Road to Paradise Read online

  “Maybe she has another stash somewhere. I have a secret hundred bucks in my makeup bag.”

  “They took it, Sloane,” said Candy.

  “They took my makeup money?” I started to shake. I didn’t believe her. I checked for myself.

  Then I believed.

  Gina found us in the parking lot, Candy standing over me, sitting on the curb, crying.

  It was 11:15 at night, and all the Reno lights were on, like it was daylight in the desert. It had taken us 577 miles to get here from Salt Lake. I clocked it on my odometer. In the distance I could see the arc, like Triomphe, proclaiming, “Reno—the Biggest Little Town in the World.” The traffic on Virginia Street was nearly at a standstill. It was dry hot, about eighty. The dirty hubcap of my driver tire was near my flip-flop. Maybe if I cried enough I could wash it off. For a moment I saw myself outside my own body, looking in, seeing me, helpless on the curb, Candy standing sheepish and guilty, and Gina, taking some time, like me, to understand what was happening, what had happened. That woman and her son took every last cent of our money. We gave her a ride, and she robbed us. It took a while to sink in; that kind of thing wasn’t easy.

  At last, the cold reality of the night dawned on Gina. Conversely, as she became enraged, I stopped crying. I wiped my face. She was shouting at Candy, menacing her in the parking lot with wild gestures. “What have you done? You have brought nothing, nothing but trouble into my life! God, wake me up from this nightmare! Maybe it’s all a mistake. Maybe we put it in a different place. Maybe we forgot where we put it. Oh my God, what have you done to us!”

  She searched the car, front to back, top to bottom, back again, and once more. On the fifth time, I helped her.

  Candy stood nearby and all I could hear from her was, O Lord my God, I cry out in the night before thee, let my prayer come before thee, incline thine ear to my cry. Lord, hear my prayer . . .

  Daisy the waitress stuck her head out the glass doors. “Hey, gals,” she called, “anytime now. Your food’s getting cold.”

  Gina and I, both groping through the car, stopped. “How much’s the check?”

  “How much is the check?” Daisy repeated slowly, looking in her apron pocket. “Thirty bucks. What, too much?”

  We stared at each other. Then we straightened up and glared at Candy. “You got thirty bucks in your pocket, Cand?” I asked coldly.

  “I have twelve. And don’t give me your attitude. It’s hard enough. I have enough to pay for what we ate.”

  “I have seven,” I said, a notch milder.

  “I have eight,” said Gina, “but I’ll be damned before I spend the last money I have in the world on you.”

  “Not on me,” said Candy. “On food. For you.”

  “Shut up. I’m not speaking to you. You don’t exist anymore. La-la-la.”

  “Gina, all right, you know what? I know you’re . . .”

  “You have no idea what I am.” She was head in the trunk, searching.

  “I know how you feel, because I feel it, too! But we need to stick together. We have no money. We have nothing.” My eyes were swollen from crying, from salt. “Can’t bail on us now, Gina.”

  “Watch me.”

  “Well, what are you going to do? Where are you going to go on your eight dollars?”

  “Don’t you worry your little heads about me,” Gina said, “I’ll be better off anywhere than with you. God, do you regret it now?” she said to me. “Every single bit of it, every stupid decision you ever made, you regret it now?”

  I didn’t answer. I locked up my car, locked that barn after the Russian horse had bolted, even though the car had nothing in it except my Maybelline mascara thrown in the glove compartment. We went back inside. “Daisy, listen,” I said to the waitress. “We don’t know what to do. That woman and her son, they just robbed us and took all our money.”

  “What woman and her son?” She shrugged and gestured for me to stay quiet. “Do I look to you like I give a shit?” she said. “What am I, a genie? Here to fix all your problems? I got plenty of my own, missy. I’m trying to get custody of my kids while their dad is God knows where. All I need you to do is not be my shrink. Just pay the bill.”

  “Am I boring you?” I said.

  “You’re not boring me, I just don’t care. I gotta pay the rent, too.”

  “Well, we can’t pay your rent,” I said. “We have seven dollars to pay for our Cokes.”

  “What about the soup?”

  “Give me a break,” I said quietly. “You’re ready to close, you scraped that clam chowder from the bottom of a burnt pot. Help us a little bit. Let it go.”

  “You know how often I hear your little likely sob story?” Daisy said harshly. “About twice a day, honeybunch. You’re in Reno. The things I hear would make God lose faith in man, would make Jesus drink whiskey straight from the dog bowl. I’ve heard it all. Your tale? About five times a week. I was robbed. Someone took my money. I looked and it was gone. I don’t know what happened to it.”

  “Well, I hate to be so commonplace.” I glanced over to Candy, standing at one corner of the booth, and Gina at the other, both eyeing their cold food. “Still, though. We ordered the food when we thought we had cash, and now we have none.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes and snorted; she shook her big frame, even her jiggly triceps shook. “What are you going to do now?” she asked. “Call the police? Oh, officer, they robbed me, and then they went and disappeared with all my money, and we got nothin’, can you help us? You gonna file a report? That’ll work. You go on and do that now. Because the police, they never heard that one in Reno.”

  “But it’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

  She lowered her voice. “So the fuck what? Who gives a shit? What’s the police gonna do? Your money walked, baby, and you go ahead and spend the next four hours at a precinct, getting poked and interrogated. Four hours and a quarter won’t even get you a ride back to your hotel.”

  I stepped away from her. I was sorry Gina and Candy were close enough to hear. “Just what I need,” I said. “Down on her luck waitress dispensing advice while the ex-con cooks the short order.”

  “Just what I need,” said Daisy. “Sass from a no-pay. Go on,” she said. “Go finish your food, pay me what you have, and get the hell on out of here. I love to work for free, you know. I don’t need to pay my nut or feed my kids. You go ahead and eat.”

  “Take our few bucks,” said Candy, coming over. “Stiff him on the check.”

  “Do you even see the guy at the grill? You want to mess with him? Have me lose my job? I’ll have your twenty bucks, whoop-de-doo, and then what?”

  Candy lowered her voice. “I won’t stiff you,” she said. “Tomorrow I’ll come back and pay the bill. I promise.”

  Daisy pointed to her face. “Yes, and I have sucker stamped on my forehead. Just eat, go, and stop botherin’ me.”

  We sat down to our soggy onion rings, bread moist with mayo, wilted lettuce. “How much did she take?” I asked weakly. “She took about $600 from me.” How in the world did I think I’d get back home on $600? Oh, would to have those problems now—how to pinch pennies on 600 bucks.

  “She took about $300 from me,” said Gina. “Maybe $350. Last time I counted before Salt Lake, that’s what I had.”

  “She took Floyd’s thousand from me,” said Candy.

  Gina and I both emitted a groan of compassion. We remembered too well what it took to get that money.

  “I’d take an atheist over this kind of Christian any day,” said Gina, her hands in a knot, her mouth so tight she couldn’t chew properly, she kept choking and coughing. “I’d take a Mormon, a Muslim . . .”

  “A Mennonite,” I finished in agreement.

  “Anything!”

  “What does this have to do with being a Christian?” asked Candy. “Why do you always keep harping on that? What do you think, she read the Gospel of St. Matthew and said, I know what I’m going to do, I’m going to rob three girls who a
re helping me out, because that’s what the good Lord would have me do?”

  “I really don’t know, Candy,” said Gina. “You’re the one with all the answers.”

  “I guarantee you, this broad was not thinking about Jesus as she was stealing money from my bag.”

  “I’m beginning to understand,” said Gina, “why the Romans fed the Christians to the lions. They were losing their empire through embezzlement. They needed to do something to save themselves.”

  “Didn’t do such a good job saving themselves,” retorted Candy. “Despite the lion feedings.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “Those two must have planned it well ahead. Maybe back in Ely. Where else? They were always with us otherwise. The kid was told to go to the bathroom and stay there. Mother pulled a little wool over my eyes. Dropped her purse, rooted around. When her son came out of the bathroom, he went outside, and they disappeared. Must have caught a cab right away. They worked this out good.”

  “We got to talking about faith at the bar,” Candy said, “and she heard the thing in my voice, the thing that told her I would help her. She knew I’d be easy.” The cold fry fell out of her hands.

  “Candy,” I said, “they could’ve planned this thing back in Salt Lake. When they knew they’d be coming with us.”

  “No, don’t say that.” Candy put her head in her hands. The blonde of it bobbed up and down. I wanted to comfort her, but who was going to comfort me?

  “Maybe the cops will catch them,” said Gina, putting her own head down. We were defeated; felt it, and looked it. “I don’t care what the fat waitress thinks. Let’s call them, Shel. File a report.”

  “They took cash, not Traveler’s checks,” said Candy, looking up at us. “The cops are going to have to catch them in another state. Because I’m sure they took our money and split good and proper. Caught a cab, went to the bus depot, are probably halfway to Seattle by now.”

  “So the police will catch them in Seattle,” said Gina.

  “And in Seattle, that Russian slag will say, what money, officer? I ain’t got a penny. I’m a single mother with a small frail child and I’m broke. Dear God, I’d never take from young girls, what do you take me for?”

  I shook my head. “I think they went back to Salt Lake. I bet you they were Mormons.”

  Candy disagreed. “When I met her, she was serving drinks wearing a cross. In Salt Lake. She didn’t know a loser like me was coming. You don’t wear a cross in Salt Lake unless you’re not one of them.”

  “Well, for all the things she said about the Mormons—they didn’t rob us.”

  “No.” Candy took one last mealy bite of her burger. “She didn’t rob us because she was a Christian, Gina. She robbed us because she was a bad woman.”

  “So you say. I thought your Christ was supposed to make bad people good?”

  Candy almost laughed. “How little you understand,” she said, taking her few dollars out. “Let’s go. Let’s find Jess at least.”

  We pooled our pennies together, counting out the quarters in the pockets of my jeans. We were young girls, we didn’t carry purses. We had no wallets. We carried the combs to brush our hair in the back of our short denim shorts, and the dollar bills stuffed in our front pockets, with the peach lipgloss, in case we needed to touch up. We had no need for purses; we carried nothing; we lived as if we were still fifteen, about to go rollerblading and flirt with the boys.

  After turning out our pockets, we scraped together $22.71. We left it on the table, casting an apologetic glance at Daisy. She just rolled her eyes and waved us off.

  In the car, Gina said, “How much gas do we have?”

  The tank was empty. Empty, empty, empty.

  “Unbefuckinglievable,” Gina exclaimed, as we pulled out and made a left on Virginia. One way or another we had to find this “Motel” or we’d be out of gas and sleeping in the car. We made a left under the neon sign for “Penthouse Dancers” behind a billboard that said, “Jesus: Acts 4:12.”

  Acts 4:12?

  We were stopped at a light to allow ample time for perusal. Acts 4:12 and the Penthouse Dancers.

  “Like a riddle,” said Gina.

  “Only for those who don’t know,” said Candy.

  “Oh, like you know.”

  “Check out Gideon’s Bible when we get to Motel, see for yourself.”

  “That would presuppose finding Motel. Which, as you well know, is not a given. So what does it mean, Miss Smarty Pants?” Gina appeared milder. Her stomach was fuller.

  “There is no other name under heaven, given among men,” said Candy, “whereby we must be saved.”

  “Huh.” Gina tapped indifferently at her window. “Is that really true? And what a strange sign to hang in Reno of all places.”

  Light turned green; we rolled on down Virginia, which got seedier the farther it got away from the classy; gray, stringy, broke old men sitting waiting for the bus having spent their last penny. “You think your fucking Lena that you invited for a joyride is going to be saved by Jesus?” asked Gina. Perhaps I had overstated the mild. “I wouldn’t want her to. I’d want her to burn in hell. I want to learn voodoo so I can stick needles in her eyes. Tell me you don’t. Tell me you want to turn the other cheek. Turn out your pockets, Candy, give her the film reel, too.”

  “Gina,” I said. “Are you watching out for Motel? Because we’re going to miss it with your unending bickering. You’re like a married couple.”

  “An unhappily married couple,” retorted Gina. Both of them looked away through the windows. “That fucking Lena,” she said. “How did you find her? How could you not tell she was evil? How did you let a complete stranger into our car?”

  “Who are you talking to?” I asked. “Me or Candy?”

  Gina turned her head. “I don’t know anymore,” she said, mouth full of sorrow.

  Candy’s head beat against the window. “Sloane, don’t drive so fast, we’re going to miss it.”

  Why did we give all our money to Daisy? Again, we were making such bad decisions. We had thought with our stomachs, and now we desperately needed gas but had no money. “Did we save even a dollar?” I asked. “One lousy dollar for gas.”

  “We got nowhere to go until we get us some money,” said Candy.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll call Emma.”

  “And I’ll call my mother,” said Gina. “What about you, Candy? Who are you going to call?”

  “No one,” said Candy. “But you’re going to call your mother?”

  “Yes. Why is that so surprising?”

  “Well, until just now I wasn’t sure you had a mother. You’ve never mentioned her. Certainly have never called her.”

  “Yeah? Why don’t you call on your Jesus? Maybe he’ll give you money.”

  “You know what,” said Candy, “I’m going to get my money the old-fashioned way. I’m going to earn it.”

  “Good. Maybe money will save you.”

  We sat staring out the windows.

  “Dear God,” I prayed. “Give us a sign. Help us. Tell us what to do.”

  “There is no God in Reno,” said Gina, banging on the window, as we passed by a billboard that said, “DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOU’RE GOING TO? John 11:10.”

  The sign came first.

  “Motel,” it said. It was nearly three miles out from the main drag. “We’re going to be pushing the car down Virginia tomorrow,” I said. “We’re out of gas.”

  “That’s okay,” said Gina. “We’re out of money, too.” Oh, now levity.

  The Motel motel was a drab two-story building with a concrete courtyard, which is where we pulled in, sputtering to a stop. Candy had to knock five minutes before someone in reception opened the front door. After midnight, they figured anybody knocking was coming to rob them. Which right now didn’t seem like the most awful idea in the world.

  “Is Jess here?” Candy asked.

  “Jess who?” yelled a crabby, barely awoken man.

  Candy disappeared inside.

 
“I hope you understand that there is no walking away from this bona fide mess,” Gina said.

  Was there walking away before a mother and son robbed us of everything? I didn’t think so. “I’m sorry, Gina.”

  “Too late. You can stuff your sorry in a sack, missy. How are we going to pay for this fine lodging establishment?”

  Soon Candy came back. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “My friend Jessica doesn’t work here anymore. She doesn’t live here anymore. Apparently she sold her car and moved back east. Back to Huntington. That was three months ago, when I was still in Huntington. Maybe she was going to look me up at Jerry’s Lounge where we used to hang out, but just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” Candy dangled the keys. “I got us one night. We’re up on the second floor. Sloane, what are you doing?” she said, when she saw me pulling into a beaut of a spot right near the stairs. “Park in the back.” I groaned, I cursed, I banged the window. I parked in the back, in the dark near the bushes.

  Room 528. It had two small beds and a sink outside the bathroom. It smelled moldy. Gina and I dropped our stuff and fell down on the beds. I felt my body giving out, surrendering. I kept doing the slow blink. “I’ll call Emma tomorrow,” I said, “but how much is Emma going to be able to send me? A hundred? Two?”

  “We don’t need much,” Gina said, kicking off her shoes, trying to crawl under the covers without getting off the bed.

  “No? We still have to get back to New York. Gas, food, lodging. A hundred is not going to cut it.”

  “It’ll be okay, Sloane,” said Candy. “Gina will be with you.”

  Gina shook her head. “Gina will not be with her. Gina is going to Bakersfield, and staying with Eddie. I’m not going back.” She pulled the covers to her head. The AC was working poorly. I thought she’d be hot.

  “Gina,” I groaned. I didn’t know how to say it. “Come on. What happened to I’m going to stick it out with you until the end?”

  “This is the end, girlfriend,” said Gina, throwing off the blanket. “What about all the things you told me? No hitchhikers. Once, twice. You told me many things. You promised me many things. We wouldn’t be here with our life upside down if you’d kept to any of the things you told me.”