Read Online Don't Stop Now by Julie Halpern - Free Book Online Page B

contents of our tiny shopping basket onto the less-than-ample counter. Thanks, Josh’s dad.
    Â 
    We pull up to the Don Q Inn, an unassuming, almost barnlike building that I half expected to look like a castle. Strike two on the castle front. There are only four other cars in the parking lot. Maybe Sundays aren’t the busiest nights. I’m picturing kinky couples on weekends and discreet affairs on weeknights. Sundays are sacred after all. So I’ve heard.
    Standing behind the desk is a vulture-bald man wearing a mustard yellow suit jacket, red tie, and white shirt. He stares ahead, not at us, not at a TV, or even a wall, but in that locked stare that means your body may be present but your mind is somewhere else. Maybe he’s picturing himself in one of the suites, I’m thinking Mid-Evil, with a saucy wench.
    A hotel bell is perched on the desk in front of Mustard Man, and even though by this time the man has unenthusiastically noticed us (his eyes now look at, not through, me), Josh finds the need to ding the bell.
    â€œYes?” Mustard Man breathes.
    â€œHello. We have a reservation for Tranquility Base. Under Erdman,” Josh says formally.
    Mustard Man lets his index finger fall onto his keyboard. Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause. I take a long look around the lobby as I wait for Mustard Man to finish his turtle typing. There’s a rustic charm to this place, if you enjoy wood paneling, wagon wheels, and hideous patterned carpeting. The theme is hodgepodge, by the looks of the flowered sofas, brick walls, and multiple television sets. The centerpiece of the room is a large, round, metal fireplace, complete with midsummer fire, and surrounded by what are either old-fashioned dentist chairs or old-fashioned barbershop chairs, but I don’t know which since I’m not old-fashioned. Whatever they are, they all come in a variety of pleather colors, sure to delight any dental or barber patron.
    Mustard Man scares me when he says too loudly for being so close to him, and, well, being one of only two people in the entire grand room, “You want Tranquility Base. That’s one of our deluxe suites, which goes for a hundred seventy-four a night.” He looks at us dumbly.
    â€œWe just need one night,” Josh tells him while he pulls out the old man’s credit card.
    â€œBut of course you do,” Mustard Man replies without affect. “I’ll just need to see proof of age.” He points with his handy, all-purpose index finger to a sign that reads, two adults, 18 and over in suites only. I dig into my purse, really just an old canvas bag I bought with a picture of vintage Pinocchio on it, and fish out my driver’s license. Mustard Man nods after thorough inspection of both IDs, and proceeds to tap on his keyboard. Still tapping, he tells us, “Indoor pool is down the hall. Outdoor pool is outside. Local calls are free, as is the continental breakfast. Checkout is noon. Your room comes with a hot tub, and there are extra towels in your suite. Call housekeeping if you need more. Just down that hall to the left.” His lips strain out a millisecond smile, and he hands us a key card.
    â€œJust curious,” I ask Mustard Man. “What other rooms are people staying in tonight?”
    â€œI’m sorry, ma’am, I cannot divulge that information.” He’s serious about enforcing whatever hint of power he has here. I’m guessing he’s just too lazy to look them up.
    â€œWell, thank you anyway,” Josh says jovially, and we head off to Tranquility Base.
    Â 
    There’s definitely suspense as the key card enters the slot. The light flashes green, click, and we’re in.
    â€œNoooo way,” Josh exhales. He’s right. No way does this place exist anywhere but in some basement dweller’s sick imagination. The walls are faux moon, craggy and gray, alternating with dark blue walls covered in planets of various sizes and colors. To