Sun City by Joseph Di Prisco

Author:Joseph Di Prisco
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: M P Publishing Limited
Published: 2005-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Dolly Leone: One Night at the End of the World Motel

The ice machine sneezed and startled Dolly. “Gee-Yee-Zus-Ah,” he said out loud, looking up from Val’s book. His eyes shot to the watercolor hanging above the floral print quilt covering the bed. He didn’t know art, but he knew when a painter ought to be marched before a firing squad and shot at sunrise.

On the bed Ranger The Dog was sleeping heavily, her head upon a pillow. She looked contented, which made Dolly feel contented. A moment later, he was worrying, because he never wanted her to feel anything less than contented. His was no kind of life for a dog, and he contemplated giving her to Miki when everything settled down. Actually, it was no kind of life for a man, either, but chances of persuading Miki to act upon that proposition were somewhat smaller than her acting upon the former.

As for that painting, it was quite impressionistic. The first impression it left upon Dolly was that this was a serene nocturnal ocean glittery with moonlight. The second impression was, why bother? Admittedly, the seascape concept made perverse sense, insofar as the ocean was nowhere in view from the Oceanview Motel: “Romance—The Pacific—Dogs/Children—Not Allowed.” The room’s one window, whose drapes were tied back with sailor-knotted hemp, did, however, afford a glimpse of Dolly’s van in the parking lot. As he was driving south, past the artichoke fields and strip malls and vineyards and eucalyptus trees, he had seen only one neon Vacancy sign, the Oceanview’s, and the only room left at the motel was adjacent to the ice machine.

If the early indications were reliable, this piece of equipment might make a run for Most Popular Piece of Machinery in the Golden State.

It sneezed once more. And then there was an avalanche of ice, and then it sneezed again, and then there was another avalanche. Dolly flung open his door and stared down the old man in hitched-to-midbelly red-and-green plaid slacks who was nowhere near a golf course and who was standing five feet away and immersed in the project of filling up what appeared to be one of perhaps a half-dozen waiting buckets with the popular ice.

“You almost done?” Dolly said. “I’m trying to read.”

The old man looked dumbly back at him.

“Hey, you. Old man. I’m talking to you. I said I got work in here.”

The man tilted his head, the way Ranger did when she was puzzled, before he reached for his belt and toyed with what looked like a beeper. “There,” he said, “forgot to switch my hearing aid on. My wife always says I should do this but I’m vain and I forget. Can I help you with something, young fella?”

“I was saying I was reading— Never mind.” Dolly considered executing the ice machine and the man, but instead said, “Need a hand?”

“That’s mighty neighborly, but I can handle the situation, thanks, young fella.”

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