The Resort (19 page)

She found a large comfortable chair and smiled as she sat down, a chained Asian man taking her empty orange juice glass.

She had the feeling they were going to like it here.

His mother and father were gone for the morning, he had the suite to himself, and David lay on his parents' bed, flipping through channels, trying to find a porno movie. Half of the stations they were supposed to get didn't come in, and this morning only Hallmark and Lifetime and a bunch of religious channels seemed to be on this crappy satellite system.

So much of the luxuries of resort life.

He turned off the TV and tossed the remote control on the nightstand. Rolling over, he faced the window. From this angle, he could not see the ground, could see only the top of the next building down and, beyond that, the back of the Catalina Mountains. And the sky. A lot of sky.

He wished they hadn't come here. At home, he'd probably just be playing with his Xbox or listening to tunes and staring into space, but somehow that seemed preferable to being at The Reata. Sure this place was fancy, nicer than anyplace he'd ever stayed before. The pool was hella-cool, and he'd met some kids from California who were a lot more fun to hang with than the dick smacks from his neighborhood. But . . .

But what?

He didn't know, exactly. There was only a formless antsiness in the pit of his stomach, a nagging sense that he should not be here.

He turned his head sideways, one way and then the other, before rolling onto his back and hanging over the edge of the bed to look through the window upside down. No matter what he did, there was something wrong with the sky. He didn't believe it at first, didn't think such a thing could be possible, but the more he looked out the window the more convinced he became that the sky above The Reata was not as it should be. It was as if the ceaseless blue of the sky was painted, or a fake backdrop. The sky was air, constantly moving atmosphere, the life-giving band of gasses that encircled the earth and made it the solar system's only inhabitable planet.

But the sky above this section of desert was just
wrong.

David sat up.

He was spending too much time alone.

He got out of the bed and wandered around the room, checking the bathroom wastepaper basket for used condoms, looking through his dad's briefcase for incriminating information. He wondered what his parents were doing. As usual, his mom just said, “We're going out, don't wait up,” as they left, and his dad chuckled as if that were the wittiest thing in the world and they hadn't all heard it three thousand times before. They'd left their bathing suits behind so they weren't at the pool, and neither of his parents were big on nature hikes, so that meant they were doing something here around the buildings of the resort—although he had no idea what that could be. They certainly weren't able to afford another champagne brunch, but David thought it quite possible that, whatever they were doing, drinking was somehow involved.

He opened the door of the suite and walked outside, thinking he might get some ice and chuck it at little kids if they happened to pass by or steal a room service breakfast if he saw it sitting outside someone's door. Anything to relieve the boredom. Down the corridor to the left, he saw a maid's cart piled high with towels, a canvas bag in the front filled with dirty linen, a bin on the side filled with trial-size shampoos, conditioners, bath gels and lotions. It was being pushed from behind, unoiled wheels squeaking loudly in the morning stillness, and stopped at the next door over.

The Latina maid who emerged from behind the cart with a clipboard was not Jennifer Lopez, but she was young and thin—two rarities in themselves—and there was something sexy about her, a dark doe-eyed sensuality at odds with the deliberately unflattering uniform the resort made her wear. She smiled at him—flirtatiously, David thought—and he smiled back. She looked away quickly, shyly, made a couple of marks on her clipboard and picked up a handful of clean linen from the cart.

The moment she stepped into the adjacent suite he backed up. Their room was next, and his mind sped through a whole host of fantasy scenarios, none of them even remotely feasible. Then he wondered what would happen if the maid caught him masturbating. She was definitely hot, and he imagined that she'd be shocked at first, then . . . maybe . . . interested. She might close the door behind her . . .

It was too much to hope for—but definitely worth a try. He switched the hanger on the doorknob from PRIVACY PLEASE to MAID SERVICE, then quickly closed the door and ran across the floor, unbuckling his belt and kicking off his shoes. He lay down on the bed, pulled down his pants and immediately started pulling on his penis, hoping to get it long and hard quickly so that she'd see him at his peak. He wanted her to walk in and see him fully erect, stroking himself, thinking she might . . . what? Suck it? Sit on it?

Either.

Or both.

This was stupid, he told himself. This was crazy. But he didn't stop. He tried to imagine what the maid would look like with her top off. Did she have big nipples?

There was a knock at the door, then a pause. He quit stroking, afraid he would come too quickly. “Maid service!” the woman announced in a thick Spanish accent. He remained silent. There was another knock, then the rattle of a key in the lock. The door opened—

—and an overweight, middle-aged lady bustled into the room. She took one look at him lying there, erection in hand, then apologized quickly, her face turning red, and hurried out the way she had come.

David let go of himself, closing his eyes in embarrassment, grimacing as if in pain, and it was all he could do not to let out a raw cry of mortification. He had never felt so humiliated in his entire life. What the hell had he been thinking? What had come over him to make him do such a stupid, ridiculous thing? He tried to retrace the mental steps that had brought him to this point as he pulled up his pants, but the connections were lost, the reasoning no longer clear.

Though ordinarily he would have had to finish, his erection was gone, and he pulled up his underwear and pants. He saw his face in the mirror, and that made him even more embarrassed. What kind of loser doofus was he?

He wanted to get out of the room,
needed
to get out of the room, but he was afraid to open the door for fear that the fat maid would be outside. Or even the sexy maid. He imagined the older woman telling her young coworker about what she'd seen and the both of them laughing at him. He could not bear to face either, and now for the rest of the trip he would have to avoid all contact with the cleaning staff.

But someone still needed to come in here and make the bed. If they didn't, his parents would complain to the front desk and then maybe his
mom
would find out what happened.

This whole thing was just one big spiral of disgrace and mortification.

He had to find something to do. He peeked out the peep-hole of the door, looking for any sign of the maids or their carts and was gratified to see that the visible section of hallway was clear. Gathering his courage, he opened the door. The maid's cart was still parked in front of the next room over, and he quickly sped outside in the opposite direction, closing the door behind him and leaving the MAID SERVICE sign on the knob.

He hurried up the sidewalk, away from his building, away from any rooms where the maids might be working.

Curtis and Owen were supposed to be in Tucson until at least midafternoon—lucky fuckers—so he was on his own until then. Unless he could scare up that Brenda girl. She seemed to have the hots for Owen, but who's to say she wasn't bored and waiting around, too. Maybe the two of them could get together, have a little fun.

No, he couldn't screw a friend that way.

Besides, he shouldn't press his luck. His batting average with babes this morning wasn't exactly going to put him in the all-star league.

He ended up wandering the grounds of the resort and eventually found himself out by the driving range. He had never been to this part of The Reata before. It was behind the squat building housing the gym and exercise pool, and consisted of a long sloping lawn at least the length of a football field covered by netting supported by tall telephone poles. He saw several men lined up under a long shaded roof at the near end, hitting golf balls onto the preternaturally green grass. A high chain-link fence surrounded the area, the sign posted by the gate stating: NO ONE UNDER 18 ADMITTED.

To David, that was an invitation.

The gate was unmanned, its simple lock accessed by the key card for his room, and he walked inside unimpeded. Glancing toward the covered area where the golfers were teeing off, he saw that one of the men was his father. That was weird. His dad didn't golf. He couldn't afford it. But David sensed almost immediately that this was no ordinary game of golf, no typical practice session. Like the sky above the resort, there was something off here, something not quite right, and while he'd been planning to walk up to his father and find out what he was doing, David held off, stayed back, observing the scene. Wary of being caught by a security guard or spotted by one of the golfers, he kept to the side, moving along the edge of the fence until he was partially hidden from their view by a spiky, cactusy bush.

He examined the scene more carefully. At the far end of the driving range was a series of wooden poles arranged in a straight row across.

Tied to them were women.

One of them was his mom.

David's mouth suddenly felt dry. Was this some sort of game? If so, it was a sick one, and one he did not understand. He saw his father tee off, watched the ball sail through the air. It landed harmlessly on the grass in front of his mother, but the next was a line drive directly into her stomach, and she doubled forward as far as she could with the restraints, wincing in pain. The woman next to her was hit in the head, and there was a sudden gush of blood from the ensuing wound. No one made an effort to untie the woman or tend to her injury. Instead, another golf ball was hit at her, bouncing wildly off the post just above her head.

The woman tied to the far pole was struck on her left hand. The next one over in her crotch.

None of the women made a sound, there were no screams or cries, no grunts of pain, and the men were silent, too. The only noise in the still, hot air was the thwack of club hitting ball and the sickening fleshy sound those balls made as they connected with their targets.

Confusion and fear. Those were the two emotions suddenly suffusing him, and for several moments he remained flat against the fence, too stunned to move, unable to comprehend what was happening. Then the golfer closest to him, a thin old man in goofy-ass shorts and a matching beret, glanced in his direction, and he thought it was all over. He froze, waiting to be found out, though he was not sure why the prospect should fill him with such dread, especially since his parents were here to protect him.

Protect
him?

Yes.

From what?

He didn't know.

The golfer turned to face the green, having obviously not seen him, and David sneaked back behind the bushes, along the edge of the fence, and out the gate. As soon as he was clear, he hurried away, down the path he'd originally come, and did not slow down until the exercise facility was between him and the driving range.

He sat down on a bench in front of a Mexican-style fountain, his legs weak, sweating far more than he should have been. He wiped his forehead with his hand, wiped his hand on his pants. What was that all about? The only thing he could think of was that his parents were into S&M and got some kind of kinky thrill from the game. But while that covered all of the logical bases and explained both what he had seen and why, it didn't ring true. For one thing, there were a whole bunch of golfers there doing exactly the same thing. For another, his parents did not look like they were having fun. No one seemed particularly thrilled to be there, in fact. All of the golfers exhibited a pronounced lack of joy, and their victims were clearly in physical pain. It was more like work than play, as though they were cogs in a machine, performing a specific role or task they had been assigned, and the prevailing attitude was one of grim determination.

He sat there for several moments longer, until he was sweating from the heat rather than from fear and the shaking in his legs had stopped. He still had no idea what he'd just seen—and he wasn't sure he
wanted
to know.

Right now he simply wanted to get his ass safely back to their room where he could lock the door behind him.

He retraced his route and saw the young maid with her cart right outside their door. She was just leaving, having already made up the room, and was about to move on to the adjacent suite. He reddened with embarrassment as he thought about what he had done, and prayed that the fat old woman who'd seen him had not said a word.

The maid glanced up at the sound of his step. He tried to smile as he passed her.

She looked at him, met his eyes, placed her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

And laughed cruelly.

It fell from the ceiling while he was getting dressed, a spider as big as a golf ball, and Patrick almost screamed—
like a fairy

—but instead let out a short sharp gasp as it scuttled across the beige carpet and under the bed. He grabbed his shoes and socks, carrying them over to the vanity in the bathroom where he hastily finished buttoning his shirt before putting them on and then gamely trying to search for the creature. He used a rolled-up
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to lift the edge of the bedspread, not wanting to get too close in case the spider was right there, but there was no sign of it. It had moved somewhere else, and that made Patrick uneasy. He'd kept his eye on the spot where it had scurried and it hadn't emerged either from there or from under the foot of the bed, which had been in his sight line as well. The head of the bed was against the wall, so that meant it had gotten out on the opposite side. He walked carefully around the bed and saw nothing in the middle of the floor, but it could have been under the nightstand, under the love seat or even in one of his open suitcases.