Friday August 16
Men’s Restroom, The Plantation, Atlanta Georgia
The sound of the restroom attendant banging on the door to the stall dragged his thoughts back to the present. He looked back over his shoulder to see that even though the door was rattling on its hinges, the latch was holding and proving him with at least a modicum of privacy. Of course, he realized that any hope of salvaging his pride was lost as the low, but loud guttural rumbling in his bowels signaling to anyone in the public restroom that another course from dinner was about to make an inelegant return to the restaurant.
As he blinked his eyes to clear the watery tears blurring his vision, he heard the deep voice of the attendant.
“Hey mon, are you awright?”
The man choked back his reply. What kind of question was that? Did the attendant really think that the sounds emanating from the stall could indicate any semblance of normalcy? Still he had shown the decency to inquire about his well-being. The waves of nausea that had swept through his body were ebbing. With one final spit into the bowl to clear the last remnants of vomit from his mouth, the man stood and replied, “I think it has passed.”
The man retrieved the tuxedo jacket hanging from the hook and opened the door to wash up at the sink. The attendant let him pass and quickly searched the stall for any evidence of any putrid remnants, knowing that while he was not responsible for the sanitation of the room; his tips would be significantly less if the condition of the facilities displeased its visitors.
The door to the restroom slammed open as an overweight young man in an ill-fitting cream-colored suit raced into the room breathlessly. “Dr. Clarke,” he gasped while the counter creaked under his weight as he leaned on the counter to maintain his posture, “Dr. Clarke. The waiters are clearing away the dessert dishes and everyone is waiting for the tribute to begin.”
HD Clarke splashed water on his face as he squeezed his eyes tightly in an attempt to shut out the interruption. However disrupted his body felt from the purging that had occurred, his sensations remained acutely intact. As he tried to focus his thoughts on quelling the nausea that was threatening to return, he could feel the warm breath accompanying the heavy breathing on his left ear. He inhaled deeply as was aware of the multitude of malodors wafting through the room. The sickly sweet odor of citrus crudely covered the smell of bleach was combined with the pungently fresh smell that announced that the newcomer had partaken in more than a few of the restaurants signature mint juleps.
“What should I tell them?” pleaded the man.
HD opened his eyes, looked through the misty tears that continued to cloud his view, and saw that he didn’t appear as pathetically pale as he had expected. In fact, except for the rhythmic spasticity in his belly and the weak feeling in his legs he was beginning to feel almost human again. He looked over at the man and said, “Robert, I will be there in a few moments.”
“That’s great Dr. Clarke, I will tell them not to start without you,” said the man as he raced from the room and crashed the through the door.
A smile crept onto HD’s face in spite of his feelings, as he felt tempted to shout a response. It would be pointless because the door was already swinging shut and he knew from experience that the highly neurotic and over-caffeinated Robert was already in the banquet room. He dragged a black comb through his unkempt hair in an effort to make himself somewhat presentable. Reflected in the mirror, HD could see the bathroom attendant looking concerned, probably thinking that another bout of vomiting was about to occur in the somewhat public area of the sinks rather than the less public stalls.
HD gave up on his futile attempt to tame his hair; some things just were not worth the effort and he looked down at his watch. He could try to delay the inevitable. Nevertheless, he knew that now that Robert had found him, there would be no escape. He glanced around the room to see if perhaps there was a window, but the only possible avenue of retreat was through a small ceiling vent. He was tempted, but in practical sense knew that there was no way of exiting with any modicum of dignity. Of course, he was more than willing to give up quite a bit of dignity to avoid the next hour.
The booming sound of Robert’s voice was getting louder, announcing that he was about to return to serve as a proper and formal escort. “Oh well,” thought HD, “I might as well get this over with.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver engraved hip flask. He continued to watch the attendant through the mirror. HD smiled as he saw the look of displeasure spread across the man’s face as he took a long swig from the flask. He swirled the fluid around in his mouth before spitting it into the sink. “It isn’t what you think it is,” said HD as the bitter taste of mouthwash cleansed his palate.
“It never is, Sir.” Replied the attendant as he reached for a towel to clean out the sink.
HD was tempted to explain, but there simply was not time. With the anticipation of a man on death row walking down the long hallway to the electric chair, HD forced his head up, added a plastic smile to his face, and left the safe and secure confines of the bathroom.
Previous: Chapter 2
Next: Chapter 4
Reach me at: