Find Him, page 15
Time to go see Mr. Baker.
ALLAN FINDS HIM in his office. Sitting behind a desk covered two inches deep in years of order forms, receipts, and invoices, he’s leaning forward, staring at a paleolithic PC looming in the center of the clutter like a glowing monolith.
When Allan walks in, Mr. Baker sighs and leans back in his creaky chair. He slips his glasses on and says, “Close the door and have a seat.”
Allan closes the door and sits down across from him.
Mr. Baker is a small man with basset hound cheeks, short-sleeve shirts he wears too tight, and graying hair he wears too long. He’s been in the hotel business his entire life, starting as a teenage bellboy in Houston back in the early ’70s. Now he owns his own place, but he still wears cowboy boots to give himself an extra inch or so.
“You went down to Little Rock?” he says.
“I did.”
“Wanna tell me why on earth you’d do that?”
“Peter’s girlfriend—excuse me, his pregnant girlfriend—is my niece. She’s looking for him.”
“What’d you find?”
“I’m sure Eli told you. Peter ran off with one of Eli’s girls. I don’t know if he was trying to rescue her, or if he fell in love, or if he just wanted to get the fuck away from my niece. Maybe all three. You know Peter got Ciara pregnant, too? Yeah. So, he’s got two girls knocked up, and now he runs off with another girl…”
Mr. Baker is obviously surprised by this last piece of information, and maybe even a little impressed. “I’ll be goddamned,” he says. “I didn’t know that little fucker had it in him. Thought he was a good church boy.”
“A lot of time they’re the worst.”
“Find out where he run off to?”
“Who the hell knows? I hope he went to fucking Alaska. He comes back here, he’s liable to get his ass kicked, or worse, by Eli and them.”
Mr. Baker shrugs. “Speaking of Eli, he wants me to fire you.”
“You don’t say.”
“Well, it was a compromise. He was talking about killing you.”
“Yeah, he mentioned something about that to me, too.”
“You really pull a gun on him?”
“He and Chance were about to double team me. Was I supposed to turn the other cheek?”
“You ever pull a gun on someone before?”
“Of course not.”
“What did you plan to do with it?”
“If he tried to touch me or the girl, I planned to blow his brains out. He doesn’t seem to have much use for them, anyway.”
“Well, he’s mighty pissed about it. I tried to talk him down, but if I was you, I’d lay low for a while. Which brings us back to the whole question of whether or not you need to keep working here.”
“Don’t bother to fire me. I came in to quit. I don’t need this shit anymore.”
Mr. Baker raises his eyebrows. “I see.” He spreads his hands. “Well, I hate to see you go. You’re a good man at the desk.”
“You hate to see me go? I hate to have to go look for another fucking job. I got a sick old man to take care of, and now I gotta go out there and hustle up another hotel gig. I don’t really need this shit right now.”
“No one told you to get involved in Eli Buck’s business, Allan.”
Allan leans forward, staring hard at the little man across the desk. “You’re the one who got me involved in Eli’s business. You made everyone who works here an accomplice in Eli’s business.”
Mr. Baker wets his lips and spreads his hands out, as if to plead for clemency. “Look around, man. This dump is struggling. Has been since the day I took it over. I been robbing Peter to pay Paul for fifteen fucking years. It’s a fucking curse. But it’s mine, the only ship I got. And if it goes down, I go down with it. So, yeah, I made some arrangements to bring in some extra money. So what? If I didn’t, wouldn’t none of us have a job.”
“You know these girls are basically slaves?”
“Slaves. They’re hookers. Eli’s a pimp. That’s all. It ain’t pretty, but it ain’t slavery.”
“Is that what you tell yourself? Or is that just something you’re telling me?”
“Hey, this gal Peter ran off with, she seems free enough. Free enough that she and Peter just up and left, according to Eli.”
“I don’t care what Eli says. I don’t want any part of it. The whole thing makes me sick to even think about.”
“Well, then,” Mr. Baker says, “I guess it is better if we go our separate ways.”
“Okay, then my question is, what kind of severance package are you offering?”
Mr. Baker chortles at that. “Only severance package I offer is a fond fare-thee-well. Vaya con dios, good luck, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass. You expecting money or something?”
“I don’t want any more of your money. What I need is help. Make sure Eli is off my back. Soothe his wounded ego or whatever, but convince him that coming after me will just be messy.”
“I’ll try. I’m gonna shoot you straight, though, I don’t tell Eli what to do. Nobody does.”
“Fair enough. And now that I have to go look for new employment, I want a glowing letter of recommendation when I start looking for another job. ‘Allan Woodson is the finest front desk manager I’ve seen in forty-five years in the business.’ That kind of thing.”
Mr. Baker picks up a pen from the clutter and tilts all the way back in his chair, so that his feet no longer touch the floor. Tapping the pen against his chin, he stares back at Allan a moment before a grin cracks his lips. “Actually,” he says, “I’ve been in the business forty-six years. You believe that shit? I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive.”
“And I ain’t no spring chicken.”
Mr. Baker scratches his head. “Texas. That’s where I started. And that’s Texas in the seventies, mind you. Talk about the wild west. Those were the oil boom years, when the energy crisis sent prices through the fucking roof, and every coked-up shitkicker in the state thought that being in the right place at the right time meant he was some kind of genius. Everybody ran around living like kings. Hotel business was crazy then. If I wasn’t rounding up hookers for orgies with oilmen, I was out scoring Mexican blow for congressmen. It was like doing hospitality service in hell.”
“Yeah.”
“But then the eighties rolled around and the boom went bust and most of them guys lost their asses. Remember Dallas and J.R. Ewing? That show barely scratched the surface. Fortunes were made and lost. Fucking shit was insane. Even I made money.”
“And now you’re in Arkansas.”
“Exactly. Must have been out of my mind to move up here and buy this place. That was the nineties. I’d moved into management by then and I did well with some oil stocks, so I had a nice little nest egg saved up. I was smart. I didn’t piss it all away like some redneck Caligula. But what did I do instead? Moved to Conway fucking Arkansas because someone offered me a sweet deal on the Corinthian. In my mind, it was gonna be the flagship location of a chain of inns, and I was gonna be Conrad Hilton. Some guys blew their fortunes on coke and pussy; I blew mine on a dream, which might be worse because at least coke and pussy are fun. I ended up pouring my whole life savings into this dump, along with every dime I could borrow, and now I’m gonna die broke. Meanwhile, you know what happened? About six years ago, they had another oil boom in Texas. If I would have stayed put down there, I’d probably be retired by now.”
Allan nods, waits, letting Mr. Baker stew in his regrets.
Finally, the old man pushes up his glasses and pinches his nose. “Anyway…”
Allan asks, “We got a deal? A letter of recommendation, and Eli off my back.”
Mr. Baker shrugs. “Sure. And, Allan, I’m sure I don’t got to say this, but what I’m buying with this, uh, severance package is a vow of silence.”
“You know I know to keep my mouth shut, Mr. Baker,” Allan says, standing up and going to the door. “You just be sure and tell Eli that. Square me with him, and I won’t screw it up.”
“Okay. Fair enough. I’ll make the call now.”
Allan walks out, passing Dillard at the front desk checking in an elderly couple from Missouri.
“It’s all yours,” Allan tells him.
AS HE’S PULLING out of the parking lot, he releases a deep breath. It’s an odd feeling, this overwhelming sense of relief. He’s going to hate looking for a new job, but he’s surprised by how happy he is to leave the Corinthian. The place weighed him down more than he realized.
Maybe, he reflects, that’s another reason why Peter ran away. Maybe once it became clear what was happening in the annex, leaving was the only thing to do. Ciara had certainly gotten out while the getting was good, and now she’s working down at the Capital City Hotel in Little Rock.
There’s a thought. Maybe he should try there first for a new job. Always helps to know someone.
He stops at a red light and looks back at the Corinthian. But even if he secures a new job, then what? Can he really just drive away from here and act like there’s not something horrible happening in the back annex? What about those girls?
Before the meeting at church that Friday night to decide their fate, the members of the Stevens family stay in their separate rooms.
Behind their closed door, David and Peggy are talking. Lily’s not at all sure what they’re talking about. Her? The church? What they’ll do if Daddy is fired?
Adam is in his room thinking about whatever it is Adam thinks about. God’s eternal judgment, maybe.
Lily, meanwhile, sits in her room and thinks about sex.
She can’t help thinking that every problem she faces is because she and Peter had sex. Her pregnancy, the implosion of her grades, her obliterated hopes of going to college, the very real possibility that her family will lose their home tonight. All because she and Peter had sex.
She’s ashamed of that fact, and even more ashamed of how quickly it happened between them. After all, she had been taught chastity her entire life. What a vile, sinful girl she must really be, deep down, to have succumbed so easily to lust. Peter didn’t seduce her. He didn’t have to. It just happened. She bristles to remember Ciara’s words, but those words ring with clarity and truth. It just happened. The first time Lily was alone—really alone—with Peter, they had sex, as if they’d both been waiting for it, waiting for the first opportunity. Afterwards, they held hands and prayed together to beg God’s forgiveness. For a few weeks, they would repeat the cycle of clumsy sex, instant guilt, and groveling prayer. Finally, overcome with guilt, she resolved they would not do it again until they got married. Peter still wanted her, but she’d made up her mind, and so the sex stopped. But it was already too late.
Now she knows that Peter had already had sex. He’d already gotten someone pregnant. It all makes her feel like an even bigger fool. It all makes her hate him.
She wants to know where he is right now, not because she still loves him, not because she still wants him to be a father to their child, but because she wants to ask him, Why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you ruin my life?
WHEN SHE WALKS down the hall, she finds her family gathered together.
“I’m sorry, were you waiting on me?” she asks.
“No, dear,” her mother replies. “You’re not late. Ready to go?”
“Yes.”
Adam has his hands in his pockets. “We good to go, Dad?”
David has his Bible in his hand, like always when he’s headed to church. “Mine hour has come,” he says with a grin. He pauses, though, stops grinning, and then he does something that surprises his wife and children. He lays down the Bible on the coffee table.
“Let’s go,” he says.
They follow him across the yard, Peggy holding his hand, Lily and Adam walking behind. The air is cool, chilly when the wind blows. High above them, the church steeple juts like a nail into the redeeming sky.
They’re greeted politely but not warmly by a few church members lingering at the front door. Inside, the church is as full as it’s ever been while David Stevens has been pastor. Adam, noting the robust attendance, leans over to his sister and whispers, “Public executions always draw a big crowd.” As they make their way down the aisle, their mother and father receive meaningful handshakes and prolonged hugs, expressions of Christian love and respect that seem a little too deliberate to Lily, and she’s reminded of Christ being welcomed into Jerusalem by the same cheering crowds that would be screaming for his death a few days later.
Scanning the congregation, she sees Fiona, whom she has not spoken to since their altercation, sitting with her parents in their usual spot. Fiona, spying Lily, leans over and whispers something to her mother. In front of them sit the Drinkwaters, side by side, holding their Bibles. And near the back sits Sister Cynthia, alone, like some Catholic saint devoted to her own suffering and isolation.
The front row is empty, reserved as always for the Stevens family. They sit down as David takes the stage.
Sister Drinkwater pokes her husband, and Brother Drinkwater stands up and walks down the aisle. The church falls silent as he climbs the stage.
In a breach of decorum, he begins the service instead of Brother Stevens. “Brothers and sisters,” he says, “thank you for all coming to this business meeting tonight. This is not a night that anyone here has been looking forward to, but we—”
“I wonder, Brother Drinkwater,” David interrupts, “if I might be allowed to say a few words first. Still being pastor of the church.”
“Of course, Brother Stevens,” Brother Drinkwater replies. “I was only going to suggest that we begin things with a prayer.”
“By all means, Brother, please lead us in prayer. Then, if you don’t mind, I would like to say a few words to the church. Then you can lead the meeting.”
Brother Drinkwater appears flustered at the soft rebuke, but he bows his head and prays. It is a short prayer for guidance. The church assents to it with a unified Amen.
Then David says, “Thank you, Brother. You can take a seat, please.”
Brother Drinkwater, clearly expecting to do more speaking, looks a little confused, but there’s nothing else for him to do but go back to his seat. When he retakes his place beside Sister Drinkwater, she begins to whisper in his ear, but he shushes her.
David tells the church, “As you all know, the purpose of this meeting tonight is to take a vote to decide if I should continue on as pastor. For nine years, I’ve led this church. With God’s grace, I’ve done my best in that capacity. I’ve been blessed by each and every one of you. I’ve been allowed into your lives to minister to you, and, certainly, many of you have prayed for me and supported me and my family. I think it’s safe to say that, as a church, we’ve been through a lot together.
“One reason we named this church the Redemption Tabernacle is that each of us, each in his or her turn, we all need redemption. That’s as true for a pastor as it is for a truck driver or a waitress or a cashier at Dollar Tree. Each of us is purified by the Lord as we go along. We’re all working out our salvation as we go along.
“But I’m not here today to ask you for your forgiveness or your forbearance. I’m here to tell you that I need to seek my redemption elsewhere.”
Lily turns to look at her mother. There’s a soft smile at Peggy’s lips, a calmness in her expression.
“And so,” David says, “after discussing this with Sister Stevens, we’ve decided to step down as the leaders of this church.” He glances at Lily and gives her the briefest smile. “Let me say, I am not stepping down because of anything to do with my daughter. I have been deeply honored to be the pastor of this church, but that honor could never compete with the honor of being the father of my beautiful children.” Turning now to address those children, he says, “Lily, Adam, I love you. I’m proud of you, proud of who you are, proud of who you will be. Always remember that with the grace of God, redemption is assured.
“And I hope the rest of you will remember that as well. I love this church, and I pray that all of you will continue to seek out the Lord Jesus, to seek his redemption. Please pray for my family and me, as we move onto a new path. A new life. God bless you all.”
David Stevens nods to himself, satisfied with what he has said, and leaves the stage to sit down next to his wife and children.
And, like that, Lily Stevens is no longer a preacher’s daughter.
WHEN THEY GET home, she goes to her room and closes the door. She sits on her bed to take off her shoes.
Before she can get them off, there’s a knock on the door.
When she opens it, she finds Adam, as serious as she’s ever seen him.
“Can I talk to you?” he says.
“Yeah.”
He follows her in and closes the door.
“That was wild, huh?” she says.
“This is your fault,” he says.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Adam…”
His face is calm, but his voice quivers. “If you hadn’t gotten in trouble, this wouldn’t have happened. First, you get in trouble with Peter, then you go down to Little Rock with Allan Woodson? What is that? And what did all that have to do with Chance Berryman? I think you’re still not telling everything.”
“I’ve told everything that needs telling,” she says. “Not that you have any right to know anything about it. Because you don’t. But I’ve told everything that needs telling.”
“Doesn’t really matter,” Adam says. “Because now Dad lost his job and his faith because of you.”
“Adam,” she says, stunned. “That’s a horrible thing to say…”
“The Bible has worse things to say about a woman like you.”
He turns and walks out, leaving her door open. She hears him stomp down the hall and shut his door.
She stares at the empty hallway.
Then, quietly, she walks over and closes the door.
