Guestward Ho! Read Free Page A

the night," Bill said, somewhat more politely.
    "Maybe you like the bridal suite?" he said with a lewd wink at Bill.
    "This isn't our honeymoon," Bill said.
    "Oh?" the proprietor said, giving me a thick-lipped smile.
    "No, it isn't," I said, slapping my left hand onto the counter so that he could see the wedding ring which has never been off since the day Bill put it on my finger.
    "We've been married since 1946 and all I want is dinner and a bath and a decent night's sleep."
    I guess the shock of a genuine married couple at Roach Haven cooled his playful ardor down a bit, because he counted out our money, selected a key from the board, announced that the lunchroom was closed, and shuffled off along the cinder path with us following.
    "You ain't got no animals, have yuh?" he asked as we came to the door of our room. "We don't allow pets."
    "Well, as a matter of . . ." Bill began.
    "No, we ain't!" I snapped.
    "That's what I thought, lady," he said. "Here's yer room." He opened the door, snapped on the light, and made a fast getaway. I could understand why.
     
    I never thought that one narrow bed, one straight chair, and one small chest could make a room seem crowded. But then I'd never thought of a room as being as tiny as that two-by-four at Roach Haven. "Not bad, is it?" Bill said dubiously.
    "Not bad at all," I said. "It's perfectly revolting." With that I pulled down the shade, and I mean that literally, as it went crashing to the floor with a clatter that made Bill jump. From the flyblown paper curtains and the gray sheets to the rust spots in the basin and the fine film of dust everywhere, I could easily see that it was the kind of place where you don't want to touch anything. And, as a matter of record, I got in between those horrid sheets wearing two pairs of stockings, a slip, a nightgown, and a blouse so that no part of my flesh could come into contact with the appointments of Roach Haven.
    It was in this quaint costume—plus my coat and galoshes—that I ventured out to the ladies' room, all ready for that steaming hot shower.
    The showers were a real experience and I feel certain that they had deteriorated a good deal since our boys in khaki had occupied the barracks, since I can't recall reading of an open mutiny in our armed forces. The floor reminded me a bit of the ruins of Berlin, covered as they were with dust, dirt, grit, pebbles, tufts of Kleenex, bits of an old confession magazine, and things I don't even now like to speculate upon. I wondered for a while just how it would be to bathe while wearing my galoshes and I decided it would be lots better than not wearing them. Cautiously, I turned on one of the showers. There was a rumbling and shaking and shuddering of pipes, and then a thin, horrid trickle of rusty cold water appeared. At the same time there also appeared a most insidious kind of insect, with two large eyes and two hundred small legs. He worked his way valiantly up the clogged drain, winked at me, and disappeared under the onslaught of cold water. I screamed.
    "What's that, honey?" a voice said.
    I turned around; coming into the ladies' room was the kind of bleached blonde I hadn't seen since Mae West was at her zenith. She was wearing a dirty black chiffon negligee with dirty white fox trimming and enough makeup to last the average woman for a year—in fact, I think it had lasted her for more than a year.
    "There's . . . there's a big black bug down the drain," I gasped. "It winked at me."
    "Oh, him!" she said. "That's Charlie. Don't pay him mo mind, honey."
    "D-don't worry," I said, "Charlie and I won't be meeting again."
    "Say, you new here, dearie? I never seen yuh before. You workin' for Maxine or for Herman?" She began stenciling on an elaborate new mouth, squinting at her reflection in the speckled mirror.
    "I—I'm kind of self-employed, I guess you'd say," I whispered, catching up my coat and edging toward the door.
    "Yeah?" she said. "Whooja get tonight, anything human?"
    "Who?