Transcontinental (18 page)

“The point was to have fun,” Ant remarked, all smiles.

“I thought the point was to make a profit.”

“Making a profit
is
fun.”

“You didn’t make a profit.”

“And yet I had fun. Imagine that.”

Leroy doubted that. It boggled his mind that anybody would gamble away their time and money. It seemed pretty short-sighted.

“How about burgers?” Ant suggested.

A short time later and a good deal fuller, they began their search for Rehema. The bouncer at the casino had pointed a meaty finger in the direction of her hotel, which was an immediate red flag for Leroy. He doubted his Rehema would live at a hotel. Who lived at a hotel? Unless she was living rougher than he’d imagined. What if she couldn’t support him? It was one of too many things he hadn’t considered, and the thought of them all wracked him with doubt, so he tuned them out.

“What does she look like?” Ant inquired. “Rehema, I mean. Just so I know what to expect when we find her, of course.”

“I told you, I don’t remember.” But he was finding he did, more than he wanted to admit, as if recalling it would make it more real somehow and leave him with more to lose if things didn’t work out.

“You must remember something. Was she Black, White, Hispanic?”

“About the same as me,” Leroy said.

“Body type?”

“Kinda thick, I guess? Who knows how she looks now.”

“Right. I was just attempting to get a sense of—”

“That it?” Leroy pointed at a majestic hotel, so tall the top faded into the sunlight, a few blocks up the street. “Clemson’s, right?”

“I believe it is,” Ant replied as they waited to cross the intersection. “This could be it. Are you excited?” Ant asked. “I am excited.”

Considering the question, Leroy was torn. “Of course,” he replied, but a growing part of him would be dissatisfied if the journey ended so soon. He was only just beginning to appreciate the freedom Ant spoke of. There were no rules, as long as you followed the rules. Ant’s ascription of the term ‘adventure’ was more fitting than he’d realized, looking back on the events he’d experienced.

Still, his determination to find Rehema and settle into a healthy home for once in his life hadn’t wavered. Freedom was great, but he needed someone who cared for him, who would raise him. He needed to finish school. He needed to grow up.
Maybe
then he could think about journeying again.

“You do not look excited,” Ant said, breaking his concentration.

“That burger isn’t sitting well,” he lied. “But let’s go.”

For once, Ant followed him.

The doorman, wearing the funny getup Leroy had seen on TV but never actually thought existed, greeted them as they entered an ornate lobby. The lustrous granite staircase, the regal lavender carpeting, the long one-piece mahogany desk; it was all so lavish Leroy had a hard time absorbing it, gawking. The chandelier alone probably cost more than his old house.

Ant pointed him to the concierge, and he roamed over. For a moment he waited, expecting Ant to take charge, but when he didn’t, Leroy said, “Hi, what room is Rehema Shepherd in, please?” By the end of the sentence, he’d become distracted by a string of dancers at the other end of the desk.
 

The man scoffed, haughtiness in his voice when he replied, “I’m sorry, Clemson’s does not divulge information on our guests.”

“I understand,” Ant said, taking over, “but Rehema is my sister. Do I not have the right to see my sister, a paying customer at this establishment?”

One of the dancers caught Leroy’s gaze tracing the supple outlines of her body in that tight-fitting sparkly leotard, and just as he was about to look anywhere else, she sent a coy wave his way. He blushed.

Backing down slightly, the concierge tucked his hair behind his ear. “Sir, of course you do, but I’m sorry, I can’t give you her information. I can, however, call the room, that way you two can plan accordingly.”

Leroy didn’t want to, but he looked back. The dancer had apparently lost interest and returned to talking with her friends, to his disappointed relief.

Ant’s eyes remained fixed on the concierge as he shook his head. “Unacceptable. My visit is meant to be a surprise. You would have me spoil it?”

“Again, I apologize, but that’s Clemson’s policy. All I can do is call.”

“
Ebn al-sharmouta!”
Ant cursed, winking at Leroy. “Fine.”

Dithering, the concierge asked “Could you repeat the name, please?”

“Her name is Rehema Shepherd,” Ant enunciated.

“Nobody calls her that,” the dancer Leroy had made eyes with said, slinking over. “You guys customers? You, I can understand,” she sassed, regarding Ant, “but
he
looks kinda young, cute as he is.” She trailed a finger down his arm.

Leroy knew she was just playing around, but it was the first time anyone had ever called him cute, and he silently reveled in it. “You know her?”

Scanning the names, the concierge slid his finger down the list, then dialed a number, nestling the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“I know her better as Opal, but yeah. We work together sometimes.”

“What does she look like?” Ant asked.

The dancer rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

“You’re a…?” Leroy asked.

“Dancer? Yep.”

“So she’s a…?”

“She dances,” she admitted, “usually with less clothing than me, though.”

He couldn’t tell if it showed, but on the inside Leroy winced. Rehema was… a stripper? He couldn’t reconcile it with the woman he’d once known. She was proud, strong, intelligent. It all added to his depressing suspicion that the real Rehema, his Rehema, was in Tampa.

The concierge interjected. “I’m not getting an answer.”

“She’s probably dancing still. She… What do you guys want with her?”

“She is my sister,” Ant claimed.

Apparently satisfied, the dancer said “She works at Legs, over on fifth,” then glanced at the clock. “Better hurry, though.”

“Before you go, can I take a message?” the concierge asked.

“Evidently not,” Ant muttered.

* * *

The sun hung low in the sky outside Legs, which seemed odd to Leroy. The day had passed so quickly he’d hardly noticed. Maybe he’d woken up later than he thought. He was already drowsy and wanted to just confirm that Opal was not the woman he had in mind so they could find somewhere to sleep. Somewhere besides the jungle, he secretly hoped.

A pair of stockinged legs created the L in the strip club’s neon logo, which amused Leroy because it was clever, but more because of the incorporation of meaning in the design. The concept stimulated him. Imagine that, he thought. Inspiration from a strip club.

Once again Ant, the adult, was left to deal with the situation. Leroy knew he wouldn’t be allowed inside. It wasn’t a problem, although his teenage self couldn’t help but feel a little let down. What harm could seeing a naked body do to him? Come to think of it, though, he didn’t want to see Rehema like that. His attraction to her was purely parental. It would just be weird.

Still, it bothered him that there were places he simply couldn’t go because of an arbitrary number. He was only fifteen, but he felt a hell of a lot older. What about emotional age? Didn’t experience count? For all he’d been through, he should at least be able to have a beer, whether or not he wanted one.

As he leaned on a streetlight, the muffled thrum of techno music seeped out of the club. He didn’t like it—too fast, too chaotic. It made him restless.

He gazed at the mountains in the distance. They dwarfed the bluffs he was used to; these were
real,
snow-capped mountains. With the fledgling sunset as a backdrop, he realized how much the scene resembled a Bob Ross painting. Everything else seemed to fade, until Ant burst through the doors of Legs.

“What’s up?”

“She left already,” Ant grumbled.

Leroy’s heart sank. “She could be anywhere, then,” he agonized.

“I thought we had her.” Ant shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s her.”

The look Ant gave him confused him. It was subtle, both blank and pregnant with emotion at once, neutral yet despondent, as if it was solely his fault that they hadn’t found her, yet it was perfectly okay.

“We should get going, find a place to sleep,” Ant said.

“I can hardly keep my eyes open, but we gotta keep looking.”

“We are in a large city, unfriendly to transients such as ourselves, in which police presence is especially high, and we have perhaps a half hour of sunlight. We have not even located a jungle as of yet.”

“I don’t wanna. We gotta keep looking. Let’s try the hotel again.”

“Leroy, this is Reno. Nobody goes straight home from work.”

“It’s all I got. Go hang with crazy people if you want. I’ll be at the hotel. She’s gotta come back eventually.” He turned on his heel and dodged a woman scurrying by, then plodded past A-frame signs depicting nude silhouettes.

“How will you recognize her if she is the wrong woman?”

“I’ll take names if I gotta,” Leroy called back. There wasn’t a plethora of options. Or maybe there was, which was the problem. Leroy trudged on.

A smile crossed Ant’s face as he jogged to catch up. “Who knew a soul-searching journey across the country would be so much exercise?”

Leroy sucked his teeth.

* * *

Apparently Ant had misjudged the sunset, because by the time they got back to the hotel it was night, and Leroy was hypnotized. A blanket of colorful lights, dancing and twinkling and rippling, clung to the city. And he’d been impressed by the simple curves of the structures earlier. This display elevated architecture to another level entirely.

“Do you have any plans to come out?” Ant asked.

“Huh?”

“You live inside your head. Come out into the real world.”

Leroy pondered that, likely the opposite of what Ant wanted.

The lobby was more crowded than earlier, but the concierge immediately recognized them. Exasperated, he said “I take it you didn’t find her.”

“Could you call again?” Leroy asked with his heart in his throat.

The concierge had the phone to his head before Leroy had finished speaking, scanning his list. “Shepherd, was it?” He dialed.

Tense seconds ticked by as they stood, statues amid a bustling room.

His hand hovered over the hook, then he said “Oh, hello Ms. Shepherd. This is the front desk, I have two gentlemen to see you.”

Leroy’s eyes went wide. He turned to Ant, who wore a grin.

“Okay, I’ll send them up,” he said into the phone. “Thank you. Bye-bye.” The concierge hung up. “She’s expecting you. Room eight twenty-three.”

“Thank you,” Ant said.

Leroy could hardly lift his legs to walk to the elevator, but somehow he made it. Inside, a man asked what floor they needed, and pressed the button for them. It was convenient, Leroy thought, but made the whole situation awkward, and pressing a button wasn’t that difficult in the first place.

Reality began to set in for Leroy as they ascended. A woman by the name of Rehema Shepherd, who may or may not be the one he sought, was in the same building as him. It was overwhelming, but that was nothing new.

His heartbeat quickened as the elevator opened onto the eighth floor. Ant nudged him forward, and Leroy crept out into the hall.

Maybe she
was
his Rehema. He didn’t care if she was a stripper as long as they could live a normal life together. That was all he ever wanted. It would be pretty cool to live in Reno, too, even if it was in a hotel. He watched the ascending room numbers. The town would be a constant source of inspiration. Of course, that was assuming his career had anything whatsoever to do with art or design. He had yet to start high school.

Ant spoke, but Leroy didn’t hear it. Time seemed to slow down, each heavy beat of his pulse jolting him. White noise filled his ears as he floated forward on a magic carpet of unease, counting the numbers—eight nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two. Then there it was—eight twenty-three.

Ant must’ve seen his hesitation, because he reached up and knocked.

Leroy’s first impulse was to run, to get away as fast and as far as he could. The thought of seeing Rehema for the first time in ten years scared out of him any sense of maturity he’d accumulated and made him feel like that helpless five year old all over again. He wrung his hands.

As the door opened, Leroy’s breath caught in his throat. A curvy hispanic woman in a short bathrobe, smile faint and fading, leaned on the doorframe.

Ant glanced down at Leroy, who shook his head solemnly.

“I know you didn’t bring no child to Miss Opal’s, honey.”

Disappointment coursed through Leroy.

“We are here for Rehema Shepherd, not Miss Opal.”

Abruptly, her manner shifted. “Oh Jesus, please. I have a client coming tonight, I’ll have it, I swear it!” She cowered behind the door.

“We are not here for that, either.”