Knight of Pentacles [Reversed]

A Flophouse—NIGHT

Back to the low rent hotel, I’m staying in while Andrea is away.

“Away.”

Whatever that means.

I am heading across the lobby with a 12 pack. I pass a bunch of co-workers as I head up to my room. Many of the technicians, often temporary itinerants had been staying here. Iris is one. The redheaded one. I had heard about this flophouse about through them.

No. That isn’t right.

Perhaps they had heard about through me. I’ve been here forever haven’t I?

Anyway. They see me with the beer. If I wasn’t married they’d think I was a drunk. But it’s okay. Iris calls out as I approach.

“Set for the night?”

She is standing in front of the elevator. The redhead blocks my path.

“Just until dinner!” I smile, hurrying off now towards the back stairwell.

I have to walk through the dark dinner room of the hotel. I spot Spike there at a table. He reaches out in his fake warm way to greet me.

“Frank! Old Buddy! I just came by because I have to thank you,” he grins, “For taking my girlfriend out for me that time when I was out.”

That time he was out. Fuck him. He means that I took care of Andrea while he ran around but I didn’t get to fuck her. Mostly. What did he know? I shake his hand.

“Well, Spike. I had to take care of your girlfriend for you much more than once. All the time,” I say, “I have done more than take care of her. I’ve married her brought her to the City. Loved her.”

I emphasize the last bit indicating that I was fucking her all this time. Well, not fucking all the time. She was very ill after all. But still, it had been ten years anyway.

Ten years. Behind his back. Not that he cares.

Spike just shrugs now and turns to nuzzle Guillo-Tina whom I had failed to notice in his lap this whole time. Her large German Sheppard service dog dozes near. At least she called it a service dog. Other than being a sometime prostitute and an all the time junkie, I am not sure what her disability is. As they chat and kiss, I sigh at my own crippled date.

12 PBR cans. It’s a work night after all.

Small shadow people dart about the room.

I am angry.

I say, “So, Tina, does this dog help you do everything? Did it even help you masturbate and all that?” I am embarrassed, not that I mentioned masturbation, but that it was a lame retort to the futility I felt. I did it in the past tense, indicating that Spike is helping in that department now. Somehow a compliment of sorts.

And the small shadow people dart about the room.