Many of his demands were precipitated by outside stimuli.
Neither was he surprised that these movies continued to have this same attraction despite their persistently static endings. When the demand rose in Milo’s mind, he simply answered the call. It was what he did. And when the need to watch one of these films struck, it was difficult for Milo to do anything else.
Already saddled with placebo, he had little choice.
Swiping his credit card, Milo paid the one-dollar rental fee and extracted the film from the tray along the bottom of the machine. He then returned to the hotel desk, where he asked the young woman who had just processed his bill moments ago if he could return to the same room for a couple of hours.
“You want to check back in?” she asked.
“No, I just want to keep my room for a couple more hours. I didn’t need to check out until noon, so I just want to keep using the room. I’ll still be out well before checkout time. Probably before ten.”
“So you want to undo your checkout? Use the same room you stayed in last night for a while? Is that right?”
“Yes,” Milo said.
“So you can watch that movie?” the woman asked, pointing at the DVD case under Milo’s arm. The amused but friendly grin that had formed on the corners of her mouth, in combination with her slight southern drawl, made Milo feel at ease.
“Well, yes,” he said. “Would that be all right?”
“Then why did you check out in the first place?”
Milo thought for a moment about lying, telling the woman that an early-morning meeting with a client had been pushed back until after lunch and he needed to kill some time, but he did not want to lie when it was not necessary. So he answered as honestly as possible. “I didn’t know you had Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I saw it as I was walking out and decided that I just had to watch it. It’s a classic, you know.”
The use of the word decided made his explanation not entirely true, Milo knew, since he decided nothing when it came to his demands. Some unseen force always determined his next course of action, and he simply answered as best he could. Still, this answer was closer to honesty than even he had expected.
“Yeah, I like it too,” the woman answered, still smiling. “I had to watch it in a film class a few years ago. In college. But its ending is so sad. It seems like a rotten way to start the day.”
“I know,” Milo said, relaxing a bit. Despite her beauty, the woman behind the counter seemed surprisingly down to earth. “But the rest of the movie is so good. Whenever I watch it, I try to imagine a different ending for Butch and Sundance, and sometimes, I secretly hope that it might happen. That if I watch it often enough, it might actually change someday. It never does, of course, but there’s always hoping. Right?”
Milo was stunned by the level of honesty in his statement. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been so honest about any of the demands placed on him with Christine, but he doubted it.
“Yeah. It would be nice if Butch and Sundance could live. I know they were bank robbers, but still. Not every thief is a bad guy. Right? Some are downright angels.”
“I’m not sure if Butch and Sundance are angels,” Milo said. “But they’re all right in my book. They deserved a better fate, I think.”
“All because of that stupid kid,” she said, leaning in closer, almost conspiratorially. “Right? The one that sees the brand on their stolen horse, I mean. You know?”
Milo knew. What he didn’t tell this woman, whose name, according to the gold badge on her chest, was Lily, was that he had screamed at this boy dozens of times, urging him, to mind your own goddamn business and leave Butch and Sundance’s horses alone. It was this boy, who noticed that Butch and Sundance were riding a stolen horse, who ultimately led half the Bolivian army to the square where Butch and Sundance were gunned down.
“Yeah, I know,” said Milo, also leaning in. “I hate that kid. I really do. He might be the worst character in all of movie history. But maybe today he’ll mind his own business and let Butch and Sundance ride off into the sunset.”
“There’s always hoping.”
Milo knew that all too well.
“Listen,” said Lily. “I can’t let you back in the room. Once I’ve checked you out, that’s it. The cleaning crew is probably already in there, getting it ready for the next guest. You could pay for another night and I could put you in a different room, but that seems silly. Just to watch a movie, I mean.”
“Yeah, it does,” Milo said, thinking this might be his only solution.
“But what I can do is let you use the employee break room, just around the corner. There’s a TV and DVD player in there, and the room should be empty this morning.”
“I don’t know,” Milo said. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me use it?” In truth, Milo wasn’t worried about possible disciplinary action against Lily. He thought that watching the movie among the other hotel employees would be awkward and uncomfortable, and he didn’t want to spend the next two hours explaining himself to a bunch of curious strangers on a coffee break.
“The managers don’t even go into that room. Last week one of the bartenders locked the door and had sex with her boyfriend on the lunch table. At least she said she did. I don’t know her too well, so who knows? But I hardly think the boss would mind me allowing a guest to use the DVD player for a couple hours. Good customer service, right? And besides, the break room is down that hall, just past the restrooms. It’s not like you need to come behind the counter or go through the kitchen.”
“What about the other employees?” Milo asked. “Won’t I be bothering them?”
“Not at all. There’s only two or three of us left on duty from the night shift, and we all get off in less than an hour. The rest of the staff just came on at seven, so no one will go on break until later this morning. You’ll probably have the room to yourself the whole time. Trust me. It’s perfect.”
Though Milo still wanted to decline the offer, finding the idea of using the break room too unorthodox and unpredictable, no alternatives were coming to mind. He had no choice but to watch the film, and soon. Lily’s proposed solution only served to heighten the demand by creating an expectation of satisfaction. Rejecting this solution, as much as he might want to, was no longer possible. By the time he left the hotel and reached his car, the pain would have started, beginning with the viselike pressure on his brain, followed by the piercing of those imaginary acupuncture needles and accompanied by an inability to focus and even see clearly. Driving would become impossible, and on top of the need to watch the film, placebo would likely resume its thunderous call. Already, he could feel stirrings inside his head, threatening pain and discomfort if he did not act quickly. As with most of his demands, the proximity to their fulfillment only served to increase the pressure.
“Okay,” Milo said, relenting to Lily and the growing threat in his mind. “But only if you’re sure that you won’t get in trouble.”
“Don’t be silly,” Lily said. “Meet me by the restrooms down that hallway. I’ll get someone to watch the desk and be right there.”
Milo strode across the lobby in the direction that Lily had indicated, carrying his suitcase in one hand and the DVD in the other, and thinking that Lily’s suggestion might not be so bad after all.
chapter 22
A short time later, Milo was sitting on a wooden bench, staring at a flat-screen television hanging at the far end of the room. The employee break room turned out to be a small, dimly lit rectangle consisting of a large wooden table surrounded by four sets of benches, a wall of ancient lime green lockers, a battered microwave and coffeemaker, and a small refrigerator tucked into a corner beneath a bulletin board full of OSHA notices, employee newsletters, and handwritten For Sale flyers. A Honda motorcycle, a hair dryer (Like NEW!), a three-legged lamp—and something in particular that caught Milo’s eye:
For Sale: Unopened pancake mix.
Powdered or refridgeratored kind. I got both.
$2 each. No credit cards.
Below these two lines of text was a phone number.
Milo pointed to it as Lily removed the DVD player’s remote control from a drawer beneath the coffeemaker. Now that she had come out from behind the counter, he had a better view of her. She was short, with a compact athlete’s body. He wondered if she might have been standing on a box or a pile of phone books behind the counter but didn’t dare ask.
“Oh,” she said, examining the flyer. “That’s Linda. Linda Errickson. She works down in the laundry, but she works part-time at Safeway too. Somehow she gets her hands on food from time to time and tries to sell it here. I don’t know if the store manager gives it to her or she steals it or picks it out of the dumpster after it’s expired, but sometimes she’s got extra, and when she does, she tacks up a notice like that.”
“Does it work?”
“Sometimes. Depends on what she’s got, I think.”
“And the no credit cards part?” Milo asked. “Does she really expect people to hand her a Visa?”
“I dunno. Just Linda being Linda I guess. Weird, huh?”
Milo nodded in agreement.
“But wait,” she added. “Did you see the other flyer?” Lily was indicating a flyer on the far end of the bulletin board, which had initially escaped Milo’s attention. It read:
For Sale: Pancake mix. Unopened. Refridgeratored or
powdered. Both for sale. Only $1.75. Cash only. I can make change. Email me if you want to buy some.
[email protected] or you can ask
Linda Errickson in Laundry about it.
“I don’t get it,” Milo said, stepping forward to take a better look at the second flyer.
“It’s Linda. The same Linda as the first flyer. She says that people are more likely to buy her food if they think they’re getting a deal. So she competes with herself.”
“Does it work?”
“Who knows? Linda says she sells more food when she posts two flyers, but I think it’s just because people are more likely to the see the sale if she has two flyers posted. Either way, she’s an odd duck.”
“Sounds like it,” Milo agreed, though he couldn’t help but marvel at the way that this woman was willing to publicize her oddity on a break room bulletin board for all to see. Perhaps she was unaware of her strangeness and was oblivious to the impression that she was making, but Milo didn’t think so. It would be difficult for Linda to compare her flyers to the rest on the bulletin board and not recognize them as at least a little bizarre, and yet she posted them nevertheless.
He couldn’t imagine why.
“So listen,” Lily said. “Here’s the remote. The DVD player is in that cabinet under the TV. Can you figure it out yourself, or do I need to show you how to get it working?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
Lily told Milo that she would pop her head in to check on him before her shift ended, and then left the room. Before setting up the DVD, Milo pushed the table to one side of the room and placed a bench in front of the television in its place. Though he had no intention of sitting at the table, just the thought that it had been used as a platform for sex a week ago had made him cringe.
Despite the unusual location, Milo was feeling better as he loaded the disc into the player and waiting for the customary FBI warning and movie trailers to finish. Though placebo continued its monotonous call in his mind, it had migrated to the background ever since Milo had seen Butch and Sundance in the kiosk and ignited this new demand. He had no doubt that when the movie was over, placebo would reassert itself in his mind, but for now, it seemed content to allow Milo to complete this task without too much interference.
The film, which has a running time of one hour and fifty minutes, was just getting started when a large, dark-skinned Latino, dressed in blue coveralls, head covered by a red bandanna, entered the room and turned toward the wall of lockers. “Hey,” he grumbled, casually taking note of Milo’s presence.
“Hello,” Milo answered, instantly wishing he had answered less formally. When the newcomer failed to respond or question his presence in the break room, Milo realized that the man had probably assumed he was just another employee. With a hotel this size, it was unlikely all the employees would know one another.
“What’s that?” the man asked, slamming his locker shut and pointing at the television screen. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, wrapped in thick cords of muscle around his arms and neck. His face lacked any discernible emotion, and his eyes, brown and topped with a mass of bushy eyebrows, seemed to be trapped in a perpetual squint, as if someone were holding a flashlight to his face at all times.
“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” Milo said, wondering if he should pause the film to respond. He didn’t want to miss too much while conversing with this man, but he worried that pausing the film might invite additional conversation. After waiting a moment for him to respond, Milo added, “It’s a classic.”
The man said nothing.
Milo turned back toward the television and tried to refocus on the film, but, unsure of what the stranger was doing behind him, he found it difficult. No sound of the door opening or closing. No shuffling of footfalls. No scrape of bench against tile floor. Just silence, as if the man were standing directly behind Milo, eyes fixed on the television screen, or on him.
Milo was ready to turn and check on the man’s position again when the overhead lights switched off and the man plopped down on the bench beside him. At this proximity, Milo could smell the aroma of bleach and sweat.
“Is it any good?” the man asked.
“What? The movie?”
“Yeah. The movie. Is it any good?”
“Yeah, it is,” Milo said. “One of my favorites.”
“Cool.”
Assuming that the man was finished speaking, Milo returned his attention to the television. Though he would prefer to watch alone, he couldn’t envision any means of extricating this large man from the break room, so he tried to make the best of an awkward situation. At least the guy had thought to shut off the lights. He had to admit that it made for a much better viewing experience.
The two men had been watching together for about ten minutes (Milo had just begun to forget about the man sitting beside him and get absorbed in the film) when the door to the break room opened again and the lights came on.
It was Lily.
“Hi. How’s the movie?”
“It’s good,” Milo said, turning on the bench to face her. “The same as always, but good.”
“I know this sounds weird, but I just got off my shift and I was wondering, if you’re still watching the movie, would you mind if I joined you?”
“Hey. Pause it,” the man said, pointing at the remote control in Milo’s hand.
“Sorry.” Milo fumbled for the pause button, finally managing to freeze the action on screen.
“I see you met Eugene,” Lily said with a smile.
“We sort of skipped the introductions,” Milo said.
“Hey, don’t start the movie yet. Let me use the can. Okay?”
“No problem,” Milo assured Eugene as he left the room.
Lily waited for the door to close before speaking. “Sorry about Eugene. He works nights and usually goes home right after work. I didn’t think he’d stay and watch.”
“It’s no problem. I don’t mind.”
“So do you mind if I watch? I was going to ask you down in the lobby if you wanted some company, but I didn’t want to sound crazy or make you think that I was coming on to you. You’re married, I know. I saw the ring. But I’ve got to meet my mother at the hair salon around ten, so I thought I might watch the rest of Butch and Sundance with you, if you’re still watching. And if you don’t mind.”
Lily had changed out of her maroon jacket and matching slacks and was now wearing a pink T-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and sneakers. Her auburn hair was now down, falling over her shoulders, and the makeup that Milo hadn’t noticed before w
as gone. For the first time, Milo noticed her green eyes and freckled cheeks. Freckles, freckles, everywhere, he thought.
“I’m sorry,” Lily began, backing toward the door when Milo failed to respond. “I didn’t mean …”
“No. I mean, no, you should. I mean, it’s fine. Please. Sit down.”
“Thanks. I’m Lily, by the way.”
“Yeah, I saw your badge. Nice to meet you. I’m Milo.”
Lily took up a position on the other side of the bench from where Eugene had been sitting, and a moment later, Eugene reentered the room, cutting off any further discussion. He switched off the lights and resumed his position on the bench, sandwiching Milo between him and Lily.
“I hope this isn’t too weird,” Lily said as Milo raised the remote control and pointed it at the DVD player. “I just thought it would be fun.”
“Not weird at all,” Milo said, thinking otherwise. “We’ve been watching for a little while, though. Do you want me to rewind?”
“You didn’t ask me if I wanted to rewind,” Eugene said.
“No. Don’t be silly. I’ve seen the movie before. Go ahead and hit play.”
Milo did. On screen, Butch Cassidy, played by Paul Newman, and the Sundance Kid, played by Robert Redford, were lounging on a balcony above their favorite saloon, basking in their presumed invulnerability. None of the men gathered in the street below was willing to answer the sheriff’s call for a posse, meaning there would be no pursuit after the outlaws’ recent train heist. Milo knew that this was the high point of the film for Butch and Sundance, the moment at which everything seemed good and right. In less than fifteen minutes, things would drastically change for his beloved bank robbers.
Moments later, the voice of the sheriff was replaced by that of a bicycle salesman, who was taking advantage of the gathering crowd to pitch his new device.