A Reaction To The Atmosphere
By Henry Williams

Chapter 3

The sun was just peeking through the sides of the window frame. No coffee, no shower, just my boxers, my robe, and the accompaniment of my laptop. I was working on a sketch and poem I wanted to read. I’d worked hard to get the time off and hard to get the money to come here and I wasn’t going to just sit around on my ass for the next few days waiting for the police to question me and the swingers to put on a live sex show before my hiding place in the trees.

Adam slept soundlessly across the room. On the table was the latest copy of his paper. The history of a crime that in the minds of most people had never happened. It was good work. The research was good. No one at the paper wanted to publish the article. The one time he had tried to get it printed he had been threatened with the loss of his job. The record company was a big advertiser and they were enjoying the publicity of many speculators. But a serious article that might send someone to jail? Someone who was making them a good piece of change? No. No interest in that.

I finished making a few slight adjustments to my poem. I changed a few words to alter the feel of the lines and read it under my breath to hear the sound of my new word choice. It was smoother. I saved it and printed.

Adam didn’t stir. His face was placid.

The sunlight striped itself across his sheeted body.

I rubbed my eyes.

He believed in what he was here for very strongly. This article had become his all consuming passion. I didn’t know why. I knew he played jazz piano and that he was attached to music, but I didn’t know what was really motivating his incessant research into this crime. I admired him for it all the same. It was his unending enthusiasm that had encouraged me to come here. Even after I’d given up all hope of ever doing anything outside of the paper. He had insisted I continue writing my "unpublishable" fiction and poetry. My hack work. My pathetic yawp. My attempt to be literary and deal with the important issues in my life, only to find myself limited in learning and excelling at suppression. If only I knew how to write it. If only I knew how to write that one sentence; the one that was from the inside.

The poetry wasn’t bad.

It wasn’t good.

It set nicely on the page. I read it again.

I printed the sketch.

I stapled it together when it was done and shut down the computer.

The bathroom light was harsh, the white walls hard. I stripped and looked at my flat figure in the mirror. I turned to my side and then craned my neck to see my back. My skin was good; a little tan, a little sensitive, no spots. I turned on the tub water and brushed my teeth. When the temperature was right I stepped in, shampooed and washed. I didn’t sing.

I stepped out and toweled off. I wiped a clear circle in the steamed mirror. The image looking back at me combed his hair and shaved. I returned to the chillier air of the other room and dressed. The phone interrupted the buttoning of my shirt.

--Hello

--Good morning, Mr. Avellanos?

--Yes.

--This is Detective St–

Adam stirred in bed and asked what the time was.

--Yes, sorry. Six-thirty.

--I wanted to know if I could talk to you today. Are you doing anything for lunch?

--No, I’m free.

--Who’s on the phone?

--I’ll get you in the lobby at your midday break. Thank you, Marsha.

--No problem, Detective. It’s the detective.

The phone clicked. The detective was gone.

--Mr. Avellanos, is there anything I can do for you?

--Marsha? I think Marsha is on the phone.

--Who’s Marsha?

--Yes, we talked last night. I’m sorry. The detective needed to be connected to your room and the hotel has a big interest in making sure your stay is as enjoyable as possible.

--Can I have a pot of coffee sent to my room.

--How about a continental breakfast?

--Coffee would be just fine.

--The breakfast is on its way.

The phone cutout and there was a knock on the door. A young man in uniform pushed in a breakfast cart. Adam sat up.

"Bring it over here."

The boy did so and poured two fresh cups of coffee. I tipped him.

"Oh no sir, it’s on the house."

I insisted and told him not to tell anyone. He thanked me and left. I took a seat on the bed next to Adam.

"This is great."

"This is weird," I said and emptied a creamer into my coffee.

"Eric called last night," he said grabbing a piece of toast. "He wants to know if you have anymore information on that murder."

"Tell him it’s solved. No celebrities, no swingers, no story. That’s all anyone wants to hear. No one even knows who the victim is or was…what’s the appropriate tense?"

He shrugged, "Jelly?"

I shook.

"I can’t believe they were listening in."

"Who?"

"The hotel."

"Oh, they’re always listening," he smiled. "They just don’t usually speak up."

"I wonder what he wants."

"Who?"

"The Detective."

"More questions. Probably just want to go over the story again. Those guys love to hear stories over and over."

I nodded.

"Are you getting a massage?"

"Yeah," I said. "Since this whole thing got started I kind of felt out of balance. What are you doing?"

"Well, there’s an early morning session on Sinatra I’m going to attend and then I’m going to that Natural Kingdom."

"The dinosaurs."

"I can’t pass it up. Tonight I’m going to their boardwalk. I was talking to Augie after his lecture on Sinatra and he said their was a bar on the boardwalk that features these two dueling pianists. He’s heard they are really excellent. We were talking about request lists. We’re going to try and stump them."

"They’ll love you."

"Ah, you gotta have a little fun in this life when you can."

I nodded. "It’s short."

"What did you do last night?"

"Went to the bar," I said. "People watched."

I finished my coffee and stood up.

"I’m going to attend the morning session of my area and see if I can get another chance to read."

"Isn’t it like more than an hour early for that?"

"Yeah," I said. "I want to walk around a little. Maybe I’ll even get a massage before the day starts."

"Suit yourself. I’ll see you for lunch–"

"No, I got the detective."

"Right."

I collected my writings and headed out the door. It felt good to be alone again. The hotel was quiet. I headed to the elevators. What was the morning air like in Florida?