Monday, September 8, 2008

Burning Man, Part III

I try to calm Desiree down, but there's no stopping her. 

"I knew you were going to get all controlling and shit, Frank." She said. "It always happens with you guys. One night together and then you think you own me. Nobody owns me, buddy. Got it?"  

I couldn't take it any longer. Who was this woman? There was a dim memory of tequila shots, some laughs, and then a drive into the desert to see the sunrise. We must have crashed out in the back of the truck in Eli, which is pretty damn far from Reno. Nothing in Eli but a gas station and a couple of small crappy casinos. You can hardly even call them casinos, though the locals seem to enjoy them. How did we get married? Why did we get married? I decided it was a bluff. Or a delusion. Or maybe some crazy casino novelty thing that isn't even legal. Are they? I decided not to bother finding out. I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom and then take off. Hitchhike. Run. Or steal some kid's bicycle, if I had to.  Desiree continued. 

"Anyway, I called Johnny, my boyfriend. He's coming to get me - should be here in about 2 hours. He understands me, Frank. You know? Hey - wanna have breakfast together? Kind of a last farewell. What do you think?" 

Unable to even comprehend what was happening, I gave in. Steak and eggs at the casino was 4 bucks per plate including coffee. Desiree chain-smoked Camels and told me her life story in between drags. After an hour-and-a-half she told me I'd better leave. "Johnny's kind of the jealous type," she said with a half-smile. It was all the encouragement I needed. I managed to hitchhike out of Eli and then catch a bus back to the Reno airport. The end, thank god.    

3 comments:

Salty Miss Jill said...

Indeed. Who paid for breakfast?
Great advice in this week's Journal, BTW. You are indeed a beacon of hope and cynicism in this here town.

Anonymous said...

Glad you are back in Ithaca Frank. Think again before leaving this protected space. The world is just too cruel for sensitive guys like you.

Frank Santos said...

Dear anonymous, are you that small olive-skinned dark-haired woman that I shared a smoke with at Gimme the other week? If so, those wine-colored shoes you were wearing have left me sleepless. Any chance you'll wear them for me sometime? How about we have an early dinner with oysters and beer for appetizers, maybe sometime this week. If it is you, Ms. Burgundy Mules, then you know how to get in touch.

Yours,
Frank