Who: Coby and Izzy What: Coby needs a place to live. When: June 30th Where: The motel
After two weeks of watery jello, gummy rice stir fry, and no T.V. to distract him from tracing the lines on the ceiling with his eyeballs, Coby M. Lewis was finally free from the hospital. His nausea had subsided, his skin had healed into dry, itchy patches, and he had meditated himself into absolute denial that anything outside of town was going awry. The nurse sent him on his way with nothing more than the freshly laundered suit on his back and his personal effects: the dead cellphone, the apartment keys from his pocket, and a beat-up leather wallet with his I.D. and credit cards. She hadn't even asked about billing, so Coby kissed his stay up to God and thanked her for her care.
The next problem he had was finding a new place to stay. The hospital wasn't an option - even if they let him, he wanted to get as far away from there as possible...which seemed to just be the other side of town. Was there mention of a motel at one point? He thought he heard one mentioned, so he set off under the overcast sky and sure enough, after about a half hour of wandering, he saw the deserted parking lot of the local Bates. "Can't wait to be attacked in the shower," he muttered to himself.
Maybe it was thinking he was the last man on earth, like in I Am Legend, that made the dusty old place that much creepier. He pushed open the office door and looked around. A teenaged girl was sitting with her feet up on the front desk, her heavily made up eyes closed. He approached slowly and said "Excuse me?"
Izzy's arm was propped on the arm of her chair, and she'd decided that there was no time like the present for a little nap. Even before the apocalypse, very few people came through the motel. Now, she hadn't had to really deal with anyone but Kieran, especially since Edie moved out.
The sound of a voice pulled her out of sleep and she opened her eyes, gazing dully at the young man who'd just interrupted her nap.
"Yeah?"
"Sorry. I need a room." He tried to give her a disarming smile but she looked like she was having none of it.
She blinked up at him. "Fifty bucks a night."
For a second he thought she was serious. Then he laughed. Then he realized she WAS serious and laughed more. "Okay." He pulled out his wallet and slid his green AMEX from its slit. "Do you take American Express?"
Izzy reached under the desk and pulling out a metal cashbox, setting it down with a heavy thunk. "What do you think?" she asked.
He tucked his card away with a confused expression. "What kind of lodging establishment doesn't take credit cards?" The wallet went back into his pocket and he looked around the room for an available atm.
"Well, a glance around might reflect the fact that you're standing in a total dump," she said. "And as an FYI, champ, nobody's going to be taking cards without working phone lines."
"Oookay, well, if credit card terminals aren't working anyway, then neither are ATMs and I used my last bit of cash on a bag of Fritos about twenty miles that way." Coby pursed his lips and tried to think of the best way to get this girl to slow her roll and give him a room. "It's not like you have any use for money, anyway. It's worthless. So how about we strike a barter deal instead."
Izzy raised an eyebrow, leaning forward so her elbow was on the desk and her chin resting in her palm. This was the second person to attempt to barter, and she was interested to see what he would try to say. "I'm listening."
"Well..." He lifted the lapels of his suit jacket and shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't get this far in my plan. I obviously don't have any chickens or shiny beads or anything on me, unless you really want a useless $300 cellphone. And I'm guessing anything you want you can just steal. So how about...security? Or do you have any dishes that need washing? Ooh! I'm good at making brunch!"
Izzy shook her head, a slow wicked smile forming on her lips. "We could use some maid service. The current maid hasn't cleaned shit in weeks."
"Maid service? Really? Cause I'm a boy, I'm not really good at...cleaning..." But beggars couldn't be choosers. This meant he'd have to get a change of clothes at some point. "Alright, alright. I clean our rooms once a week, I get free boarding. And just to keep you happy, I'll throw in french toast on Sundays. Deal?"
Izzy nodded. "Deal. You clean all the rooms, you can stay free." She pushed the battered registry book over to him. Room five. Put your name and sign there."
"Great, thanks." He took the book and signed it "Johnny B. Goode," then pushed it back to her. "So what's your name?"
"Izzy," she replied, pulling the key off the back wall and holding it out to him. She glanced at the book, saying nothing about the obvious fake name.
Coby took the key and looked at her expectantly. "Oh come on, not even a smile? It's funny! I can be the Holly Golightly to your Paul Varjak."
"Yes, your wit is astounding," Izzy deadpanned.
"Wow." He lifted an eyebrow and smiled. "You're a tough nut to crack. Are you at least gonna show me to my new home? It's only polite, you know."
Izzy wondered what about their encounter could have given him the mistaken idea that she was in any way polite. "It's not that hard to find. Just follow the numbers. You can count, can't you?"
"Actually I can't. Thanks for rubbing it in." He stuck the key in his pocket and felt something smooth and angular in there with it. He pulled it out - his last pack of cigarettes, that he was too sick to indulge in. Well that was about to change. Sweet mercy, thank you for small miracles. He pulled one out and felt around for his lighter. It was in his inner pocket, right where he left it. With a quick flick he lit up and took a deep breath, relaxing as the smoke spread through his lungs. "So how old are you, Izzy? You don't look old enough to be running a business establishment, even a piss-poor excuse for one like this place."
"Eighteen," she said. "As of today, actually."
"Happy birthday." He held the pack out to her. "Birthday smoke?"
"Why not?" Izzy replied, taking the offered cigarette. She pulled out her own lighter. "Thanks."
"I feel kind of dirty corrupting a minor." He grinned.
"Don't let it eat at your conscience. A: I'm not a minor. B: I've been smoking since I was fifteeen," Izzy said. "And usually it’s a bit more potent than nicotine."
"So you've got the goods in this town." He took a drag and nodded. "I can tell we're gonna be friends, then."
"We need to clean up this place," Izzy said, taking a drag. "All the potheads head straight for it."
"You really think some Laura Ashley wallpaper is going to stop potheads from taking refuge in a cheap motel? If anything they'll mistake it for art and sit around staring and pontificating at it all day." He turned to the ashtray on the counter and tapped the ash off.
"You have a point," Izzy conceded.
"Well, it's been nice chatting, but I haven't indulged in more hygiene than a spongebath in weeks. Do you have any little soaps I can use?"
"There might be some in the room," she said with a shrug. "Like I said, the maid is useless."
"And when those have all melted...do you have extras?" Not much of a hotelier, was she. Teenagers.
"I'll bring some by your room," she said.
"While I'm in the shower?"
"Is that your kink?" she responded evenly.
"No, I'm gay."
"Then I guess it doesn't matter when I drop buy," she said, not seeming fazed by the admission.
"Hey I don't let anybody get their kicks for free. You've gotta at least buy me dinner if you wanna see me naked."
"Don't worry, you're not my type."
"Please, I'm everyone's type." He ducked behind the desk and started looking around for extra towels.
"There's nothing back here," she said. "And please, pop your ego before you float away."
"Don't worry, Izzy, there are parts of me bigger than my ego." He popped open a metal drawer. Like he was gonna believe her.
All of the linens and bath items were locked in the laundry room down the end of the motel strip. "I'm all aquiver at the thought."
"Oh, 'aquiver,' nice SAT word!" He opened the rest of the drawers. They were all empty. "Okay, so you were telling the truth. And now I know for myself and I can say at least I tried." He pulled out his hotel room key and said, "Why did you give me room five?"
Izzy shrugged. "It's empty?"
"Who else is here?" He looked around like someone was about to pop out from nowhere.
"Spiderman's living in nine and ten for the time being," Izzy said. "Other than that the place is empty."
"How come Spiderman gets two rooms and I only get one?"
"Spiderman asked for two, and is well aware he'll be kicked out at my slightest whim."
"If he gets two rooms the least you could do is give me extra towels."
"Stop whining, I'll bring you towels," she said, taking a final drag and snuffing out her cigarette.
"Sweetie this isn't whining. You don't want to hear a fag whine." He followed suit and smashed his dead cig in the ashtray. "Well, it's been a pleasure. And hey, I do wonders on tile grout for a little compensation of the green variety. Call me when you need your shower scrubbed."
Izzy raised two fingers to her forehead in a mock salute. "Will do," she said.
Coby saluted back and exited the office. His room was exactly halfway down the row of doors, a tarnished brass 5 marking the door of his new home. The inside had the usual stale sweet smell of a hotel room and the comforter on the bed was a collage of the ugliest colors ever to be woven into polyblend. He looked at the small dresser, and sank to his knees in joy. "Oh my God, television!" He hugged the clunky set and pressed the power button. The static jumped and crackled off the screen, but all that came up was snow. On every channel. Dammit. He shut it again and stood, making his way to the bathroom. It was barren, without so much as a hair dryer screwed into the wall, but the faucets worked and soon he had hot water spouting from the showerhead. He watched himself undress for a minute in the mirror, doing his best to supress all of the thoughts of death, destruction, and the abandoned gas stations he passed so many of. There were other people, like him, here in this town who were alive and well. The world wasn't over yet. There was still clean water, and he got in under it and tried to think happier thoughts, thoughts of cleanliness and shampoo. He reached down to the rim of the tub, but there was nothing there. Okay...he pulled back the shower curtain. The bathroom sink was tiny-bottle-free. "Fuck! Izzy!" He turned the tap off, grabbed the only towel folded on the rack above the toilet, and stomped out of his room back to the office, barging in in a soaking wet mess.
Izzy, in continuance of her old horror movie marathon, had popped Pumpkin Head into the VCR after the newest motel resident had left. When the little boy got run over by the guy on the dirtbike, she'd started laughing so hard she nearly choked on the popcorn that she'd popped for the viewing experience. She'd just gotten control of herself, banging her chest a couple times, when Coby burst into the office in a towel, looking like a drowned rat. This set her off again, and she disappeared behind the desk a moment as she doubled over in her seat, laughing.
"Not funny, young lady!" He stormed up to the counter, but his rage was completely impotent when he was looking a hot mess and she was laughing her ass off. "Seriously, come on, I just want some soap."
When Izzy composed herself, she stood, pausing the movie and shaking her head. "I warned you there probably wasn't any," she said. "You should have checked first." She grabbed a key from the board behind her and made her way out the door and down toward the laundry room.
"I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. My mistake." He followed her back outside. "What, do you hide the soap from the Germ Monsters in the Grotto of Sterilization?"
When Izzy composed herself, she stood, pausing the movie and shaking her head. "I warned you there probably wasn't any," she said. "You should have checked first." She grabbed a key from the board behind her and made her way out the door and down toward the laundry room.
"I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. My mistake." He followed her back outside. "What, do you hide the soap from the Germ Monsters in the Grotto of Sterilization?"
"Do you sit around all day coming up with these witticisms?" Izzy asked as they stopped in front of the laundry room door. She unlocked it and went inside, unlocking the closet and pulling out several little soaps and shampoos, and a couple of towels.
"Actually yes, I do. I'm a creative associate at a marketing firm." He took the toiletries and smelled the bar soap through its wrapper. "Lavender. Nice." With a thankful smile he padded back barefoot to his room...only to discover it was locked, and his key was inside. Great.
Back to the office he went, this time a little drier from the heat. He was trying to get the doorknob to turn with one hand while holding his towel closed in the other and balancing the new load of supplies on his arm. He dropped the towels and mini soaps, cursed. and knocked on the office door before bending down to pick everything up.
Izzy sighed, pausing the movie once more and going to the door, pulling it open and staring down at the guy as he picked up his things. "You're a mess."
"A hot mess. I forgot my key." His grin was sheepish and not a bit ungrateful.
"A conceited mess," Izzy corrected. She went back into the office and grabbed the main key. She walked him down to his room and let him in. "So should I expect you to come barging in in the next fifteen minutes?"
"I'm not conceited, I'm just honest." He followed her back to his room and she got the door open with no trouble at all. "Why, are you gonna be doing something dirty?"
"Just watching some good old fashioned horror movies," she said. "Hopefully uninterrupted."
"Horror movies? I love horror movies. What're you watching? I promise I won't interrupt, I'm just curious."
"Pumpkin Head," Izzy replied. "A deformed demon is summoned by a grieving father to take revenge on the douchebag kids who killed his son. A good family flick."
"Sounds rad." Coby stepped through the doorframe and gave her one last look of gratitude. "Thanks for the soap, warden. Just in case I need anything else, do the phone lines in here at least connect back to your desk?"
Izzy shrugged. "Maybe. I haven't tried them."
"Well I either call you or attack you unannounced when I'm naked and soapy. I guess we'll see." He moved aside to let the door swing shut.
"Can't wait," Izzy deadpanned, turning and heading back to her movie.