A CONFESSION STORY – Part III of V – If you want to read this story, start at Day 19
Like most things I know I shouldn’t do, I didn’t plan it ahead of time. But when I passed the old truck on my way to the barn, I had a sudden urge to jump in the back and sneak a ride to see where Mama was going. It was a powerful urge, too strong to disobey. With a bale of hay and an old tire in the back of the truck, I didn’t think Mama would notice me. I lay down on the floor and covered myself with a raggedy brown horse blanket. It stunk and the wool pricked my arms, but I told myself I could last the half hour into town. I held my breath when I heard Mama get in the truck and didn’t budge until we were bumping down the old dirt road.
A while later I felt the truck jolt to a stop and heard Mama turn off the engine. I remembered Daddy saying there was no reason a woman needed to know how to drive. “I don’t want to be cooped up here while you’re out working ’til all hours!” she had said. Sometimes Mama makes him ride with other men so she has the truck to herself.
I lay still for a few minutes after I heard her get out. Then I pushed the hot, stinky blanket away in relief and raised my head to see where I was. Mama’d parked at the curb alongside the big Hotel Imperial, a fancy white building, three stories high. Nobody I knew ever went to such a place.
Deciding to give her time to get good and inside, I turned and glanced at the row of stores across the street from the hotel. Now I wished I had found more pennies in Mama’s purse. Here in town I could get treats much better than sour balls.
Minutes later I stood in the hotel doorway and looked around the lobby, ready to back out fast if I saw Mama. She must have gone right up to the room, though, because the only people in sight were an old couple on a sofa and a man with slicked back hair standing behind a huge, shiny wooden counter. He leaned over and wrote in a big, flat book.
Just last spring I spent a sweaty evening crammed into the old revival tent at the county fairgrounds, along with about everybody we knew, to see Greta Garbo in Grand Hotel. The inside of this Hotel Imperial was nothing like that fancy movie one, but it was still more elegant than anything I’d ever seen in real life. Red velvet curtains hung at windows that stretched nearly from ceiling to floor. Whole trees stood in giant flowerpots, lined against the wall or gathered behind small groups of plump chairs with shiny tan covers.
Opposite the counter was a wide, carpeted staircase. I looked back at the man who was still writing, then headed toward the stairs in search of Room 202.
“Can I help you, little girl?” The man behind the counter called across the lobby.
I turned and walked a few steps toward him, thinking fast. I don’t like telling lies, but sometimes it’s the only way to get from here to there. Looking up at him and smiling, I said, “I’m here with my mama and daddy. He’s Bill Dobbins, E-S-Q. We’re staying in Room 202. I’m going up there now.”
The man shrugged and pointed his pen toward the stairs. “Your mother is already there. Go on ahead.”
I wanted to run up the stairs before he could change his mind. Instead, I held firmly onto the fat, polished railing and went up like a girl used to visiting fine places.
At the top step, I stopped and looked around a big, open area. Nobody was in sight. To the left, a gold and white sofa stood against the far wall and faced two stout, matching chairs. A squat table covered with magazines sat between the sofa and the chairs. Straight ahead the open space narrowed into a long hall with a row of doors on either side. A small sign at the entrance to the hall said, “Rooms 201 – 212.”
I got close enough to see that the first room on the right was 202. “Well, now what?” I asked myself. I couldn’t exactly go up to the door and knock. But I needed to see this Bill Dobbins and find out what he wanted with my mama.
I turned back and saw the sofa as the only hiding place. I slipped behind it and found a position where I could peer around the edge. With the table and chairs in the way, I didn’t think anyone would notice me.
So I sat.
After what seemed like forever, I heard the rustle of paper and peeked out to watch a tall, gray-haired man in a black suit walking up to 202. His left arm cradled a large bunch of flowers wrapped in white tissue paper. He knocked on the door.
I couldn’t see past the man as Mama opened the door, but I could hear her speak. “Beautiful! Thank you!” she said in a voice that didn’t quite sound like Mama. I strained a little farther to get a better look.
Suddenly the man grabbed Mama’s waist and pulled her toward him. She put her arms around his neck, dropping the flowers as she kissed him. Pink and yellow buds broke free and scattered around his shoes.
