The Lighthouse Road(7)

He found his pants under the bed and checked his pocket watch. He checked his billfold, too, which still held a stack of fifty-dollar banknotes. He kicked the threadbare bed linens from his legs and swung his still-stockinged feet onto the floor. The rush of blood to his head was swift. He was so parched he could not swallow. He needed a drink of water, so he rose and stood still until he found his balance.



But for his socks he was naked. His drawers hung over a lampshade, his linen shirt was tangled with the duvet on the floor at the foot of the bed. As he dressed, memories of the last forty-eight hours came back to him piecemeal, each more lecherous than the one before. When he was dressed he took stock of the room. Not bad as such rooms went. A carpet on the floor. A bed with a proper headboard. An electric lamp. An enormous mirror on the wall opposite the head board. A brass ashtray. A table and chair in the corner with an empty decanter and four used snifters, three stained with lip rouge.



At this hour of the morning the hallway was quiet, the water closet vacant. He stepped into it and closed the door behind him. He washed his face without looking in the mirror above the basin. He slicked back his hair and then put his mouth to the faucet and drank copiously. He drank until he thought he'd vomit and then rested a moment and then drank as much again. Already he was feeling better, the fire in his gut just smoldering now.



When he reached the bottom of the staircase he was surprised to see five women lounging on the divans. There was a barman behind the counter. The window looking onto Wrightwood Avenue was covered with crushed-velvet drapes, the only daylight coming in from the rose window above the entryway door. There was a young girl tending the coatroom, and Hosea stopped for his jacket and suitcase. She came from behind the half door and offered to assist with his jacket, but Hosea declined. He fished a bill from his wallet and put it neatly into her palm.



"You're Ava?" he said.



She looked over Hosea's shoulder at the barman, then looked at Hosea. She nodded.



"Well," Hosea said, then thought better of it and said nothing more.



She returned to her spot behind the half door and nodded again and Hosea crossed the lounge to the bar.



He asked for a soda water and after he paid he packed his pipe and the barman lit it. The barman also placed a copy of the morning Tribune before Hosea, who looked at the headlines but was too distracted by the thought of Ava behind him to read beyond the banner.



"Say," Hosea said, "might I talk to Mister Hruby?"



The barman grunted and disappeared into a doorway at the end of



the bar. A minute later he returned, Hosea's old friend Vaclav Hruby trailing behind him in a cloud of cigar smoke.



"You've made it out alive, friend," Vaclav said.



" Alive and clearer of mind," Hosea said.



Vaclav watched the barman resume his spot at the end of the counter, watched him pick up a newspaper and light a cigar himself.



When the barman was out of earshot, Vaclav said, "That's the lass." He nodded in the direction of the coatroom.



"Yes, I know," Hosea said.



"She's a good girl. She won't cause trouble."



"I'd like to speak with her. Alone," Hosea said.



Vaclav stubbed out his cigar. "I told her the score. But if you want to talk to her, go ahead. Why don't you wait upstairs in one of the rooms? Leave the door open. I'll send her up."



" Maybe it would be better to talk to her outside. Tell her to meet me at the artesian well in Lincoln Park. Give me a few minutes to get ahead of her."



"You're the boss, Grimm."



So Hosea walked out of the bagnio, pausing outside to look back at the inconspicuous brownstone. He knew of a dozen other such places in cities on the water, places as far away as Acapulco and Bombay. He walked up Wrightwood Avenue, crossed the trolley tracks at North Clark, and reached the park five minutes later. It was a hot morning, humid, with low clouds hiding a hazy sun over the lake.



Hosea pumped the well until a steady flow of the sweet water poured from the spigot. He bent at the waist and let it pour into his mouth. When he was finished he removed the handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his lips and brow. He took a seat on a bench near the well, adjusted his hat, and turned his attention up the gravel path.



It was fifteen minutes before she arrived, wearing a different dress

than she'd had on in the coatroom. She walked quickly, a parasol over her shoulder. She wore white gloves. She was lovely.



"Good morning, Mister Grimm," she said, offering a slight curtsy.



"Good morning. Thanks for joining me."



"I'd do anything to get out of that nest of harlots," she said.