THE PORTALS OF TRUTH OR CONSEQUENCES
by Amanda Sullivan
The sign said: No Vacancy, but it was late, and she was tired . . . it wasn’t even lit up, so maybe there were vacancies but the old neon sign was just burned out—but too cool to throw away.
She’d left Lake George early in the morning, and she hadn’t planned to stop, but there had been traffic all the way from Albuquerque, and her engine had overheated—and even though there was hardly anyone on the road at this hour, she thought it might be safer to sleep for a few hours.
There was a light on inside, so maybe they had a room—or at least a cup of coffee.
She’d pulled off when she saw the exit for Truth or Consequences, having a vague memory of her friend who’d done a workshop there a few years ago saying it was a cute town. She thought it might be a safe place, but actually, on this Monday night in November, it looked like a ghost town, deserted and a little bit scary.
She parked in front, there didn’t seem to be any signs saying she couldn’t, or any other cars for that matter.
She tried the door, and it opened. For a minute she was disoriented—Was this someone’s house? A weathered man, good looking, a little older than she, sat at a wooden table under a bare bulb, not quite in the center of the room, but close.
“I’m sorry,” she began, “I thought . . . ”
“No problem” he stood up slowly, as though he’d been sitting a long time. Just waiting for her. Years maybe.
“Welcome to the Truth or Consequences Art Club, I’m Jake.” He extended his hand, tanned with long fingers, kind of rough, but also kind of elegant, like he might play piano when he wasn’t building fences or roping cattle.
She looked around and saw that along the dark perimeter of the room, paintings and photographs hung on the walls. Arranged on what must’ve been the reception area in another era, there were some sculptures on display, some metal others weathered wood.
“Oh, hi Jake, I’m Sandy, I was looking for a hotel, is there one nearby?”
“Naw, not in town, all air bnb’s now—no motels except back out on the highway—spa’s only open on weekends this time of year.
“I see, what about a place to get a cup of coffee?”
“Well, that I can help you with. Don’t tell anyone around here, but I order these beans online. Even folks from Seattle tell me my coffee is great.” He retreated to a dark corner behind the reception desk. “What’s your pleasure? Latte? Cappuccino? Macchiato?”
She laughed, “How about a latte with three shots?”
“Now, you’re not gonna speed are you? I’m on the town council, and I don’t want to encourage law-breaking.” He slid the handle over and started the espresso brewing.
“No sir, I just want to stay awake until Marfa.”
“That’s quite a drive, five hours, isn’t it?”
“About that.”
“Listen, there is a couch over there . . . if you want you’re welcome to grab a little shut eye . . . I’ll stay right here—and you’re welcome to open the door if it makes you feel safer. I’ll drink this coffee and when you wake up, I’ll make you your latte.”
She was tired. Her judgment was weak. The couch was leather and large with a back that faced the center of the room, meaning he wouldn’t be watching her. It would be so good to close her eyes, even for fifteen minutes. This was the exact situation that she hated in movies. Where she’d yell at the TV: “Get out, don’t be dumb!” If a girlfriend had been telling her this she’d say, “tell me you left, right?”
She looked at him, he was steaming the milk now, concentrated on the little silver pitcher, relaxed. The vibe was good, she felt safe, Jake was keeping a respectful distance, though watching his long, tanned arms in his light blue T-shirt as he poured the milk into the cup, she had a sudden image of his arms wrapped around her.
“What were you doing here tonight? Are you waiting for someone?” she asked.
“Sometimes I just like to sit here and think. I like the vibe.”
She laughed, “I like the vibe too.” As her eyes adjusted to the dark she was making out the artwork, the vintage details of the old hotel. It seemed so solid. “Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a minute, if it really won’t put you out,”
“Not at all, I’ll stay right here, in case you need anything.”
She took the sweatshirt she had tied around her waist and rolled it into a pillow. The couch was deep and soft. As she lay down she thought . . . “even if I don’t sleep, even if I just rest my eyes . . . ”
When she woke morning light was filtering in through the old glass-brick windows, soft and blurry. For a minute she panicked, she checked her clothes, nothing appeared to be amiss . . . in fact, she felt like she had barely moved at all. Cautiously she sat up, looking toward the table.
There sat Jake, the empty coffee cup in front of him, staring out of the glass door towards the early morning light.
“Wow,” she said, “I really didn’t think I’d sleep like that.”
He turned his head slowly, “Well, look at you, good morning. Ready for that coffee now?”
“I’d love that.” She started to ask him where the bathroom was, and before she could form the words he said, “Ladies’ is over there.”
She got up, a little stiff, and made her way to the ladies room. In the mirror, she looked surprisingly good. Well-rested despite the fluorescent light.
When she got back to the lobby the espresso machine was hissing.
“I can’t thank you enough. Can I pay you? I feel bad…”
“Don’t feel bad, seems like it was meant to be. I was here, you needed sleep. Sometimes things just work out.”
“Is there a way to donate to the Art Club—“ she looked around, she really didn’t want to buy anything, though she liked some of the photographs now that she could see them in the light.
“You don’t need to do that.” He shook his head. “We don’t have much in the way of expenses.”
He handed her a latte in an old diner-style mug. It was delicious.
“You know, my friend told me this was a magical town, and she was right.”
“She sure was. Here you go,” He handed her another cup of coffee in a paper-cup, “the one you are drinking is just the first shot, I put the double-shot in this to-go cup for you. Should keep you going for a while.”
She felt tears behind her eyes. Had this man just been dropped in her path to restore her faith in humanity . . . which, to be honest, had been tested of late. Again, she had the image of his long arms around her.
She gathered her sweatshirt, “Well, can I at least give you a hug?”
He smiled, “that I can accept.” He twined his long arms around her his chin on her head. “Don’t speed ‘til you get on the highway, okay, Sandy?”
She picked up the coffee and turned towards the door.
“I promise. No speeding. Thank you, Jake.”
In front the day was clear, her car waited for her patiently. She got back in, rolled down the window and rolled out of town. Truth or Consequences . . . a little seedy, but kinda magic.
Amanda Sullivan is the author of: Organized Enough: the anti-perfectionist’s guide to getting- and staying- organized, her writing was also included in the anthology Women Who Eat edited by Leslie Miller. You can read her newsletters on organizing at: http://www.theperfectdaughter.com/whats-new/
