Part 3 - Gone (by Rune Woodman)
June 3rd 2007 02:19
The reception at the hotel was chilly. I guess we did look a sight, my hair was a mess. Clyde’s jacket was off and over his shoulder; under-arm sweat scarred his beautiful white dinner shirt.
We were not spoken to, but we were looked at. Seconds after entering our room the phone rang. It was the hotel Manager, Harry, enquiring if we’d had a profitable night and whether we’d be continuing our relationship with the hotel or ending it some time in the next few minutes.
I don’t blame Harry for being angry. He and I had been to school together and I’ve exploited that prior relationship as many times as I possibly could. He’d changed since our days at the Maryborough State High School. Back then he was a gay as a boy could be without bursting. Now he was grumpy and wrinkled, fat and frowning.
I explained to Harry that, despite our best efforts we did not have the necessary money to pay our bill but our luck was certain to change and Clyde only had to make one call to his family in New York to get the necessary cash, if only Harry would take the international barring from our phone. Harry didn’t swallow it. He was sending two porters to collect our luggage in 20 minutes. He said he needed our forwarding address so the lawyers could be in touch. He said prison was the only alternative to paying the bill.
I’m not one to let things get me down, but when an old, old friend turns on you like that you can’t help but shed a tear. I let Harry know we’d be ready to leave when the porters arrived and hung up the phone. Knowing Clyde would have missed most of the conversation only made it harder, I had to go over it all again with him.
He stood at the window, looking out at the pink and gold sunrise reflected on the city, a passionate questioning expression on his face.
“We’re out?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re out.”
“I have a friend in Rozelle, Maria. We can stay there for a few days.” Maria was Clyde’s ex-girlfriend, they had remained friends. There was no way I was asking favours of her. With no money and no work it would be hard enough to keep Clyde focussed on me without her following every step he made. I envisaged myself out on the street within days.
“I guess we have no choice,” I conceded. A couple of days with somewhere to stay was better that a couple of days with nowhere.
We packed our bags quickly, when you’re used to travelling light it becomes second nature. The porters came and we were escorted to reception. Harry waited with a grim look on his prematurely aged face.
“Forwarding address?” he asked. Clyde gave him Maria’s address. “You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.” Harry concluded and handed Clyde some ominous looking legal type documents.
The girl on reception reached out with another envelope and gave it to Clyde. “This message came for you last night,” she said.
We were escorted to the street, left to find our own taxi. Thank God Clyde always kept one special credit card with a tiny limit for emergencies.
“Where to?” the driver asked when the boot and front seat were packed with our luggage.
“Rozelle,” Clyde looked down at the documents in his hand and rummaged through them, beginning to make sense of our situation. I looked out the window and watched the streets wake-up as we drove. Clyde caught my attention with a gasp.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a message, for you, from Queensland,” he handed me the paper.
It was from a small law firm in my home town. They called to tell me my mother had died.
Clyde embraced me and I buried my face in his chest. He held me tight but it didn’t stop me shaking with wave after wave of joyous laughter. My mother was dead! As an only child it meant one thing: once again we were in the money! I leant forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder, “We’ve changed our minds. Take us to the airport. We’re going to Queensland!”
We were not spoken to, but we were looked at. Seconds after entering our room the phone rang. It was the hotel Manager, Harry, enquiring if we’d had a profitable night and whether we’d be continuing our relationship with the hotel or ending it some time in the next few minutes.
I don’t blame Harry for being angry. He and I had been to school together and I’ve exploited that prior relationship as many times as I possibly could. He’d changed since our days at the Maryborough State High School. Back then he was a gay as a boy could be without bursting. Now he was grumpy and wrinkled, fat and frowning.
I explained to Harry that, despite our best efforts we did not have the necessary money to pay our bill but our luck was certain to change and Clyde only had to make one call to his family in New York to get the necessary cash, if only Harry would take the international barring from our phone. Harry didn’t swallow it. He was sending two porters to collect our luggage in 20 minutes. He said he needed our forwarding address so the lawyers could be in touch. He said prison was the only alternative to paying the bill.
I’m not one to let things get me down, but when an old, old friend turns on you like that you can’t help but shed a tear. I let Harry know we’d be ready to leave when the porters arrived and hung up the phone. Knowing Clyde would have missed most of the conversation only made it harder, I had to go over it all again with him.
He stood at the window, looking out at the pink and gold sunrise reflected on the city, a passionate questioning expression on his face.
“We’re out?” he asked.
“Yes, we’re out.”
“I have a friend in Rozelle, Maria. We can stay there for a few days.” Maria was Clyde’s ex-girlfriend, they had remained friends. There was no way I was asking favours of her. With no money and no work it would be hard enough to keep Clyde focussed on me without her following every step he made. I envisaged myself out on the street within days.
“I guess we have no choice,” I conceded. A couple of days with somewhere to stay was better that a couple of days with nowhere.
We packed our bags quickly, when you’re used to travelling light it becomes second nature. The porters came and we were escorted to reception. Harry waited with a grim look on his prematurely aged face.
“Forwarding address?” he asked. Clyde gave him Maria’s address. “You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.” Harry concluded and handed Clyde some ominous looking legal type documents.
The girl on reception reached out with another envelope and gave it to Clyde. “This message came for you last night,” she said.
We were escorted to the street, left to find our own taxi. Thank God Clyde always kept one special credit card with a tiny limit for emergencies.
“Where to?” the driver asked when the boot and front seat were packed with our luggage.
“Rozelle,” Clyde looked down at the documents in his hand and rummaged through them, beginning to make sense of our situation. I looked out the window and watched the streets wake-up as we drove. Clyde caught my attention with a gasp.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s a message, for you, from Queensland,” he handed me the paper.
It was from a small law firm in my home town. They called to tell me my mother had died.
Clyde embraced me and I buried my face in his chest. He held me tight but it didn’t stop me shaking with wave after wave of joyous laughter. My mother was dead! As an only child it meant one thing: once again we were in the money! I leant forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder, “We’ve changed our minds. Take us to the airport. We’re going to Queensland!”
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