Chapter 12
Daphne
“If you take us through the lights, I promise I won’t ask for anything else. I’ll be a good girl and keep my mouth shut. I won’t break out any of the other brochures.”
“You’re only saying that because all the attractions are off Route 40 and we’re taking back roads.”
“I’m only saying that because they’re all closed. It’s Christmas Eve, and it's late.”
He looked at the clock on the giant control panel. “That hospital feed you anything while I was getting coffee?”
“In the ten whole minutes you left me alone? No. There was no tray with creamy chicken goop and jello. I couldn’t eat anyway. My stomach was convulsing in spasms. I’ll never be able to eat kettle corn again.” She said sadly.
“What about hot cocoa? That came up first, if my shoes are any witness.”
“I’ll never give up hot cocoa.”
“Are you really all better? Just like that?”
“Just like that. I’m tired from the drugs, but it’s nothing cocoa and Christmas lights wouldn’t cure.”
He said nothing. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and his right foot pushed heavier against the gas pedal, but he said nothing.
The next exit had him switching lanes. Then the blinker came on.
“Really? The lights?”
“Food, Daphne. This might be the last exit for a while. You just got out of the hospital where you could very well have died. You need to eat. Even if it is..." he squinted to read the sign, “El Dorado Norte Mexican Fiesta Café.” He tried to hide his disdain with a deep inhale. Where were we, anyway? Lebanon at least had a Bob Evans.
This wasn’t even a town. It was just an unnamed exit off a back road with a motor lodge that, if it had ever been inhabitable—and I had my doubts—the warped remaining slats of vertical blinds and the abandoned vehicles parked on the weedy concrete pad told me it definitely wasn’t any longer. A tenth of a mile past the motel, Chris made a right at a half-lit letter board sign.
Tires crunched over the sparse gravel in the parking lot. Neither of us could disguise our trepidation as he turned off the car. We both stared, wide-eyed, at the restaurant. If you could call it that.
Ahead of us squatted a cinderblock structure that had once been white. Or maybe blue. Or an oddly pretty sunset lavender. It was hard to tell from all the layers of flaking paint.
I was no snob. I’d had some of the best food at truck stops, fast food joints, and food trucks—the kind that catered to day laborers, not art-show attendees. I prided myself on my goat-like stomach of steel and my ability to enjoy just about any cuisine. But this might be my limit. This was… iffy, at best. At least that’s what I was telling myself to avoid imagining the diverse strains of molds and bacteria that probably lurked in their walk-in.
I tried to stay positive. “What if the food is really good but they’re recent immigrants and this building is all they could afford. We might be about to have the best meal of our lives,” I suggested.
A doubtful eyebrow rose high over his tortoiseshell frames. But he unclicked his seatbelt anyway, apparently ready to die on this sword. At least this mishap was his doing.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this place,” I said, almost believing it.
“Really? Because I get front. ”
“Front? Like the mob?”
He still hadn’t made a move to open his door. I could tell he was wrestling with the idea of feeding me food, versus potentially feeding me to the mob.
“Mob’s a stretch, considering we’re in rural Tennessee. Probably more like drugs. At best.”
I jumped out of the car and made it all of five steps toward the door before Chris caught me by the elbow.
“Daph, wait. This is a bad idea.”
“Probably, but what are the alternatives? We can drive the half hour back to your house and start over tomorrow morning—I already know that’s not a real option for you. We can drive ten minutes west and find an Olive Garden or something, or we can continue on these little country roads. But who knows what we’ll find the farther we get from civilization?”
Chris swallowed hard, weighing his options.
“If we go back to Lebanon, do you really think you’ll be fit to drive three hours at night, after eating unlimited breadsticks? If you’re that determined not to end up in bed with me tonight, El Dorado Norte… whatever it’s called… is our best option.”
“We’re not turning around.” There was conviction in his eyes as he said it. Turning around meant another night together. Back in bed. We both knew it, even if he had to keep up that pretense of a wall between us, no matter how thoroughly it had been demolished. Every moment, every adversity, had been a wrecking ball to his defenses.
“I guess it’s El Dorado, then,” I decided.
I avoided touching the rusted railing as I climbed the steps. I didn’t feel like taking my fancy new tetanus shot for a test drive tonight. Chris used a handkerchief to open the door, ushering me inside with a hand pressing into my lower back. Wall indeed.
It took my eyes a while to adjust to the light. A few men, presumably the truckers, ate alone at old-fashioned laminated booths. It was dark, but it didn’t look at all like the source of dysentery it did from outside.
At the hostess stand, an older white woman with black cherry hair and heavy earrings dangling from stretched-out lobes ran her eyes up and down the length of me, over my sliced-up jacket, my thigh high socks, my short skirt. Her eyes turned to Chris and softened. Her entire face was beaming, transformed with a flirtatious smile and knowing eyes.
“The special, hun?” she asked him.
“No… uh... thank you.” He turned me back around, using more pressure this time to urge me quickly out the door.
“What’s the special?” I threw over my shoulder.
“We don’t want the special,” he said into my ear.
“Larry,” the woman called.
An older man with thin hair and a Titans t-shirt stretched over a big belly came around the corner.
“We’re leaving. Now,” Chris told me.
“She wants to know what the special is.”
“Burgers.”
“Oh,” I said, relieved, brushing Chris off me and smiling at the man. “I thought for a minute it was going to be—never mind. That doesn’t sound very Tex Mex. But yes, two, please.”
“Daphne,” Chris said through his teeth.
The food certainly looked edible, judging from the plates of the other diners. Besides, it would be rude to leave now.
“Follow me,” said the gruff man, leading us away from the other men who hadn’t even turned their heads when we’d walked in.
When the man swung open a door that looked like an employee entrance, I felt a small jolt of panic.
It was darker back here. Louder, with music thumping off the walls.
“I hope you brought cash,” Chris said under his breath.
Larry heard him anyway. “ATM’s over there.”
“It’s a little... this is an interesting choice of aesthetics.”
“Is it, though?” Chris asked rhetorically.
“I—”
“You got any ID on you?” Larry stopped us in front of a set of velvet curtains.
Chris dug out his wallet. “No badges,” Chris said through gritted teeth.
Larry looked almost amused for a split second. “Sheriff's our best customer. We got half-price drinks through happy hour.”
“What time does your happy hour end?” I asked, knowing it was already past happy hour in most restaurants.
“It don’t end.”
“What beer do you have in bottles?” Chris asked.
“Heineken alright?”
“Two,” Chris said, daring me to refute him.
The man nodded and guided us through the curtains into a small purple room with a few chairs and a very small table. Interesting. There was an elevated platform in the corner.
Chris took a deep breath and shrugged out of his jacket. “Looks relatively clean at least. My feet aren’t sticking to the floor like they were in the hallway.”
“I don’t drink beer.”
“I don’t trust the taps here. Or the glasses. You’ve sent us hurtling back through time into the Wild West. I want to take as few risks as possible.” Oh, shit. At least Chris knew what was going on. Wait... what was going on?
The curtain flicked open and I spun around from where I’d been deciding on what chair to sit in. My breath whooshed out of my lungs. A short, pretty brunette carried two bottles on a tray, talking a mile a minute with a thick East Tennessee accent. “Hi, welcome to the El Dorado. First time?” She handed us our bottles, first to me, then to Chris. Her thick, black lashes lowered as her gaze practically licked over his entire buttoned-up body. Then she turned back to me, biting her lip and giving me the same perusal, like a tiger looking at a thick juicy piece of marbled ribeye—or some choice cut of meat that was way out of my Aldi hamburger budget. “I’m Valentine,” she said sweetly. “If you like what you see, I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” She leaned in close to my ear, giggling. “You’re really cute. I’ll make it a special night for you both.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Daphne,” I said politely, a little confused.
I froze. I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know where to look. At her? Was it even okay? Her tiny stretchy red dress. lined with white fur and open down to her navel, exposed a vast expanse of glossy skin and perfect, round cleavage. I assumed she was dressed as some kind of slutty Mrs. Claus. The material looked more like my tights and barely covered her ass or her tits. I could see through to her pierced nipples! Tanned and glowing legs ended in clear plastic platform heels six, seven, no… damn, they must be eight inches high!
I tore my gaze from her feet to question Chris, who was glaring at me under what was becoming a single, perpetually raised eyebrow.
“Crystal’s backstage getting ready. We just had a shift change. She’ll be taking the floor any moment now.” Valentine flicked a switch on the wall and a two-way mirror showed what was behind the dark glass. I gasped audibly. Embarrassingly. From our safe little nook, I could suddenly see a larger room beyond the glass. One with plenty of seating, other tables, and a peninsular stage capped with a silver pole glinting under stage lights. No one was sitting in the chairs.
“Aw, sweetie. You look nervous,” she said to me, dropping the overt flirtation from her voice. “Don’t be. There are cameras everywhere and I don’t solicit. Relax, baby. I’m going to take really good care of you. Unless you prefer Crystal. Let me know. I won’t be offended. I’ll put your orders in. You sit back... do your thing..." She looked at Chris who was still glaring at me. “Enjoy your food and the show. Then we’ll have a little fun, maybe, if you feel comfortable. You like pickles?”
“In what way?” I was almost afraid to ask.
She laughed, her giggle throatier, darker now. “On your burger, sweetie. Oh my God, you’re precious.”
“Oh. Sure.”
The curtain closed. I still couldn’t move. Slowly, I rotated my body to Chris.
“What just happened to me?”
“You ordered the Special, annnd… I’m pretty sure that means you’re getting a lap dance with your burger.”
“How was I supposed to know what that meant? Are we... is this... a strip club?”
“You just pick up on that now?”
“Valentine wasn’t just being friendly?”
“Mm,” he smirked. “There may have been an element of authenticity there. I’m certain you’re exponentially more attractive than the majority of her clientele. Then again, I’m biased.”
“You’d think they’d advertise their offerings a little better. How are people supposed to know?”
“People aren’t supposed to know. It’s black market. It’s illegal to serve alcohol in strip clubs in Tennessee. So is full nudity. I’m guessing the Special comes with that, too.”
Nudity. Was Valentine…? “Do you think it would be rude if we left now?”
“And give Valentine blue balls? You can’t skip out on your burger. Besides, this little detour promises to be one hell of a side quest.”
“But—”
“You stay here and decide. In the meantime, I’m not tipping Valentine with a black card. We need cash, and probably a lot of it, knowing you and your social mores. This is going to be one expensive meal. Can I trust you not to get in too much trouble before I make it back from the ATM?”
“You can trust me.”
The way he did a double-take over his shoulder told me he did not trust me as far as he could spit.