1979: Houston
Tad rolled over with a groan and pulled a pillow over his head, trying to block out the tinny hotel alarm clock radio. After the bucks he spent on this suite at the Shamrock, the least they could do was furnish the room with a decent radio.
His head felt like it was being stabbed by innumerable fuzzy needles. His mouth tasted like vomit and old cigarettes. Getting up seemed impossible, but now he was awake, he had to pee. With due caution for his hangover-inflicted head, he levered himself upright. His protective pillow dropped away. His bleary gaze landed on a perfect ass half covered by the white hotel sheets.
White blonde hair obscured her sleeping face. What was her name again? The song on the radio shifted to Strange Ways while he staggered to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. After closing the door with a hand that only sort of obeyed his commands, he eased himself onto the toilet. He wasn’t steady enough on his feet to piss standing up like a real man, as his dad would say.
Several chugs of water from a Shamrock embossed glass helped his mouth a little, if not his head. As he stared in the mirror at his puffy, bloodshot eyes, a light tapping sounded on the bathroom door.
“Girls need to tinkle too, honey!”
What was her name? Why couldn’t he remember? Tad remembered banging her in a cocaine-driven frenzy. He white-knuckled the edge of the porcelain sink and willed the man in the mirror to dredge up this hussy’s name for him.
“Theodore Eustace Booker! I’m not playing. I need to pee. Now!” The gal’s light, melodic voice carried a dark edge of petulance.
“Jesus!” He wrenched the door open. She slid past him, naked as the day she was born.
“Not here yet.” She gave him a playful, one-handed shove that propelled him out of the bathroom. “Order us up some room service, honey.”
“How do you know my name?” Tad howled at the closed bathroom door. He never told whores his full name.
“Steak and eggs. Double carafes of coffee. Biscuits. Strawberry jam. Orange juice. Chop-chop!”
“Bitch,” Tad muttered under his breath as he headed for the phone to do her bidding.
This is why he preferred the Vietnamese prostitutes. The Boat people. Though they barely and rarely spoke English, they were desperate enough to do anything if you waved a fifty in their face. Eager to please. No backtalk, no demanding room service. Not that he couldn’t afford a little room service.
He’d stopped hiring Vietnamese prostitutes because he heard of some serious VD going around. He didn’t want his junk going putrid and falling off. As he hung up the phone, his eyes found his guest’s tote bag in the corner. Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader gear. Shit. On top of everything, he’d been sleeping with the enemy.
By the time he managed to pull his pants to let room service in, he felt a little better. Sure, he was an Oilers fan. And man oh man, that game yesterday. 30-24. His wild-ass bet sure paid big. Best Thanksgiving ever. Why shouldn’t he celebrate with a little bit of conquered ass from the losing team?
His memory was returning in kalidescopic slivers. She was from downstairs in the Trader Vic’s. Flush with new money from the oil and real estate boom, Tad worked hard to nudge his way, into the happening scene. The Shamrock was the place to see and be seen. The Houston Riviera. He hoped to score a junior grade starlet from the movie that finished filming over at Gilly’s. How he ended up with this blonde cheerleader was still lost to his hangover fog.
He sprawled on the bed suffering, listening to her sing to herself in the shower. Then, he had to listen to the ear-piercing whine of the blow dryer. She sounded way too happy to be hungover. But hadn’t she helped him drink the empty fifth of Jack lying next to the coffee table? Hadn’t she done some lines of coke with him? His memory felt like a broken kaleidoscope.
“Honey,” Tad whined.
She emerged from the bathroom made up and coiffed but wearing nothing but the hotel bathrobe. It flapped open over her perfect body. He couldn’t look away, though he was too wiped to do anything about it. Yet.
“I’m not your honey. Call me Billie.” She dropped her makeup bag into her oversize tote.
“Is that your name?”
“Of course it is.” She gave an indelicate snort. “Why would I give you a fake name?” She stood over him, her face hardening into a frown. “Do you think I’m a prostitute, Tad?”
“No ma’am,” he said with a nervous swallow. “It’s just, we did it all and …we just met.” His voice trailed off into a nervous giggle. He stared at the glitter-spangled popcorn ceiling as she spun on her heel and went away to let in room service.
When he got up the courage to look at her again, her robe was closed and she was handing the bellhop a fifty. Out of his wallet. One shapely eyebrow quirked. Any complaint he died in his throat.
“Get over here and eat your breakfast like a good boy.” Billie slathered butter on a fresh biscuit.
“Jesus Christ,” Tad muttered as he pushed himself upright again.
As he sat up on the edge of the bed, Billie pointed the butter knife at him with a scowl. She examined him and her expression shifted to something like pity. She flipped over a coffee cup, poured, and walked it over to him.
He accepted the hot cup with a surly thank you. The brew stung his throat and straightened out his head a little. So, she wasn’t a Hollywood starlet. A real live NFL cheerleader was nothing to sneeze at, right. How many of the guys at the brokerage had done a pro cheerleader?
“So that was a hell of a game, wasn’t it?” Tad said.
He watched her as she ate eggs like a lady, a linen napkin in her lap and everything. She blotted her mouth before answering with a jaunty grin.
“Oh, so you’re an Oilers fan. Figures.”
Tad had never seen anyone eat bacon with a knife and fork before. It was weird and intimidating. Her look of pure bliss as she took a bite of biscuit took his mind off her fancy manners. She’d be up for a little morning action, for sure. Day after Thanksgiving, chances were neither of them had any place to be anytime soon.
“Yeah, I like winners. Your Cowboys got their ass spanked by my Oilers. But maybe you like that spanking kind of stuff,” Tad teased. Hope for a farewell tumble bloomed wild in his heart.
Long black lashes fluttered in his general direction as she finished her biscuit. After a long drink of orange juice, she looked at him, unimpressed.
“I liked a lot of things last night. But now it’s broad daylight, and I have things to do. People to see.” She grinned at him. Her beautiful smile chilled him to the bone. “Or maybe it’s the other way around!”
While Billie got dressed, he sulked. He didn’t move when she rooted through the bedclothes, hunting for discarded lingerie. Last night, she was the only girl in the world for him. Everything about her was hypnotic, seductive. Now she was walking out on him before he was done with her.
“So you get around with a lot of guys, do you?”
Her ice-blue eyes locked with his and again he couldn’t look away. He wished with all his might he could take back the catty words, so he could get away from her unscathed. Wait, where did that crazy thought come from? She was a slender gal. Tall but lean. She couldn’t hurt him. He could bend her in two. He should lay off the coke a little. Paranoia will destroy ya, he thought and felt a little better.
Billie’s eyes turned pitying again. She pounced onto the bed to ride astride him. Her hands pinned his arms down while she kissed him until he was breathless. Just when he thought he might be getting a round of morning sex after all, she dismounted. Her eyes were distant as she patted her flaxen hair into place.
“Wait. When will I see you again?” A helpless, hungry feeling came over him.
“If you’re lucky, not for a long, long time.” She came to the edge of the bed and looked down at him once more. “I mean, sure, it’s been fun. But do you want to throw away your life like this?”
Her face disappeared from above his. The muffled click of her heels through the green shag carpet marked her departure.
“Bitch!” He yelled without raising his head.
“Straighten up your act, Tad. Consider that a warning.” The door slammed shut to punctuate her sentence.
Tad retreated to the bathroom to scrub the lipstick and regret off his face. When he got out of the shower, room service had come and gone again. They clearedthe breakfast dishes and left him with fresh coffee and a plate of club sandwiches. No wonder the high rollers liked this place.
With the lipstick-stained highball glass cleared away, there was no trace left of Billie. A weird panic hit him. He pawed through the bed and smiled wide when he found her lost panties jammed down at the foot of the bed. He had his trophy after all. Next time, he’d remember to bring his Polaroid instant camera.
About twelve hours later, Tad was ready to do some boot-scooting at Gilley’s. The parking lot was packed. Honky Tonk music echoed across the asphalt from the cavernous building. This was much better than going home to his apartment.
His mom would be calling and calling and nagging for him to come home for turkey leftovers. Why couldn’t she understand? He had better things to do than hang out with second cousins twice removed. He didn’t need any marshmallow-encrusted yams.
Bikini mechanical bull riding? Yes please. He’d take a front-row seat. But first, a quick check in the mirror of his Firebird to make sure he didn’t have dust under his nose. Then off he went, strutting in his new ostrich boots and brown felt Stetson. He passed some time in the beer line, ogling promising bikini bull riders and potential dates for the night.
Gilley’s was supposed to be getting more upscale since the movie was filmed there. It still looked pretty rough to Tad. It was only a big barn with a lot of noise, after all. And a lot of pretty girls, he had to admit. He sucked in his gut above his tight blue jeans as he checked out the crowd.
By the time he had a longneck in hand, he was pretty shaky, so he headed off to the toilets to top off his coke. A short line would straighten him out and keep him sharp and on top of his game. Some guy was already getting it on with one of the bikini girls in a stall in the back.
The sink was filthy. Tad poured a generous dollop of coke on the back of his hand and sniffed it like snuff. The aroma of backed-up toilet hit him with his favorite rush. He grimaced and shook it off.
On the way out of the bathroom, he collided with a woman in a royal blue bikini with a white star over her left boob. White blonde hair, crystalline blue eyes, perfect hourglass figure. She was everything he ever wanted. His dream girl. She seemed familiar somehow. He blinked, trying to focus through his buzz. As he searched for something witty to say, the couple that had been shagging in the stalls walked by.
“I don’t know. He looks pretty bad,” the woman fretted as she smoothed down her shirt.
“He’s still twitching. He could snap out of it.” The dude sounded less concerned.
“We should tell one of the bouncers.”
“We should mind our own business. The last thing I need is Cheryl finding out I was at Gillies with you instead of out hunting in Davy Crockett with the guys. I don’t need my name on a police report. If he’s dead, someone else will take care of it soon enough.”
The couple’s bickering faded into the pounding music, and Tad found he had nothing to say. The blonde’s cold gaze filled with pity that felt dreadful, and dreadfully familiar.
“Oh, Tad,” she sighed. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Sorry?”
The blonde gave him a pat and locked arms with him. She steered him back into the stinking bathroom.
“Hey, honey. We just met. I can buy you a beer first.” Tad tried to pull away.
The blonde steered him to the sinks, where a man in ostrich boots lay next to a toppled brown Stetson hat. His body gave one last twitch and went still.
“Oh God, oh God. He looks dead. We have to call an ambulance. Tell somebody to call an ambulance!”
“It’s time to go, Theodore Eustance Booker.”
Tad looked at the body again. “I’m dead? Why am I dead? I can’t be dead! This is your fault. I remember you, you’re…” he fumbled through his memory for the name.
“Billie Travis, at your service. Your escort to meet your Maker.” Her face turned reproachful. “I warned you.”
A half-drunk urban cowboy staggered in, saw Tad’s body, and scurried out again. He passed through Tad and Billie’s spectral forms unseeing but with the shiver of crossing a fresh grave.
“I don’t wanna be dead!”
Billie shrugged one sun-bronzed shoulder. “You party with Death the way you have with me the last few months, eventually you have to pay your tab. Come on, cowboy. It’s time to ride off into the sunset.”
“Please. I’ll do anything.”
Billie put one red fingernail to her pert little chin. “Anything? Anything like eating marshmallow yams with those second cousins of yours anything?”
“Anything,” Tad promised with all the fervor in his suddenly sober heart. The ambulance crew brought out their equipment and started to work on him, right on the grimy bathroom floor.
“Okay. This is going to hurt a bit.” Billie winked at him. “But hey, remember? You like rough stuff.”
Tad hung his head, a sudden feeling of shame washing through him as he remembered who he had become.
“Clear!” yelled an ambulance guy.
Billie leaned in as if to kiss him, but pulled back before their lips met. On the bathroom floor, the ambulance crew’s defib paddles made his body jerk and twitch.
“Straighten up your act, Tad. Or next time, I won’t be so nice to you.” Her lips were like molten fire on his.
He gasped for breath and caught a glimpse of the industrial barn ceiling of Gilly’s swimming by him as they rolled him out on a gurney.
Later, in the hospital, he woke to find his mother asleep in one chair at his bedside and Billie in the other. Her slinky blue wrap dress slid up her thighs as she leaned over to paint her toenails. She looked unconcerned as to whether he woke up or not.
“You again,” he croaked. “Go away.”
“You get clean, Tad. That way you won’t have to see me again for a long, long time.” Billie dropped her nail polish in her purse and stood. “Remember. I’m always watching you.” She grinned a death’s head grin at him. “Always!”
She pecked a kiss on his cheek that felt like dry ice or a hot brand, and then she was gone. As one tear of relief slipped down Tad’s cheek, his mother awoke with a start and grabbed his hand.
“Hi, Ma. I’ve been a bad boy. But I promise I’ll do better…”
From the hall, he heard Billie call, “I’ll hold you to it!”
