Jack looked at his watch. It was 8:30. So, he thought, she must work there, OK, now that he knew where to find her, he could look for a motel and get some rest, then he could plan his next move.
The Hi-Way Inn was just far enough out of town to suit Jack, so he turned into the gravel parking lot and pulled up in front of the office. The place had seen better days, he thought, noting the weathered layers of paint, cracked and peeling with age as he pushed the office door open. A bell jingled, and at the sound an old man appeared from a back room and shuffled over to the desk. He peered up at Jack through cataract clouded eyes.
"I need a room," Jack demanded.
"You plannin' on stayin' long, sonny?" asked the old man. "Ya know the foliage ain't at it's peak any more. You shoulda been here last week. How you plannin' on payin'? We got a real good weekly rate now we're in between seasons, ya know, foliage and skiin'?"
"That's OK, I'll just pay by the day. I'm not sure of my plans just yet. So you got a room or not?"
"Yep, just hold your horses, young fella." The old man hobbled over to a large board filled with keys hanging from numbered hooks. "Let's see, number three, yep, we'll put you in number three. We just got the heat fixed in there; it gets a mite nippy at night nowadays."
Jack willed the stooped old man to move faster. All he wanted was to get some sleep.
"Did ya say you were here on business or pleasure?"
"I didn't." answered Jack, impatiently.
"Sounds like you got a New York accent. We get lots of folks up here from New York. Never been there myself, New York, I mean. Guess they like the peace and quiet, up here, I mean."
"Yeah," replied Jack, as he filled out the registration card, "that's what I came up here for: the peace and quiet." He hoped the old man would take the hint and shut up.
Finally he handed Jack the key and said, "Here ya go, number three. You just go out the door there, turn right, you can't miss it. Ain't nothin' fancy, but it's clean."
It's about time!, thought Jack as he snatched the key and slapped a twenty and a five on the counter. The old man scooped up the money. Jack found number three and struggled with the lock until the door swung open at last. The old man had been right-the room was nothing fancy, but it did beat his room at the Y, at least here he had his own bathroom. The room was small and dingy, or maybe worn out would describe it better. The walls were painted institutional green which clashed with the faded orange drapes and darkly stained orange carpet. Over the torn vinyl headboard of the double bed, hung a painting of a large striped tiger done on black velvet. Like the kind he had often seen for sale on street corners or at gas stations.