In Springdale Town by Robert Freeman Wexler Read Free Book Online Page A

“Let me,” she said, and began kneading my shoulders. I could feel her breasts against my back. Her hair smelled perfect, some kind of mint and rosemary scent. {note 15} I liked having her near. It was funny–aside from a brief conversation at that party back when I lived here, we had met only that morning, but I felt as though we had a connection that went deeper. I suppose that explained why I wasn’t more anxious about this place she had brought me–I had some innate trust in her. And I wasn’t anybody’s timid waffle. I liked to explore. But I had wanted to spend today in, I don’t know, solitary contemplation.
    “I appreciate you bringing me here,” I said. “Wherever ‘here’ is.”
    She stopped massaging but left her hands on my shoulders. They felt warm there, strong guides. “We picked a good day. This place isn’t always so easy to reach. Sometimes the entry doesn’t appear.” She pushed my right shoulder and pulled my left, turning me around. Her face had a soft expression, thoughtful, and I felt that connection again. “I wanted to share some of the real Springdale with you.”
    “Sammy...I, I appreciate that. But this–” I waved my hands around. “It doesn’t make any sense. These rooms and passages leading nowhere. Anyway, I guess we have to go back now.” I hunched over and turned into the low corridor from which we had just emerged, but before I could go any farther, Sammy grabbed my arm and yanked me back.
    “You can’t do that!” She had a bark that I hadn’t expected. She still held my arm, which started to throb. I shook her grip loose.
    “What’s–”
    “I told you before. You can only go one way.” She rubbed my arm gently, as if smoothing out the spot she had held. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” She moved closer and touched my face with her other hand. “This place is sort of a sophisticated funhouse. It has rules, though, and they have to be followed. The main rule is you always move forward. To advance from here, we have to find another door.”

15
    Shelling loved yellowtail the most, followed by tuna and salmon. Before finding consistent TV work in L.A., he couldn’t afford sushi. Sometimes he would order a cup of miso and one piece of fish and make it last as long as possible. He wasn’t a glutton, but now, with no financial worries, he wouldn’t deny himself the pleasures. He had been thrilled to discover that his new town possessed such a fine Japanese restaurant. What was it Kinsey-Moore had said in her essay on gastronomy? “The path to flavor, though often blocked by under-seasoning, over-saucing, improper cooking, and so many more obstacles that it makes one hesitate, has at its end rewards ample enough to make all trials worthwhile.” {note 16}
    This joyful trinity: fine food, drink, and congenial companions was what made all the Hollywood crap bearable. Crazy how much money the people out there threw around, even to pay small-time actors like him. Though never in a starring role, he had always found consistent work and had invested his earnings well, never wasting money on ridiculous expenditures like sports cars and trendy Albanian clothes. He had known others, friends from his early years, people who had shopped in the same thrift stores, but who, after “making it,” spent everything they earned and more, a never-ending deluge that inevitably turned into over-extended credit and the forced-liquidation of expensive toys as soon as the sources of income dissipated for any length of time over a month.
    Something heavy approached, a presence forceful and unavoidable, and a hand landed on his shoulder, where it stayed, pressing with an insistence that caused him to look up, discovering beside him the massive blue-uniformed man who had taken him from the narrow room, and who was now holding his shoulder with a wide and formidable hand. The man beckoned with his other hand, and Shelling rose, leaving sushi and contentment.
    Outside, the man steered