At the most he’d get fourteen days off, work days not calendar, and that suspension would remain in his folder for two years. Any infraction in that period will result in the next level of discipline...removal. For twenty years, Terry Rush managed to stay ahead of them and, some not all, hated him for it. He wasn’t as crazy as they thought. The drinking problem card would eventually play out. He had to come to work and meet the attendance requirement. The 22 Clark bus dropped him in front of the Lincoln Park Delivery Service five minutes before showtime. He was not in uniform; he had no intention of working today. The option to start the suspension immediately or in two weeks was his. Obviously, it wasn’t the latter. He took a deep breath and entered the manager’s office.
*
    The manager with his fat face, bad skin and tobacco-stained teeth smiled when he signed the ‘Notice of Suspension’ for a period of fourteen days. “You think I’m going to lose my job, but I’m not, see you in two weeks.” Terry said and walked out meaning what he said. He wiped sweat off his forehead. The wait for the bus wasn’t long, but the heat and last night’s bender left him dying of thirst. He should have helped himself to a couple of bottles of water before he left. He hoped the union steward didn’t think bad of him; he did seem arrogant and treated management’s decision for fourteen days nonchalantly, but that was in the contract. Melissa worked hard for the employees and for such a petite woman with striking good looks; she was a giant when it came to negotiating and intimidating management.
    “Don’t take this suspension lightly, Terry, they can’t wait to burn you...you can come to work regularly, you’ve done it before.” And with that said, she hugged him tightly and that was that.
    The bus service on the near northside was erratic at best. And it was just his luck to get on a bus with lottery advertisements plastered all over the place. That damn lottery...the last thing he wanted to think about. It got him deeper in the bottle, and if he wasn’t careful, the grave, but that was a victory Consuela and the devil would not get.
    He often wondered, why was he so comfortable living on the razor’s edge? Close calls kept him sharp, but let Consuela tell it, he was blessed, but not forever. True. But it would be more of a blessing if he could stay a step ahead of her treachery with the help of the court system. The child support was a killer, but the twins would be eighteen in a couple of years. Do what the lawyer said, “Work all the overtime you can get or a second job.”
    If he hadn’t lost that lottery ticket he wouldn’t be in this situation.
    Cancel that thought, it will ruin the day.
    The bus stopped at the corner of Clark and North Ave across the street in front of the Chicago History Museum. A short female senior sat on her adjustable seat walker. She was dressed for the heat and it appeared she had gotten her hair done. A young guy, a teenager stood next to her and said something. Instantaneously, she reached in her bag and hit him in the head with what looked like a hatchet or hammer...down he went. The whole bus cheered and shouted, “Get him granny, get him, hit him again!” The guy jumped up dodging another blow and ran away. What was a boring routine ride buzzed with laughter and conversation. That took his mind off his problems; it would make a wonderful story. As soon as he got home, he’d jot down a brief outline before he drank anything.
    Terry winked at Carol, the tall curvy well-tanned front desk clerk. She said Joe was looking for him and he was mad at the world as usual. Time to get to work on the outline before he returns and they start drinking.
    He opened his door, a cool breeze slapped him in the face, but he left the window open too wide and his papers were all over the floor and bed. He gathered them up and adjusted the window. Lighting matters, it sets the mood, for any creativity. He was proud of what he did to 527. A couple of small throw rugs over the carpet that had to be fifty years old. He managed to get a modern dresser and night stand from storage the previous tenant did not want. A fresh coat of off-white paint, two contemporary paintings, a new queen size mattress, sheets and pillows. He grabbed his clipboard and got started. What would the title be? Simple: The Little Old Lady and the Hammer...Granny’s Grip or Senior Swinger. He couldn’t help but laugh. Several hard knocks on the door broke his concentration. “Wait a second.” He put away his clipboard and looked through the peek hole, Joe Young, he knew it. He opened the door; there stood his drinking buddy with a disgusted look on his face. “What’s up, my friend?” and waved him in. “You look pissed, what’s wrong?”
    Joe sat on the bed. “I’m cool.”
    How many times had he heard that lie. Terry opened the frig and tossed him a beer. “Pour your own drink.” That he did. “After this I’m on the wagon.”
    Joe giggled. “Yeah, right, but anyway. I’m mad at the world!”
    “Keep it down no one else cares.” Joe stood and started to pace. He was tall, portly built with a balding peanut shaped head; Terry was tall, thin with keen figures and a broken nose, the two of them in the room meant a close fit. “Sit down, please.”
    “That damn James Collins screwed me around. I had an appointment with my case worker and he didn’t tell me until it was too late.”
    No surprise, he told him for years, get your own lock box. Don’t depend on James, but he said they knew each other since they were in diapers. They were like brothers. Sounded good...now look at him. “So, what happens next?”
    “I’m off for ninety days, no check.” He threw up his hands and started to pace again.
    “Sit down, you killing me with that, ain’t no room in this room!”
    He did and gulped down the rest of his beer and vodka. “You know.” His speech was slurred. “People like you and James make me sick, you make it bad for people like me.”
    “You’re drunk. What you talking about? We...I haven’t done a thing to you but try to help. You older than me, help me out.” How would he do that? Two drunks living in different worlds.
    “You and James, yall barely keep your jobs, but look down on people like me.” His voice trembled.
    Terry was fresh out of sympathy; so what if he barely kept his job? It wasn’t as if Joe did not have opportunities. When the system offered him a work assignment, he declined and took the check instead. He bragged about his personality and his ability to get along with people. Terry told him many times, “Use your gift. You a hustler, right? Hustle. Go get a job.”
    “Where?”
    “How am I supposed to know. You live in ‘Stop and Drink’ ask around.” Terry said and poured another drink.
    Joe shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. Speaking of jobs, what happened at yours, that you don’t go to half the time?”
    “I’m good, two-week suspension.” He sipped his beer and dug his hand in the chips. “Again, after this I’m done with the booze.”
    “Ha, that’ll be the day. That’s what I’m talking about people like you think you slicker than everybody else, but the booze will take your mind off your broken heart.”
    “You drunk...that don’t make sense. Listen to yourself. You bitter and I got news for you, the world don’t care.” Terry reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty. “You play your numbers yet?” He shook his head. “Well do us a favor and bring back a couple of burgers with catsup on my fries and a couple of two-dollar scratch-offs, okay?”
    “Okay. That’s a surprise after you swore off lottery tickets after you lost that big money ticket. You probably lying.” Joe finished his beer. “How much was that ticket, anyway?”
    Terry looked at him regretting he said anything. The first thing that came out Joe’s mouth, your wife took it. “None of your business.” He opened the door and he left. After a while, Terry was good and drunk; Joe wasn’t coming back. Good. He laid back and the lights went out.
*
    The phone startled him. “Hello.”
    “Mr. Rush, this is the front desk, I got something that needs your attention.”
    “Call me, Terry, Carol, can you bring it up?”
    She giggled, “No can do, you know that, but I’m here until three.”
    Terry stepped off the elevator. Carol waved him over and showed him the phone bill. She took a yellow marker and highlighted several items and smiled with those perfect teeth. “This is what’s past due.”
    He picked up the bill. “I’ll pay this tomorrow, beautiful.”
    She blushed. “When you get sober, I might give you my number and, of course, we cannot talk here, right?”
    “Right.” He drank half the bottle; somehow what Carol offered made him pour the rest down the toilet. Several hours later he regretted it. Withdrawal set in; he took a long walk down Clark Street all the way to the Chicago River and back. He sweat like a pig; he smelled like one in the 90-degree heat. He drank at least a gallon of water. It was a sleepless night. Day two of his self-detox he felt better and that face in the mirror looked better too. Get yourself together, Terry Rush.
*
    “Yep, Terry Rush, you was doin’ good, then the bottom fell out, what happened?” He hated to hear his AA buddy use his full name which meant he was sick of hearing what he called, “His steady flow of BS.”
    “Long story, Curtis, but you wouldn’t blame me, but it’s good to hear your voice.”
    “When you goin’ back to work?”
    “I got fourteen days for attendance, but believe it or not I got a new attitude. I can’t explain, but it’s true.”
    “I hear ya. You still writin’?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Write it out, you your best when you do that.”
    “You right.” He knew he would hear words of encouragement. He admired Curtis’s strength for being sober for decades. He should be so blessed. Time to get to work, but first he went to the lobby and paid the past due bill.
*
    There had not been a cloud in the sky for three days. He felt good and it really made the morning walk, he bumped into Carol heading in the opposite direction. Obviously, she was off today. She smiled brightly, her long neck, short hair style with streaks of gray offset those hazel eyes. She complimented him on being sober. “Between me and you, I’m two years clean and sober,” she said. “And also, here’s my number, use it wisely,” she hugged him slightly and continued down the street. He enjoyed watching her walk...feminine, but not slutty. Her long neck, short hair style with streaks of gray offset those hazel eyes.
    Terry popped a vitamin and washed it down with a cup of orange juice. Three clicks of his black ink fine point pen for good luck and he was ready. Writing the story of the axe swinging senior was out. Instead, the story would be what got him in room 527. He sighed, that was depressing, but necessary to trust and forgive Consuela again. What would the title be? The Lost Lottery Ticket. Perhaps, but the last time he checked the prize had not been claimed; after a year the ticket is invalid. If there were multiple winners that would have been posted. It was embarrassing, but only three people knew he had it, his wife and Joe, who didn’t know details other then he lost a scratch-off, which it wasn’t.
    He’d make a small outline; add and subtract details as he goes. Fictionalize the majority of it.
    -Protagonist (Terry Rush) buys lottery ticket. Filled out card months ago.
    -Antagonist (Consuela Rush) doesn’t play lottery, it’s a waste of time and money.
    -Couple has been arguing for months; in-law problems, a bunch of snobs in power.
    -He checks stacks of old tickets; finds a seven-million-dollar winner.
    -He gets old tickets and discards them. Puts winner aside and next day it’s gone.
    -Did he shred it; or did Consuela steal it? They file for divorce.
    -He checks for other winners; none so far.
    Terry tossed his pen on the clipboard, so much for the truth, now the fiction part. Everything does not have to be sinister, think positive. It was his fault, not her scheme, but he still smells the proverbial rat. There was a step in the program regarding forgiveness and making amends. He regretted trying to ring her neck. Should he call and apologize for the umpteen time? Why not...that smoothness in her voice aroused and comforted him. He got her voice mail and that was enough for the time being. He felt better and he put a positive spin on the second part of the outline:
    -Several months passed and they stay in touch because of the twins.
    -He goes to his soon to be former place of residence.
    -Consuela opens the door, she’s gorgeous; he grabs her and they go in the room.
    -They stay there or two days after sending the twins away to their cousins.
    -He senses she’s hiding something; does she love someone else?
    -If so, why the lovemaking? Break his heart further. Is she that cruel?
    -He pressures her to tell. Is she pregnant? That would be crazy, she’s forty something.
    -She has the ticket. She switched because she wants her cut to do whatever she wants.
    -She’s a spend thrift, terrible with money; he’s constantly monitoring her finances.
    -She threatens not to share; it’s too late for a lump sum; they agree to split the annuity.
    -She claims to be better with money; they get an attorney and come to a compromise.
    The End
    He started to tear up the outline, but instead he’d do what the protag did, go see her. For a moment he thought of Carol, but that would take time he wanted love now, Consuela’s love. He was in luck, she answered on the first ring. “You busy,” he asked.
    “No...this is a surprise.”
    “I’m headed your way.”
    “Okay.”
    She had that tone in her voice he loved; when he got there, she met him in a shear night gown revealing her curves. She smelled delicious and when they finished, he stared at the ceiling; what in the world was he doing in 527? This is where he belonged. They built this together; a ranch style home with three large bedrooms with baths, cathedral ceilings in the living and dining rooms, a full basement and a three-car garage. They agreed until he found an apartment, he would leave his car. The parking on the near side was virtually non-existent. He watched her pull up her panties. “I’ve been sober for weeks and I’m not losing my job, believe it or not.”
    Consuela sighed, “That’s nice, I’m happy for you,” she headed for the kitchen. “Want something to eat?” he nodded. “The twins made BBQ; can you believe it? And it’s good.”
    He continued to lay there. She wanted it as much as him, but what about their marriage? Time will tell; he wasn’t optimistic, not yet anyway.
*
    For the next several months Terry visited and slept with his wife at least twice weekly. It was good, but he was afraid to ask the simple question; did she still love him enough to reconcile or love him at all. He could not shake the feeling she was with someone else, but what could he say? He was enjoying Carol every chance he got. One day at a time with Consuela, but on their next encounter he got the courage to ask. “Do you still love me or what?”
    “I’ll always love you, Terry. You know that, we have a family.” A deep passionate kiss followed those words. Suspicion hit him like a slap in the face. Reconciliation was far away, if at all. Enjoy what’s left, it beats hostility. “I’m assuming whatever happens we’ll be there for each other because of that, right?”
    “Right.”
    What level of love that meant was debatable. A woman’s love is too complicated to figure out, only God could do that and it would take him a while.
    It was a beautiful day; leaves blew everywhere as he cut through Bughouse Square toward Carol’s place in a nearby hotel off Chicago Ave. Her room was slightly larger, but just as comfortable. The bed was newer and the TV larger. She propped pillows under her back and sat watching the evening news. Terry laid flat staring at the ceiling listening to the female Asian news anchor tell listeners the latest bad news. “Well for all of you interested in the lottery, the person with that seven-million-dollar winning ticket finally came forward and cashed it in. They chose to remain anonymous, but it’s too late for a lump sum.”
    “I’ll take the annuity in a heartbeat,” her Black co-anchor said with a smile.
    “What!!” Terry sat straight tup.
    “Terry, what’s wrong?”
    He fell back. “No, she didn’t...that lying...” He couldn’t believe it; he called her cell. She might block him. He sent the twin’s text.
    “Well, somebody is upset about the lottery. Why is that?” Carol asked.
    He rushed to get dressed. “No, no, it’s not that, but I got to go.” He kissed her and hurried out the door. He almost tripped walking too fast as he read the text from his daughter. He stopped and took a deep breath; Mom had to leave town for work. Will call you later. That fit right in, her being a Big Pharma sales rep, who knows when they’ll talk, if ever. Why did she hold that ticket so long? Technically they were still married, she had to share the prize as far as he knew. He still was not going to tell anyone about this. It was embarrassing. Several weeks passed; no returned text, the twins said nothing, probably on her orders; he dare not ask his in-laws. They didn’t approve of him; he was rough around the edges and a drunk. Bougie’s, he hated them!
    His twelve-hour work shift had him exhausted, but he maintained his schedule for meetings and time with Carol. His cell rang. Surprise, it was his daughter, “Hello.”
    “Dad, sorry to disturb you, but Mom’s been in a serious accident in Indianapolis.” She was on the verge of crying. “She isn’t dead, but she’s banged up pretty bad. We leaving with Aunt Nita in a while.”
    “Okay, I’ll leave as soon as possible. Be careful.” He ended the call. Should he care? No, but he did. His prayers had been answered, but he didn’t expect it to be this way.
*
    Terry rushed to the ICU unit hoping he would not see his in-laws. His mission, interrogate, Consuela. You better not die until you tell me where’s the money? He pulled back the curtain and the sound of beeping machines sickened him. A tall thin female nurse smiled and asked who he was. “I’m the husband,” and showed his visitor pass.
    “She’s quite blessed, but the other person involved is in really bad shape, I live to see these miracles. That’s between me and you.”
    “No problem.” Terry gave a reassuring smile and pat on her back as she left. His lying, soon to be, ex-wife was heavily bandaged and her legs were in a weird looking caste. Bandages covered her half swollen and scared face. Too bad for her, was this poetic justice or what?
    “Consuela, Consuela, you hear me?” He pulled up a chair as close as he could, not to crimp any IV lines.
    She struggled to answer and opened her eye. “Yes.” She whispered.
    “It’s me, Terry, where’s the money?” He asked, as close to her ear as possible.
    “What?”
    “What, nothing, you heard me. Where’s the money?” He hissed. Tears trickled down the side of her face.
    “I...I don’t have it.” An Asian looking female nurse came in.
    “You okay, honey?” She adjusted the blanket and cut her eyes at him. “If you need anything hit the button, okay?” Consuela nodded, slightly. The nurse cut her eyes at him, again.
    Time to go. Those tears didn’t mean a thing, but they would get her all the sympathy in the world. “I’ll be back...honey.” He snapped. “And, I want the truth.” Her eyes opened wider when she heard that. He looked in both directions before steeping into the hall. He didn’t want to see family. Was the other person in the car or what? The elevator door opened and he stepped aside. He recognized a couple of people from a photo Consuela had taken at the company Christmas party. Strange, two of them went in her room, the others went two rooms down. Time to get nosy when he gets back. Was that where the other person involved was?
    The aroma from the cafe overwhelmed him. He got the special of the day. He noticed a heavy-set guy with a bald head eye ball him from the entrance. He headed his way. Now what?
    “Excuse, you’re Consuela’s husband, right?” He extended his hand. “I’m Tim, one of the managers, we work together. I’m sorry to see her like this. I just stopped to say we’re praying for your family. If there’s anything we can do let us know.”
    “Thank you, but could I ask a question?
    “Certainly.”
    “I’m in the dark and I just got here. What happened?”
    “There was a three-car accident a block from the regional office. Another one of our employees was injured in the crash. Her team leader, Marty. I don’t know any more details at this time.”
    “Okay, thanks.” Something stunk, what was it? He could not wait to get back upstairs. He checked the front desk; no new visitors. Good, now to further his interrogation, but first he walked past Marty’s room. He had braces all over him; he looked like a quadriplegic. When he stepped back in the room her eyes popped open. “Consuela, I’m back.” He noticed her blood pressure spiked. “Don’t you stroke out on me, where’s the money?”
    “I don’t have it, Terry.”
    “Who’s Marty?” Her eyes lit up. “You lying and I got a theory or theories about the money.” She rolled her eyes and he chuckled. “Still a writer with a vivid imagination after all these years, my dear.”
    “Don’t call me that, I hate it.”
    “Relax, Consuela, your pressure is up.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes.
    “That tear crap gets no sympathy. Let’s play a game since you like lying. I got a list of things you probably did with my money; it was ours until you got greedy.” She nodded. “Better yet just listen.” Her expressions will tell all; he read those well about her.
    -You set things up when I was drunk to make me think I shredded it: blank.
    -You lost the ticket for real: blank.
    -You told Marty, your lover, about it: she frowned.
    -You had it, Marty found it: Bingo, she broke out in a sweat and tears flowed.
    -You weren’t sure he did it until the prize was claimed: Bingo, her BP elevated.
    -You been looking for him and found him here: Bingo, her eyes bucked then narrowed.
    -You didn’t want him dead, but to suffer. You cannot get the money no matter what.
    -Did anybody know you were lovers? Did your family with their contacts help?
    -Of course, they did, right back here. She smiled.
    They stared at each other for a while. He was missing something, but what? “How’s it feel to be made a fool?”
    “You know already, sweety,” Her lips trembled.
    “Don’t call me, sweety.” A cup of coffee and prayer would help get the answers he needed. “I’ll be back, don’t go anywhere.”
    She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m smarter than you think, Terry, hurry back.”
    He started to get a hotel room, but that second cup perked him up enough to finish talking to Consuela. Midway through the second cup, it hit him. Hell, hath no fury like, Consuela Rush scorned; could she be that devious? Yeah, she was that tedious and detail oriented.
*
    They wheeled Consuela back in the ICU after taking her for tests they scheduled and reconnected all the monitors. Her baby faced doctor said, “the good news is, after a lengthy rehab she would walk again.” Terry flashed a fake grin as he left. He could care less after what she did. “I been thinking, you one devious female. You rolled the dice and won. This wasn’t a one in a million coincidence, you planned this, right?” Her eyes widened. “I’m right this time, you could’ve been hurt worse or even killed, but you thought at the least he’d have to spend all that money on his health care...and it ain’t going to last that long. Smart girl.”
    “I told you I don’t have any money, no matter what you think.” She said, with a vengeful smirk on her face.
    “I got a million questions...”
    “Don’t waste your time, Terry Rush, be glad you ain’t, Marty.” She snapped. “And be glad I’m not mentioning your name. This might...I repeat, might be just getting started. What you think, sweety?” He was mute. “That’s what I thought, be careful on the way home.” She closed her eyes.
    Terry thought about what will happen in the coming months with Consuela, Marty and the twins. Her ex-lover is paying one helluva price for his treachery. He knew her well enough to stay out of the way. It was over between them. Be smart, be sober, continue to pray and things will work out.

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