Going "Home for the Knight"
Having left the store for the evening early, if 4:30 is early, Tom heads for home on his scooter. With his bushy black hair blowing in the breeze he makes his way for home.
Going through town Tom made it a point to wave at everyone. Good PR will bring the customer in, he reasoned.
Pulling into the drive way of the “Home for the Knight” motel, Tom followed a gravel road along the side of the office to a shaded lot behind the motel. Because of his divorce he had lost his home. He had scraped enough money together to buy a used motor home. Actually, it was not a motor home. It was really a small 12 foot camper, an old one at that, like the ones people pulled behind their cars for that weekend camping trip. It was sitting on blocks.
Tom wanted to save the tires from exposure to the weather. He wanted it to be ready to pull to Nashville, as soon as he got the call!
Not made for luxury by any means, it had the basics. There was the twin bed which actually was a fold-down cushion over the dining table. Not much of a table, just two benches and yellow Formica covered particle board.
In the corner stood a mini-shower. Thank God Tom was a small man. Of course, he did not spend a lot of time in the shower as there was no hot water. Actually, his water was supplied by a garden hose hooked to a spigot attachment run through a window. If he showered, he hooked it to the shower input; if he was washing dishes he hooked it to the sink. Not too sophisticated, but it was water.
Of course he never really had to wash many dishes. After all, how much cooking can you do on a two-burner hotplate. Besides, his preference was for the grill under the tree out front... hot dogs and burgers, as American as apple pie. And, he was an American, the next great country music songwriter!
Before he could make it inside, he heard a soft voice, yelling his name. It was Mrs Knight.
Sue and Vernon Knight were the “proprietors” of the “Home for the Knight.” Tom was always respectful of the sixty something Knights for they had been so supportive of him during the bitter divorce. They had retired from up north - New York, Michigan, someplace cold and moved to Florida.
They had found this little six unit motel outside Feeley Junction. Bought it and fixed it up. Figured they could live in one unit and rent the other five units out. The best laid plans. He was lucky they let him stay out back for nothing, just the right price.
Sue greets him a little sarcastically, “Good afternoon, Mr. A3.” She knew of Tom's penchant for taking names and using the initials to come up with a nickname or the like.
Tom, trying to be respectful, although he only wanted to get inside and rest, waves to the Knights.
“Hey, hard day,,,, gotta have a cup of coffee and hit the sack.”
Vern, looking at the so-called camper, asks wryly, “When you going to get rid of that camper and move in?” He knew he had a couple of vacancies, actually four, and he hated the thought of all those empty suites sitting there. He knew that he did not have much luck in getting any drop-in traffic. After all, they had just opened the new Motel 6 down the road a bit, closer to the Waffle House and the other fine eating establishments in Feeley Junction.
Tom, remembering he had said the same thing over and over, replies “Oh, Vern. You know I can't. When my songs get picked up, gotta put the wheels on the camper and move it to Nashville!”
Winking, with a grandmotherly smile, Sue asks, “Need some inspiration? I could tell you some sad stories...”
“Oh, Sue. What do you now about sad? You both retired, now enjoying life. No thanks, I still got some pent up hits in this heart of mine.”
“OK, at least we'll be able to tell'em we knew you when you were poor, unloved, overworked.”
Tom thought to himself “How can such nice people kid about my stinkin' life? Sue, you sure know how to make a man feel good about himself! See ya' later.” Leaving the Knights in the yard behind the motel, Tom makes his way toward the camper.
Home, sweet home! Before reaching the door he remembers he has to pull that old green tarp over his Vespa. Nothing worse than getting up in the morning only to find it rained, or a heavy morning dew, covering your seat.
Tom worked hard to dress professionally for the store, always wearing his tan pants, shirt and tie, and, of course, the blue sports coat with the Mr. Wong name tag meticulously placed above his left breast pocket. God, he loved his routine!
Inside, looking in the cardboard box in the corner, he thought about supper. There was no pantry, just barely enough room to turn around inside the camper.
“Lets see... what is for dinner....fake mac and cheese, nah, had it last night! What about some chicarones, an imported delicacy, fried pork skins, and red wine.... a romantic Mexican dinner!
"La freakin' cucharacha” Yeah, that'll inspire a hit, he thought.
Just as he is about to pour cabernet into his favorite plastic cup (why wash dishes?) his cell phone rings. Actually it was not a traditional ring but rather an old Hank Williams tune, “Your Cheating Heart," inspired by Stella from hella!
Recognizing the number as the A3, he decides has to answer it....
Going through town Tom made it a point to wave at everyone. Good PR will bring the customer in, he reasoned.
Pulling into the drive way of the “Home for the Knight” motel, Tom followed a gravel road along the side of the office to a shaded lot behind the motel. Because of his divorce he had lost his home. He had scraped enough money together to buy a used motor home. Actually, it was not a motor home. It was really a small 12 foot camper, an old one at that, like the ones people pulled behind their cars for that weekend camping trip. It was sitting on blocks.
Tom wanted to save the tires from exposure to the weather. He wanted it to be ready to pull to Nashville, as soon as he got the call!
Not made for luxury by any means, it had the basics. There was the twin bed which actually was a fold-down cushion over the dining table. Not much of a table, just two benches and yellow Formica covered particle board.
In the corner stood a mini-shower. Thank God Tom was a small man. Of course, he did not spend a lot of time in the shower as there was no hot water. Actually, his water was supplied by a garden hose hooked to a spigot attachment run through a window. If he showered, he hooked it to the shower input; if he was washing dishes he hooked it to the sink. Not too sophisticated, but it was water.
Of course he never really had to wash many dishes. After all, how much cooking can you do on a two-burner hotplate. Besides, his preference was for the grill under the tree out front... hot dogs and burgers, as American as apple pie. And, he was an American, the next great country music songwriter!
Before he could make it inside, he heard a soft voice, yelling his name. It was Mrs Knight.
Sue and Vernon Knight were the “proprietors” of the “Home for the Knight.” Tom was always respectful of the sixty something Knights for they had been so supportive of him during the bitter divorce. They had retired from up north - New York, Michigan, someplace cold and moved to Florida.
They had found this little six unit motel outside Feeley Junction. Bought it and fixed it up. Figured they could live in one unit and rent the other five units out. The best laid plans. He was lucky they let him stay out back for nothing, just the right price.
Sue greets him a little sarcastically, “Good afternoon, Mr. A3.” She knew of Tom's penchant for taking names and using the initials to come up with a nickname or the like.
Tom, trying to be respectful, although he only wanted to get inside and rest, waves to the Knights.
“Hey, hard day,,,, gotta have a cup of coffee and hit the sack.”
Vern, looking at the so-called camper, asks wryly, “When you going to get rid of that camper and move in?” He knew he had a couple of vacancies, actually four, and he hated the thought of all those empty suites sitting there. He knew that he did not have much luck in getting any drop-in traffic. After all, they had just opened the new Motel 6 down the road a bit, closer to the Waffle House and the other fine eating establishments in Feeley Junction.
Tom, remembering he had said the same thing over and over, replies “Oh, Vern. You know I can't. When my songs get picked up, gotta put the wheels on the camper and move it to Nashville!”
Winking, with a grandmotherly smile, Sue asks, “Need some inspiration? I could tell you some sad stories...”
“Oh, Sue. What do you now about sad? You both retired, now enjoying life. No thanks, I still got some pent up hits in this heart of mine.”
“OK, at least we'll be able to tell'em we knew you when you were poor, unloved, overworked.”
Tom thought to himself “How can such nice people kid about my stinkin' life? Sue, you sure know how to make a man feel good about himself! See ya' later.” Leaving the Knights in the yard behind the motel, Tom makes his way toward the camper.
Home, sweet home! Before reaching the door he remembers he has to pull that old green tarp over his Vespa. Nothing worse than getting up in the morning only to find it rained, or a heavy morning dew, covering your seat.
Tom worked hard to dress professionally for the store, always wearing his tan pants, shirt and tie, and, of course, the blue sports coat with the Mr. Wong name tag meticulously placed above his left breast pocket. God, he loved his routine!
Inside, looking in the cardboard box in the corner, he thought about supper. There was no pantry, just barely enough room to turn around inside the camper.
“Lets see... what is for dinner....fake mac and cheese, nah, had it last night! What about some chicarones, an imported delicacy, fried pork skins, and red wine.... a romantic Mexican dinner!
"La freakin' cucharacha” Yeah, that'll inspire a hit, he thought.
Just as he is about to pour cabernet into his favorite plastic cup (why wash dishes?) his cell phone rings. Actually it was not a traditional ring but rather an old Hank Williams tune, “Your Cheating Heart," inspired by Stella from hella!
Recognizing the number as the A3, he decides has to answer it....
Labels: books in the works, draft novel, novel in the works, realtor writer, writer realtor, writing real estate agent
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