The Black Train

CHAPTER FOURTEEN I

Collier awoke to a wall of sun in his eyes, and an agitated rapping sound.

Ugh. What the—

A frowning man in a police uniform was knuckling the window. Collier rolled it down, shielding his eyes.

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Collier,” the cop said. “I heard you were in town. I’m Sheriff Legerski. Here’s your ticket.”

Collier tried to shake off his grog. “Ticket for what?”

“Not even big-time TV stars can illegally park.” The sheriff indicated the sign right next to Collier’s lime-sherbet fender. NO PARKING 9-5.

Collier looked at the ticket. “A hundred bucks?”

“Usually it’s twenty-five, but you get the celebrity rate.” The sheriff guffawed. “Just kidding. But thems the breaks, you know, Mr. Collier?”

Jesus. Collier signed with a proffered pen.

“Just send your hundred in anytime you like. Check, money order…or, you can just put twenty-five in my hand right now, you know, if it’s more convenient.”

Collier gave him the cash, head aching from the sun.

“Thanks. Say, is that Ms. Cusher in there?”

“Uh, yeah.”

The sheriff winked. “I won’t ask.” He tore up the ticket. “But I really love your show! Hope ya have a great day. Oh, and move the car, huh? And you might want to get it painted a better color, too. Something more…manly?”

Collier moved the car several yards to another sign that read FREE PARKING ALL DAY. Beside him, Dominique roused.

She blinked around. “What the hell?”

“Good morning.”

Her hands felt around the car as if in disbelief. “What am I doing in this weird-looking car? And—what time is it?”

“Quarter after ten.”

“Damn it!” She brushed a tangle of hair out of her face. “I was supposed to open at ten! How could you let me sleep so late?” A fretful look at the restaurant’s front doors showed several employees grinning at them. “Damn it!”

She smirked down at her shoes. “Where are my socks?” A hand came to her bosom. “Where’s my bra?” Then her eyes bugged when she briefly slipped her hand below her belt line.

She gave him a long, hard look. “Justin. Where’s my pubic hair?”

Collier leaned back and sighed. “You shaved it off last night. In the bath closet. By candlelight. With a very old straight razor.”

He could see her mind churning behind her eyes.

“I…think I…remember,” she said. When she touched the side of her head, she glared. “I also remember you punching me in the head!”

“It wasn’t like you were giving me much choice, Dominique.”

“I was…”

“Smothering me with a pillow?”

Her open stare told him she remembered. “And we didn’t…”

“No, we didn’t have sex. Your celibacy is secure.”

She was rubbing her face. “But…I wanted to, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t want to,” Collier said. “Someone else wanted you to.”

“What do mean?” Then another eye-bugging stare. “Oh my God, did I grab your—”

“Dominique, just forget about it. It’s all over.”

“But what happened?”

Collier needed a beer. “I believe you were possessed by the spirit of Penelope Gast,” he finally said.

She sat back in her seat, boggled.

“Just forget it. Pretend it never happened. Just go inside now, go to work, and forget about the whole thing.”

She nodded slowly, was about to get out of the car, then paused, her hand to her bosom again. “Give me my underwear.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean? Where is it?”

“Your underwear’s hanging on the bedpost in my room, where you left it.”

“Well then drive back to the inn. Justin, I can’t go change at my apartment ’cos the fumigators are still there.”

Collier dully shook his head. “I’m never going in that house again, Dominique. I’ll be happy to drive you up there if you want to go back in that room and get your stuff, but…not me. Ain’t happening.” He eyed her. “Want me to drive you up?”

“No, on second thought—”

“It won’t kill you to work one day with no undies,” Collier guaranteed her. The image of her breasts swam in his head. “Trust me, a braless Dominique behind the bar will keep the place packed all day.”

She got out of the car and walked to his side in a daze. “Where are you going now?”

“I have to figure out a way to get my luggage and laptop out of that room. You go to work now, but I’ll be back a little later.”

She leaned down to the window. “You’re something, you know that? Last night you really could’ve—”

“But I didn’t.” He grinned at her. More visions of her impeccable nudity swam before him. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”

“Are you looking down my blouse, Mr. Collier?”

“Yeah.”

She kissed him and laughed. “See you later,” she said, then rushed embarrassed to unlock the tavern’s doors.

But Collier’s lifted spirits began to sink when he drove back up to the inn. The blazing daylight didn’t offer as much comfort as he wished. He already knew that he could not reenter the house, daylight or not.

He jumped out of the car when he spotted Jiff emptying the ashtrays on the porch.

“Hey, Jiff! I need to talk to you—”

The younger man sat down and slouched on a front bench. “Howdy, Mr. Collier.”

“Jiff, are you all right?” Collier asked when he noticed the man’s bloodshot eyes and sagging posture.

“Had too much to drink last night, Mr. Collier.”

Good. Then maybe you don’t remember watching me in bed with your mother and sister, Collier thought.

“You ever drunk so much you’re still drunk the next day?”

“All the time.”

“Well, that’s how I feel now.”

Maybe this’ll perk him up. Collier took a fifty out of his wallet. “Jiff, I need a big favor. I need you to go up to my room and get my suitcase and laptop. I have to check out now.”

Jiff slumped in the seat. “Shee-it, Mr. Collier, I sure hope you ain’t leavin’ on account’a what happened…” But then the sentence collapsed.

“On account of what happened last night?” Collier said. “In…your mother’s room?”

Jiff thumbed his eyes.

“What did happen, Jiff? Was that really us…or was it the house?”

Jiff’s eyes leveled. “It was the house doin’ stuff to us, I guess is how ya’d put it. Shee-it. And that’s why you don’t wanna go back in, huh?”

“Yeah, Jiff.”

“Oh, it’s okay now. It don’t happen much, just…every now’n then: the dreams and what’cha hear sometimes’n see, or think ya see. And what’cha do. But Ma says it’s the house goin’ through some sort of cycle. Been that way since the war.”

Collier didn’t care.

“Ma also says it’s certain folks who start the cycle, but I ain’t never really figured that one.”

Certain folks, Collier thought.

Again, he didn’t care. “I think I’ll…stay outside anyway.”

“Okay, Mr. Collier.” Jiff dragged himself up and took the fifty. “I’ll be right back down with yer stuff.”

“Oh, and could you tell your mother to get my bill?” Collier asked. “She already ran my card.”

“Sure thing.”

Collier released a long breath.

When he looked at the fat oak tree out front, he smiled. The tree looked just like any other.

A man with longish blond hair—obviously dyed—was walking up the path, carrying a small suitcase. He waved to Collier.

“Damn glad I found you, Justin. Christ, what’s going on?”

Collier couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew that dyed hair and phony tan anywhere. “Sammy?”

The man stepped up in a tacky Hawaiian shirt, blue jeans with starched creases, and gator-skin boots. “Man, I hate those six-hour flights. And driving here? What a pain in the ass.”

What the hell is HE doing here? Collier wondered.

“And congratulations on snagging that third slot from me…fucker.” Savannah Sammy smiled with bleached teeth; they shook hands.

“Sammy, why are you here?”

“’cos you’re here, and for what reason I couldn’t pretend to guess. Prentor told me you left some nutty message on his voice mail, said you’re not coming back to the show. Then he tries to call you back fifty times but says you never answered.”

Shit. The storm last night… And Collier’s phone was upstairs. Probably fifty screaming messages on it.

Sammy’s eyes thinned. “Tell me it’s bullshit, Justin. Your ratings jumped. You don’t turn down a contract renewal when your show skyrockets to the third slot.”

“It’s no bullshit,” Collier said. “I’m not going to sign the contract.”

Sammy smiled. “Sure, I get it. You’re holding out for more—cool. That’s why I’m here, my man. Prentor sent me here to convince you to come back. I know how it works—you don’t take the first offer. But I’m prepared to up that by—”

Collier shook his head, amused. “I’m not holding out, Sammy. I don’t want to do the show anymore.”

Sammy’s tan face creased. “Another channel made an offer? We’re prepared to counteroffer.”

“You’re not hearing me. I’m not coming back. I’m burned out. I’m sick of being on TV…”

Savannah Sammy looked on the verge of grabbing Collier’s throat. “Justin! You just got voted sexiest man on the Food Network! You don’t walk away from that!”

“I’m walking.” Collier winked. “But look at the bright side. With me gone, you’re back in the third seat, right behind Emeril and what’s her name.”

Sammy’s hair spray began to break. “You just hit the big time, brother! No one says no to that!”

“I do. I’m just going to write beer books and relax. I’m not even coming back to L.A.”

“Where are you gonna go?”

“Here,” Collier said. “I’m staying right here, in Gast.”

One of Sammy’s eyes began to twitch. “This is a Civil War tourist town in bumfuck Tennessee!”

“That’s right.” Collier patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry you came all this way for nothing, man. But my mind’s made up…”

“Jesus. Prentor’s not gonna believe it…” But then Sammy’s eyes flicked to the door’s glass panel. “Hey, check out this old woman with the fantastic bod. Holy shit.”

Mrs. Butler was coming through the doors, her breasts and wide hips highlighted in a clingy dress.

“And look at the little fireplug behind her!” Sammy added.

It was Lottie who followed her mother, in a halter and cutoff shorts barely bigger than a bikini.

“Mr. Collier, I’m so sorry you won’t be stayin’ any longer,” Mrs. Butler lamented. “Jiff said you needed to check out right now.”

“Yeah, I do. But I’m not exactly leaving town.” Collier signed his credit card receipt and returned it.

Lottie grinned at him. She mouthed, Let’s screw…

Some things never change, Collier thought.

But Mrs. Butler was already staring. “My goodness gracious!” She grabbed Collier’s arm. “Am I lookin’ at who I think I’m lookin’ at?”

This’ll be great! “Mrs. Butler, let me introduce you to Food Network star Savannah Sammy—”

“—of Savannah Sammy’s Sassy Smokehouse!” the old woman shrilled with delight. Lottie’s eyes snapped to Sammy’s crotch.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Sammy extended his hand.

The woman almost fainted. “Oh, I just LOVE your show! And, please, please, call me Helen! Are we blessed enough that you’ll be staying with us?”

Sammy hesitated, his eyes pasted to Mrs. Butler’s bosom. “Well…”

“Stay a few days, Sammy,” Collier goaded. He put a hand on each of their shoulders, and urged them to enter. “It’s the best bed-and-breakfast you’ve ever seen in your life.”

Sammy’s eyes couldn’t settle on whose body to examine harder: Mrs. Butler or Lottie. “Yeah, I guess I could stay a few days…”

Collier squeezed the old woman’s shoulder. “Mrs. Butler, why don’t you check Sammy into my old room?”

“Oh, I’d be happy to! Come on inside, Mr. Sammy!”

Lottie grabbed Sammy’s bag and followed them in.

“Later, Sammy,” Collier bid.

“Yeah, yeah—we’ll talk—”

No we won’t, Collier thought. He chuckled under his breath. This house is gonna LOVE him…

Jiff came back out with Collier’s suitcase and laptop. “Well, here’s your stuff, Mr. Collier. It’s been great knowin’ ya.”

“I’ll be seeing you around, Jiff. I’m moving here.”

Jiff gaped through his hangover. “You kiddin’?”

“Nope. I need a change of scenery. Bad.”

Jiff paused through some confusion. “Well that’s just dandy…”

Collier took the suitcase. “I got some things to tend to right now, but I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Okay, Mr. Collier.” But then Jiff stopped him. “Wait a sec. Before ya leave…” He pulled something out of his pocket. “Didn’t know if you wanted these in yer suitcase, ya know?”

He handed Collier Dominique’s bra and panties. “Thanks, Jiff. I’ll get them back to their rightful owner soon. Take care!”

Collier stowed his gear in the car and drove off.

Jiff just shook his head. “What the hell does he wanna move here for?” he muttered. II

Jiff decided to blow off the rest of the day; the hangover had thoroughly ragged him out, and with his mother and sister fussing over that Sammy guy who’d just checked in…

They’ll never know I’m gone.

Instead, Jiff moseyed over to the Spike, but not to turn any tricks. Shit, I’m even too hungover for that…For a hangover of this magnitude, there was only one real cure.

The long, dark bar had no customers this early, just Buster—in his vest and Frankenstein’s-monster haircut—hanging up some glasses.

“Jiff. Can’t believe you’re in here after all those beers you pounded last night.”

“Buster, I need me some hair’a the dog.”

“Don’t know where you put it.” Buster slid him a beer. “How’s business?”

“Sucks.”

They both laughed at the same time.

“Heard you’re cutting off old J.G. That true?”

Jiff sat slumped. “Yeah, that old whack job was gettin’ too kinky even for me.”

“I’ll bet the poor old guy is heartbroke. He’ll probably jump out his window.”

“Hope not.” Jiff paused. “He’d crack the street wide-open.”

Both men honked laughter.

“Or maybe you’re just gettin’ too old yourself,” Buster kept it up, “and don’t want to admit it.”

Jiff glared abruptly. “Hey. Jiff Butler will never be too old to hustle. Fellas’ll be paying for my hard peckerwood till I’m ninety.”

“Yeah? What are you now? Thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-two, bitch.”

Buster wheezed. “If you’re thirty-two, George Clooney’s a Republican.”

On the TV, Jiff spied the opening of Savannah Sammy’s Sassy Smokehouse. “You ain’t gonna believe this, Buster, but that guy just checked in, right after Justin Collier checked out. kind’a weird, you ask me.”

“Two Food Network guys in the same day, huh? That is weird. But the weirder part is him being in here the other day.” Buster leaned over, grinning. “You turn a trick with him?”

“Naw—”

“Sexiest man on the channel they’ve been saying all day.”

Jiff shrugged, then remembered with some shame what he’d almost done last night during the storm. Jesus…

He could only hope the house would settle down for a while now. “He’s straight, believe me. Got the hots for Dominique Cusher.”

“The Christian chick?”

Jiff nodded. “Straight folks are ALL fucked up, ain’t they?”

“Tell me about it.”

When Jiff signaled for another beer, Buster frowned. “You got money, Jiff? You’re not going to stiff me like the other day.”

Jiff pretended to look offended, and pulled out the fifty-dollar bill that Justin Collier had given him. “Just pull me another cold one…faggot.”

“You got it…fairy.”

Both men laughed.

Jiff felt better into the second beer.

“Wouldn’t mind going a round with that one,” Buster said, gesturing the screen.

Savannah Sammy was basting some ribs.

“He’s older than he looks, probably had a facelift,” Jiff speculated. “And his teeth are white as wall paint. Probably got hisself one’a them fancy California bleach jobs. Don’t like all that fake stuff…unless the money’s right.”

Both men laughed.

Jiff looked down at the fifty he’d put on the bar. Something seemed to be under it.

Oh, them check things, he remembered. He’d pulled them out of his pocket along with the fifty.

“What’s that?” Buster inquired.

Jiff showed him one. “Old paychecks from the original Gast Railroad.”

“From the Civil War?”

Jiff nodded.

“Yeah, damn, look at this.” Buster examined one. “This one’s from 1862.”

“I found ’em in Mr. Collier’s room.”

“Why would they be there?”

“He probably found ’em in an old bookcase or desk. These things are all over my ma’s inn.” He took the check back and looked at it, bored.

But the beer was going down but good. Jiff had a feeling he’d be hanging around for a while.

He was about to put the old checks back in his pocket when he happened to notice that one of them, though signed at the bottom, hadn’t been dated or filled out at all. III

When Collier walked into Cusher’s at just before noon, there was only one seat available at the bar. Employees whisked back and forth as the lunch rush commenced.

Dominique came over, still looking a bit abraded from last night.

“Not even noon yet and the bar’s totally full,” Collier commented.

She leaned over the bar on her elbows. “I know. It’s never this full so early.”

“Well, I told you so.”

“Told me what?”

Collier cocked a brow. “Braless Dominique equals full bar.”

“Get out of here.” She lowered her voice. “Did you get my underwear?”

Collier calculated the question. If I’m going to get involved with a girl who’s celibate then I at least deserve a perk or two. “Damn, sorry,” he lied. “I forgot.” He discreetly eyed the shadows of her nipples beneath the blouse. “My fault. Look, I’ll buy you some new underwear.”

“Thanks.” She frowned and suddenly seemed perturbed. “Do you want a beer?”

“No. From now on I’ll be adopting your deal. One beer a day.”

“Oh, so I guess you’ll be having it in L.A.?”

The comment, and her tone, befuddled him. “What?”

She sighed. “Look, Justin, I’m really lousy with good-byes…”

“I’m…not following you.”

“Earlier you told me you had to go back to the inn to get your luggage.” She pointed to the front window. “And right now I can see that funny green car of yours parked right there, with your suitcase in the backseat. That means you’re leaving.”

“Well…” Collier began.

“I didn’t know you were leaving this soon—I thought you were staying at least a few more days. But—damn it—it’s my own fault.”

“Your fault?”

“I always knew you’d be going back to L.A., so I had no business letting myself get attached to you. It was stupid. You just walked in here to say good-bye. I understand that. But I hate good-byes, so let’s just leave it at that, and you be on your way. Good-bye.”

Collier grabbed her hand. “I’m in love with you.”

“Justin, don’t say stuff like that—Great. You’re in love with me. And now you’re going back to L.A. and I’ll never see you again.”

“I—”

She tried to pull away. “Just go, all right? Just—”

“Would you let me talk, damn it!” he yelled.

Everyone at the bar turned their heads. The St. Pauli barmaid and the other waitresses stopped in their tracks.

Collier talked lower. “I’m not going back to L.A.”

“What?”

“I’m staying here.”

“For a few more days, you mean.”

“No, no. Permanently. I quit the show—”

Dominique blanched. “You did what?”

“I turned down my contract renewal yesterday. I’m tired of being on TV. I’m fried. I’m sick of rush hour, I’m sick of shooting schedules, and I’m sick of California. My lawyer’s going to send me the divorce papers. I’m going to give half of everything to my asshole wife and be done with it.” He squeezed her hand. “I want to stay here, in Gast.”

She was staring at him.

“I want to stay here and have a relationship with you,” he said.

Now the employees were listening attentively.

“Justin, I don’t know…You know what I’m like, you know—”

“I don’t care about all that. I can live with it. What’s the big deal? We’ll give it a shot. I’ll get an apartment in the area—or, hell, I’ll move in with you. If you get sick of me, just tell me. I’ll boogie. If it doesn’t work out, we split. We’ll just be friends. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know?” He gave her the eye. “So what do you say? Sound good to you?”

Dominique leaned all the way across the bar and kissed him. It was a serious, tongue-tussling kiss, and it went on long enough that he could hear some employees giggling and someone at the bar remark, “Get a room.” In the most absurd fantasy, Collier imagined himself making love to her…

But that’s never going to happen, he reminded himself when he looked down her top again and saw the cross floating between her breasts. Unless…

“And, who knows?” he said. “Maybe it will work out.”

“Yeah,” she gushed back. Perhaps it was a joke and perhaps it wasn’t, when she added, “Maybe it will work out and someday we’ll get married.”

Collier got dizzy when she kissed him again.

Yeah, maybe someday, he thought. Or maybe REAL SOON…