Last Chance Motel 1 (Last Chance Romance Series) (2 page)

“Demands,” rebuffed Dennis’ lawyer.

“What are they?” asked Eva’s attorney, putting a pencil to a legal pad.

“Quite simply, Mr. Reardon wants the brownstone.” Dennis’ attorney raised his hand. “I have been authorized to offer eight hundred thousand for your half, Mrs. Reardon, plus half of all moneyed accounts that you share with Mr. Reardon. I think it is a very equitable division of assets.”

“I don’t understand why Dennis would want the brownstone. It’s too large for one person. I thought we were going to sell it and divide the proceeds,” remarked Eva.

“They think that they . . .” the lawyer stopped suddenly, looking aghast at his faux pas.

“They?” questioned Eva.

“I meant he,” stated Dennis’ lawyer.

“You said ‘they’.”

Shaken, Eva leaned back in her seat. “They. That explains a lot. It’s the missing piece of the puzzle of why he left me.” She began to sob quietly.

Her lawyer closed his notebook. “Tell Mr. Reardon that Mrs. Reardon wants 1.2 million plus half of all the other assets or we are going to drag this out indefinitely.”

“Oh no, you can’t do that,” complained Dennis’ attorney. “The house needs to be available by the next several months before the . . . ”

Both Eva and her lawyer’s mouth dropped open at the implication of the statement.

Eva began to wail out loud.

Her lawyer stood and helped Eva to her feet. “I assume that Mr. Reardon’s new friend is pregnant then. He’ll meet our demands or I’ll tie up that brownstone for years.”

“Oh God,” whispered Eva, being led from the conference room. “He’s got a new woman and they’re going to have a baby in my house. My house! I painted every room! I installed the tile! I refinished the wood floors!” She yelled, “This just went from bad to the absolute worst. He told me he didn’t want any children.”

Eva grabbed a woman in the hallway. “He said he would love me forever.”

“They all say that, dearie. But if they can afford it, they trade us in every ten years or so for a new model. Once the tits start to sag, it’s over,” replied the stranger in sympathy. “We’ve all been there. It’s just your turn now.”

“What happened to true love?” murmured Eva.

Her lawyer snickered. “Surely you don’t believe in that crap, do you? Just get the money and run.”

“But I do. I do believe in true love,” blurted Eva and she cried this mantra all the way home, that night and for the next several days until her body became so dehydrated she couldn’t cry anymore.

T
hree months later, Eva signed the divorce papers and slipped them in the stamped mailer as directed. Licking the flap, she closed the mailer with a large sigh. “Well, that’s the end of that,” she moaned.

She hurried downstairs so she could catch the mailman whose truck she saw from the window. She caught him coming up the stoop and handed him the mailer.

Giving her a startled look, the mailman grabbed the envelope and hustled down the steps.

“I’m not that bad,” she groused, noticing his reluctance to stay and chat.

A mother pushing a stroller hurried by when the toddler saw Eva and started to cry.

“Oh, come on now,” complained Eva. Defeated, she pulled back inside the brownstone and looked in the hall mirror. “Jeez.” Eva tried to flatten her messy hair that would give Medusa a run for her money. Her eyes were sunken, teeth were yellow and dirty, and her skin was sallow.

Her outfit was pajamas that had not left Eva’s body for the past two weeks and were straining at the seams as her new diet consisted of chocolate ice cream . . . and then strawberry ice cream . . . and again chocolate ice cream. With chocolate syrup. For a dessert, she inhaled Reddi-wip from the can.

And she stank.

“I’m in some deep, deep doo-doo,” lamented Eva looking in the mirror and repelled by what she saw. “You’re made of better stuff than this. You’re just forty. Only six months ago you were hot stuff.” She pulled on her belly fat. “Crap. I’m middle-aged now. The bloom has faded.”

She gave the mirror one last pathetic look. “I just can’t stop living. This is just a bump in the road.” She took another hard look at herself. “Oh, who am I kidding? This is a freakin’ firestorm!”

Coming to the realization that she had to battle her depression, Eva climbed the staircase to the third floor. There she took a long shower, washed her hair, shaved her legs, and put on some clean underwear. Looking around the bedroom, she found a pair of clean flannel pj’s and a tee shirt. To complete the outfit, she slipped on some beat-up flip-flops.

Hungry, she went to the kitchen but found nothing in the fridge to eat. Frustrated, she began looking for carryout menus when she spotted the airline tickets to Florida.

Eva bit her lip as tears clouded her eyes. “I’m not going to cry,” she whispered. “All that is over. I’m going to buck up and get over this. I’m going to get a new life.”

Staring at the plane tickets, Eva suddenly called her travel agent and ordered a new ticket to be waiting for her at the airport. Then Eva grabbed her coat and purse as she fled the brownstone.

Giving the brownstone one last look, Eva flipped the house key down a street grate.

Dennis would be surprised to discover that Eva had had the locks changed and she had just thrown the only front door key into the New York City sewer system.

Eva felt an immediate sense of relief.

Hailing a cab, she instructed the driver, “JFK please, and step on it.”

I
t took only a few hours to fly to Miami.

Eva stepped outside the airport and greedily soaked in the sub-tropical heat. She hailed a cab and got in.

The cab driver didn’t seem too happy after getting a good look.

Seeing that the cabbie was dubious, Eva threw a fifty dollar bill at him.

“Take me to the Fontainebleau Hotel, please,” she requested. She had always wanted to stay at the Fontainebleau since it was the hotel used in the James Bond film,
Goldfinger
.

“Are you sure, lady? It costs a lot of money to stay there,” he said, eyeing her pajama outfit.

Thankful that she was wearing sunglasses so the driver couldn’t see how ridiculous she felt, Eva pulled her coat close about her. “Remember Howard Hughes wore pajamas during the day and he was the richest man in America.”

“Really? Never heard of him,” the driver replied as he pulled out into the traffic.

“Leonardo DiCaprio played him in a Martin Scorsese movie. You might have seen it.”

“Oh yeah. He was that guy who peed in jars and kept them in his room.” He glanced in the mirror at Eva.

“You don’t do that, do ya lady?”

“Not lately.”

“’Cause that is disgusting.”

“I would have to agree. You don’t have to keep looking back here. I’m not peeing on your seats.”

The cabbie shook his head and muttered, “I get all kinds.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, ma’am. Be there soon. You’ve missed the rush hour.”

Eva settled into the back seat and stared out the window.

Unlike New York with its cold gray shadows and dark alleys, Miami was flooded with brilliant sunlight that danced off glass skyscrapers. New York was a concrete jungle, but Miami was the Emerald City. Everywhere were vast expanses of deep turquoise water, white sails, expensive cars zooming here and there and sun-drenched mansions.

Suddenly it was too much for Eva. She felt overpowered by the immense glass city, which resembled a mirror. It made her feel raw inside, too exposed.

“Listen,” she said throwing a hundred dollar bill into the front seat. “I’ve changed my mind. Get me out of here.”

“Where you want to go?”

“I’m not sure. All this glass and sun. It’s too hectic. I need something calmer.”

“The Everglades?”

“Goodness, no! The last thing I need is to encounter an alligator. I just got rid of one reptile in my life.”

“Depends on what you’re looking for. How about the Keys?”

That was a possibility. Things were slower in the Keys, weren’t they? And she didn’t know a soul in the Keys. Not a one.

“I just want to rest. Relax.”

“Then Key Largo.”

“Key Largo,” murmured Eva, thinking of the Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart movie. “Yes, take me there.”

“Where in Key Largo?”

“Just a nice hotel.”

“How nice?”

“A hotel with a nice pool. I like to swim.”

“Motel okay?”

“No. I want a hotel. One that will have a concierge.”

“You got more money?”

“YES! Just get me to Key Largo.” Exhausted, Eva fell back against the seat. “Please, no more talk. Just drive.”

Sulking, the driver changed lanes and made his way to Highway 1 heading for the Keys.

Two hours later, the driver stopped in front of an expensive chain hotel. “This okay, lady?”

Eva looked out the car window and nodded. “It will do for now.” She paid the driver the exorbitant fare plus a two hundred dollar tip.

He no longer thought Eva was crazy but merely eccentric. Rich people were never crazy, just different. She would make a great story for his family over dinner.

Eva motioned for the hotel valet to open the cab door and help with various packages.

She had stopped at a mall on the way and had purchased some casual outfits. As soon as she stepped out of the cab, the silky breezes of the Keys enveloped her.

Eva took a deep breath.

The salty air smelled like home.

She felt the pain in her broken heart dull a little.

Eva no longer felt that she was going to die.

Perhaps with a little luck she just might recover . . . even flourish.

F
or the next several months, Eva swam in the hotel’s expansive heated pool, lay under the shade of ancient palm trees, read Stephen King novels, and ate meals in her suite.

The only people Eva talked with were the maids who brought fresh towels and changed the bed sheets. If anyone approached, she acted as though she didn’t understand English or fled like a frightened bird.

Slowly Eva began to heal in the heat and isolation. She dressed each day in clean clothes, ate healthy food, and began to take an interest in her surroundings. She didn’t bother anyone and no one bothered her. Even old friends couldn’t contact her. Eva made sure of that by throwing her smart phone into the ocean.

Eva had walked out on her job and friends when she finally received her money from the divorce settlement. As far as Eva was concerned, all bridges had been burned. And she didn’t care.

What she wanted was a fresh start with no strings or reminders of the past.

Bored and lonely, Eva began taking walks navigating Key Largo’s torturous pathways and sidewalks. After all, how many more Stephen King novels could she read!

She loved peeking over fences into overgrown lots that might house a rundown trailer surrounded by battered banana trees with the owner happily ensconced in a nylon hammock sucking on a Budweiser. Next door could be a huge mansion with extensive security and manicured tropical gardens. Eva loved the diversity of residences as she tramped through the neighborhoods while listening to the ocean slap up against the island.

On Eva’s explorations, colorful lizards scattered before her as pink flamingos flew overhead. Once in awhile she would spy an osprey diving into the ocean for fish, competing with flustered pelicans.

Dogs were everywhere, happily sharing their guardians’ adventures, whether it be jogging, boating or fishing. Eva, who had never had a pet, learned not to fear these friendly and curious animals as they rushed her to be petted. She even enjoyed their cold wet noses against her legs and bought some dog treats to carry in her pocket. The dogs gave her an excuse to make small talk with their owners. Over time she learned a great deal about Key Largo’s inhabitants and history from these impromptu gatherings.

And on every walk she passed a dilapidated Mom and Pop business that was for sale–the Last Chance Motel.

It was a vintage 1940s court motel with individual bungalows overgrown with vegetation and a weather-beaten boat dock half-fallen into the bay. But it had a small beach with a zero entrance into a turquoise lagoon. Not all properties could boast such an entrance into the Gulf.

It would take a small fortune to reclaim it. And Eva knew nothing about the hotel or tourism industry.

But each day, Eva lingered just a little longer, gazing over the locked fence, wondering.

Could she? Should she? Did she dare?

O
ne afternoon Eva spied a classic red Cadillac convertible with white leather interior while peeking through the fence overgrown with vegetation of the Last Chance Motel. She could make out that several people were talking in what seemed to be the office of the neglected motel.

Slowly pushing open the rusty gate with the No Trespassing sign, Eva gathered her courage and ventured onto the property. Standing near the entrance, she counted ten bungalows of various shapes and sizes. The Florida Bay sat at the end of a sandy driveway with part of the beach engulfed in newly sprung mangrove trees. She noticed the banana, hibiscus, and bougainvillea plants were in sore need of attention and heard lizards rustling in the palm trees. At least she hoped it was lizards and not rats.

Against the buildings lay rusty tools and overturned picnic tables. Worn-out hoses, rakes, and other gardening implements littered the ground. Paint was peeling off the buildings and some of the doors to the bungalows were ajar or missing altogether.

“I’m sorry, honey, but we’re closed.”

Eva looked over to where a middle-aged woman with bright, brittle blond hair wearing white plastic hoops and necklace stood. She replied, “I saw a For Sale sign.”

“What?” asked the woman, readjusting her white vinyl purse on her arm. She sashayed over to Eva as fast as her white pumps could convey her plump body on the loose gravel. “Are you interested? We’re getting ready to put the motel up for auction.”

Eva looked around. “How much do you want?”

A tall, sunburned man walked out of the office and strode over to them.