ALL ACCESS

Chapter 12

We landed in Memphis with many a thump and bump but we got there in one piece. Airport security, along with a couple of limos, met us on the tarmac. We climbed into waiting vehicles, except James. He stayed behind to rent a car as he was heading out to the family farm. The rest of us were whisked off to Chateau de Holiday Inn and given the west corner of the two floor building all to ourselves.

Short of housing Elvis Presley, Memphis didn't have much to offer Flux in the ways of entertainment, so in true Flux style, they made their own. Paul made a pit stop at a liquor store and bought all the Jack he could get his hands on and several cases of beer. When Chris saw the JD, he lit up like a candle in a darkened room.

Happy our plane didn't crash, we celebrated. Chairs from several of the rooms were shoved out on the veranda, along with tables and trash cans that became make shift ice buckets. The radios in each room were cranked up and the soiree began. It didn't appear that it would ever stop, even when one of the drunken roadies tripped and fell over the metal railing on the stairwell. Bleeding from his mouth and limping something fierce, the guy managed to get up, climb a trellis to the balcony, and stumble his way towards the table filled with lines of cocaine. He snorted two lines, screeched like a banshee then began walking without a limp. Everyone knelt, praised Jesus then laughed as they ran for the blow.

Must've been a slow night in rentals as the whole floor was out of control and no one called the cops or said anything to us. Though it didn't matter how trashed the place got, Paul would pay the hotel owner cash in the morning, the owner would call their insurance companies with the damage and collect more. I half-smiled as I watched everyone playing around, but it also made me exhausted. I popped a valium I found and weaved my way through the rabble-rousers. Thankfully, Chris appeared to be having more fun goofing off than getting off, and I wanted to keep it that way. Sex with Chris used to be fabulous, something I enjoyed, but it seemed a lifetime ago. Now I give him what he wants - going through the motions – and he's so far gone on the drugs, he doesn't even notice. If he'd just go into rehab and get sober, then maybe we could go back to the way it was when it was good. And, it was good – once.

I found an unoccupied room, grabbed a pillow and a blanket then made a makeshift bed in the tub. Sleeping here would be uncomfortable but it would drown out the noise and hide me from Chris. Tomorrow would be soon enough to talk with him, and I needed him sober. For now though, the night came crashing and burning down all around me. The downer started working and lulled me safely right into the arms of Morpheus.

~ ~ ~

Lisa and Nick were naked and entwined on the bed as I made my morning escape from their room. Standing on the balcony I surveyed the prior nights' damage. Three fire extinguishers, a water hose, along with numerous empty bottles and cans peppered the balcony and parking lot below. I stepped over a sleeping body and shook my head.

Looking at all the doors I couldn't remember which room was Chris and mine. Did Paul say 252 or 262? All the orange doors were shut and the few I tried were locked. Since I couldn't remember which one was mine, I could only sit in a chair and wait until someone got up. Right now, I would've killed for a cup of coffee. I needed my morning nectar in a severe way.

A Jeep pulled into the lot and parked. A cute cowboy got out and stared up at the balcony. I stood and leaned against the rail to gawk. I might have sexual issues with Chris but I most certainly wasn't dead.

And, Lord almighty, this man was fine, and it had nothing to do with the cup of coffee he was slurping on. The Stetson he wore settled in low over his brow, between the cup raised to his mouth, and the aviator glasses, it was hard to see his face but that was quite alright with me because the view was perfection from the neck on down. Damn, the man had one helluva package, all packed right there into those tight, show-em-what-you-got, jeans. His unbuttoned white cotton shirt put on a peep show of a chest so hard it made you want to rake your nails across it. He walked my way and I smiled appreciatively. Lord knows I wanted the Styrofoam cup he drank from, but I appreciated the devil for delivering me this tall double shot of, hello-espresso.