"Willy, pay attention."
Had me fooled. I was certain he had slipped his moorings, that his mind was drifting upstream even as the rest of his body continued its paddle to the sea.
Most of that must have played across my face.
"We've only got a few minutes before she comes back."
Even as he was talking to me in hushed tones, he was continuing to work his character.
"You're coming with us."
"What?" It was the best I could do.
"We can't leave town yet, so I need you to back my play."
"Who are you?"
"I'm your way out, that's all that matters."
"Who are we playing?"
"Jesus Christ, I don't have time for your shit."
As he said that, his eyes locked on mine and, for an instant, he had The Look: that dead stare that operators get when they're operating.
No question he was a worker, just not clear for whom.
And like that, he was back in character, eating the crust of a piece of toast with slow, deliberate chews, apparently savoring the experience like the way children experience Christmas and junkies their first high of the day.
Every move was carefully considered, every look a master class of studied uncertainty. You could see his mind working, considering the possibilities of thought and action and being unable to chose one over any of the others.
"I don't care how you do it, but you've got to make sure we are back here this evening."
"Who is she? What's the play?"
"Get your shit together. Are you a professional?"
I was. I had been a professional. In that moment, I was not so sure.
Had to focus.
What did I know? What did I not know? What did I not know that I didn't know.
A hand the color of a file folder crisscrossed by a relief map of veins, punctuated with brown spots and pale pink knuckles, touched my shoulder.
As I turned my head, I noticed the operator shrink back into oblivion, like a Venus Flytrap closing around lunch.
"Has he been talking your ear off?"
The comment was made in a rueful way by someone who has spent an uncomfortable amount of time with a partner lost in his own thoughts.
"Eldon?" she said. Her voice was gentle, but direct.
"Eldon."
No visible reaction.
She moved into his line of sight and touched the back of his hand.
It was a beautiful, bittersweet moment of disconnected connection. You could tell that she still cared for this person she believed to be her husband, even as, each day, it was getting harder to remember how.
I was getting lost again.
I had no idea what the game was, but something big must be happening if they were going to such lengths to convince this woman that nothing was happening.
"Where are you headed?" I asked.
"No place in particular," she replied. "We were going to drive down the coast and maybe visit the state park, do a little bird watching."
"No reservations, eh? Best way to travel. It's how I wound up here."
"Yes, we thought we might find a little off-season place down by the water for tonight."
She used one pronoun because she couldn't admit the truth of the other.
"State park? Have you been there before?" I asked.
"Long time ago, before most people knew it was there."
"Lots has changed over the years," I said.
I had no idea where I was, let alone what place they were talking about, but I was being dealt new cards and I had to play them.
"I worked there off and on over the years," I lied. "If you like, I could show you around. Kind of a private tour."
"Really?"
She was uncertain about me, but like me, seeking some relief.
"But your plans...?"
She was now clearly looking for permission to have someone to talk to during the drive while not seeming to impose.
"I'm retired, like I said. I can be flexible.
"But we weren't coming back here...."
I knew she'd change her plans.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's get out of here," I said.
She looked at the man she thought was her husband and at me, a complete stranger.
After a pause, she said, "Let's do it."
We rose from the table and shuffled toward the front door.
I pretended to have to tie my shoe in order to let them get ahead of me.
As soon as they were out of range, I headed straight for the rack of brochures. There's one in every hotel, the pre-Internet Wikipedia of tourist traps. Even today, when everybody can get the same sort of information on their phone, it's rare that you find one of these full-color tourist baits not fully stocked with information about places where travelers can go to be separated from their money.
I found exactly what I needed and read up on my old job site as I headed for the parking lot. I didn't need to be an expert, just needed to know enough to bluff. Nostalgia would take care of the rest.
I don't know what I expected to happen, but, as I approached the automatic doors, I flinched.
Even though I had seen them open a moment before, I felt certain that they would respond to me differently.
I was their prisoner.
Wasn't I?
But they opened.
The doors opened and I could just go through and be outside.
I didn't trust that it was real.
It couldn't be real.
I was outside.
"Play the cards not the dealer. Play the cards not the dealer."
I kept repeating this to myself as I hurried to catch up with the mark and her pretend Eldon.
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