Smog Baggage of Eternal Night by Lisa Morton

Author:Lisa Morton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JournalStone Publishing
Published: 2013-08-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

The next couple days passed as if they didn’t exist. I felt antsy like there was something I was supposed to do, or else I was missing an affair, the way a celebration occurs and you show up at two in the morning after it’s ended. By the time you arrive, everyone is passed-out drunk, the music’s turned off, and the pink streamers hanging off light fixtures just look limp and spent. During that time I penned some editorials and nursed a steady, dull ache in my head, sold some collectible spoons to a silver dealer, and wrote a monthly letter to my folks back home. Each night I dreamt of people sitting around a campfire in the snow, like a powwow. Around them spread a forest, and I wondered if it was the same snowy forest that Joey said he dreamt of. The people sitting around the campfire had empty faces, just the shell of an egg sitting on top of a torso, and they disappeared into the night one-by-one.

By the time Thursday afternoon arrived, I was bored and desperate for some action. I’d been waiting for today’s baggage auction for a long time; I hadn’t been to an auction or race in a week, as all the tracks were closed for the summer heat and most other “venues of chance” were on hiatus. I ironed my pants and dialed Joey at the same time, holding the handset in the crook of my neck while steam drifted up my face.

He picked up after nine rings.

“Hey, it’s me, Charlie. You ready? Roman’s is opening in half an hour. Want me to meet at your room?”

“Charlie...?” His voice drifted, as if my name were a question or a fleeting memory from something long ago.

“Yeah, from upstairs. You drinkin’ already?”

There was a pause between us, and in that lack of conversation I heard dim voices in the background, muffled by distant music, but words repeating, chanting.

The records.

“Hey, pal,” he said slowly. “I’m not feeling up to snuff today. Why don’t you go on without me.”

“Geez, they’re liquidating baggage from the Lincolnwood Hyatt today. The Lincolnwood! Kim Novak roosted there last month, vacationing from Hollywood. I heard the porter lost one of her satchels. Who knows what might turn up today.”

“Make a bid for me. I’m gonna take it easy.”

“You want me to pick up some soup for you on the way back?”

“No, no, pal, it’s okay. I’m just gonna sleep it off.”

I shrugged, as if he could see me through the phone line. “Okay, hope you feel better tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “We’ll be fine.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked, but the line went dead as he hung up.

I never knew Joey to call off plans due to sickness. Catching the sniffles wasn’t reason enough to skip playing the auctions. Of course, age was catching up to us, and the weather extremes didn’t help. As of late, I also had felt sluggish, my mind a bit muddled. Maybe there was a bug going around the hotel.

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