Is He Lying?
“They’ve got brothels. That’s where the Chicken Ranch is, in Pahrump.”
Bruce offered this information as he swerved to avoid a lizard in the road. The excursion to Pahrump had been Bruce’s idea, as had been their choice of Vegas as the locale for their wedding, eleven years before. A lot had changed in those eleven years. Doris realized, not everything wrong with their marriage was Bruce’s fault.
While it was a fact that Bruce was remote, even unaware of his surroundings, Doris was unusually sensitive, definitely high strung. She had told him, when he asked her to be his wife, “I can’t. I’m not wired like other people."
Bruce didn't listen. “I don’t care," he declared with his typical confidence. "I can handle it."
Their annual pilgrimages to Vegas were affirmations that their patchwork marriage worked. Pahrump, with its grubby brothels and stunning desert scenery, was a perfect representation of their marital alliance.
She was hungry by the time they saw their first brothel billboard. Pahrump looked tired, worn out.
Mixed between the colorful roadside advertisements for a brothel museum and gentleman’s clubs was a name Doris recognized: “Terribles”. They had eaten at a “Terribles” once, on the way to the airport in Vegas.
“What do you think? Terribles?” she asked.
“Sounds like a safe bet.”
Terribles was a typical small town casino. The north half of the building was casino/restaurant. The south half was convenience store/gasoline station.
Doris went through the casino and directly to the restaurant. A waitress with a droopy eye and surly tone said it would be a few minutes before they could sit. Doris was struck by her hostile manner. Then Doris' heart sank as Bruce ruined everything. He barked in his loud, flat voice, "Those kids are running all over the place."
Bruce was pointing at the buffet, where two young children scampered. These were the children who a few moments before had hugged a large, bearded man who was wearing a chef’s uniform.
Doris nudged Bruce into silence. She wasn’t hungry any more. Bruce had offended the restaurant staff. Someone would stir a glob of mucus into her food.
The waitress led them to the back. Seated to their left she noted a man and women with hair arranged into thickly gelled porcupine spikes. Both diners were emaciated, and wore hospital-type wrist bands.
They don’t look well, Doris thought. The spikey-haired man grabbed a piece of meatloaf and dipped it into mashed potatoes. These potatoes were stained with brown flecks of meatloaf. Doris studied the menu and tried to hide her disgust.
“Have you decided?” The hostile waitress was next to Doris.
In a low budget restaurant like this she had to think about hygiene. The catfish was a possibility, if it was fresh.
“Catfish, really well cooked, dry, no butter, oil or spices please.”
“Mashed potatoes?”
Doris almost gagged.
“No potatoes, please.”
The chef would probably try to kill them anyway.
She thoroughly checked the surface of the catfish for suspicious material but could find nothing unusual. She ate half, which was a lot for her.
Bruce was still eating when she finished. Doris regarded their fellow diners.
To her right, an elderly man and woman had the demeanor of a long-married couple. Neither one appeared to be in good health. Judging by their clothes, Doris guessed they lived on social security. Lunch was probably a splurge, their big meal of the day.
A young man with an “Area 51” t-shirt leaned against the buffet.
As Doris moved her eyes from the peculiar t-shirt she noticed a group entering a nearby booth. One person in the group leaned on a walker, another ambled along with a crutch. A third had a thin membrane of skin growing over an ear.
“Everybody in this room is sick,” she murmured to Bruce.
Bruce casually perused the room.
“A lot of them do seem to be sick.”
Doris stared at him in amazement.
“Something is going on here. Why is everybody crippled or ill? What is making them sick?”
Bruce glanced at her with familiar irritation.
Doris decided she wasn't going to talk anymore, not about the restaurant or anything. But that didn’t stop her from speculating to herself.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Bruce announced. He had finally cleared his plate of the last French fry. “You’ll be all right here?”
She didn’t want to stay in the room by herself but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying so.
“You don’t think I can sit by myself?”
He shrugged, stood up and walked around the corner. A busboy with an Area 51 t-shirt was clearing the emaciated couple’s table. Doris caught his eye.
“Excuse me…what does Area 51 mean? I noticed someone else wearing that shirt.” The busboy stopped cleaning.
“Military area around here. It’s got a weird reputation. Stuff goes on there.”
Stuff? That didn’t surprise Doris after what she had seen.
“What kind of stuff? Secret?”
The boy lowered his voice.
“You know Roswell? All the stories about UFO’s? Well some of the Roswell stuff they brought here to Area 51. There are stories about disappearances.”
“Are they true? The stories? Do you know anybody who’s disappeared?”
Doris felt uncomfortable. Pahrump made her uncomfortable. All these sick people. Now this area 51 business. It was creepy. She had no business being there. Where was Bruce anyway? He went to the bathroom so long ago.
Doris cast her eyes around the room.
Bruce was talking to the hostile waitress. What could they be saying? Doris tried to get Bruce's attention, but his head was turned away and he seemed really interested in the conversation. Doris pushed her chair back and walked over to Bruce.
“Forget about me?” She tried to be flippant, casual but she was fuming. There it was, that irritated expression again. Seemed everything she said annoyed him. And everything she did. Why did he stay in the marriage?
“Was just getting the check.”
Getting the check? How complicated could the check be? Something was fishy. What was he up to?
Bruce paid the cashier and they headed over to the convenience store, which was accessible by an open archway to the casino. Bruce seemed to be in a hurry to get away from her. She had the feeling she used to have when she was a child, that she would be left behind.
Bruce disappeared behind a stack of chili cans. Doris rushed after him, then forced herself to slow down. When she finally rounded the cans of chili Bruce was gone. Gone. Where had Bruce gone? She rushed to the door and looked into the parking lot. The car was gone. Had they parked on the other side, by the casino entrance? She turned back into the store and started going through the aisles. Her pulse raced. Stay calm. This didn’t make any sense. Unless what that kid said, about Area 51. And all those sick people.
She started running. Where was Bruce? The casino looked larger than it had before. Sinister men slouched over the slot machines. Doris rushed past them and into the restaurant.
Bruce! Bruce was there. Talking to that waitress again. Did he know the woman?
Doris checked her purse to make sure her cell phone was charged. She was going to be ready if she had to call 911.
She was hyperventilating. A full blown panic attack. She felt it coming on, like a train wreck.
The hostile waitress was standing over her. And the kid with the Area 51 t-shirt. Doris’s head was on Bruce’s lap and she was lying on the floor.
“You had another attack.” Bruce didn’t look irritated. Just tired.
”She’ll be all right now. Once it’s over she comes back pretty fast.”
The waitress and the teenager were skeptical, but they moved away.
“I couldn’t find you, " Doris stammered. "Then you were here, talking with that waitress. I didn’t know what was going on.”
“You're going to have to tame that hyperactive imagination, Doris. We both could use a break.”
Bruce helped Doris off the floor. They headed out of the casino and toward their car.
When the last of the brothel billboards had disappeared from their rear view mirror Doris ventured a question. "What were you and that waitress talking about?"
"I wanted to know about a place they call Area 51. The waitress gave me directions."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to spook you. We were having such a good day, I thought you might be able to handle it. I meant to tell you in the convenience store, but never got a chance, did I?"
Doris wasn't listening to Bruce at that point. He was lying. She was thinking about Area 51 and the fact that he kept it a secret. She looked at the road. It wasn’t familiar.
"This isn't 160 is it?"
"I thought I’d take 93. It's boring driving the same road back."
Doris saw the first sign for Area 51.
Her pulse was racing again. She was hyperventilating.
When she came out of it Bruce was bent over her.
"Look, Doris...."
"I know. Next time I promise to take the Xanax before we leave.”
They cracked open the water and she swallowed a 5 mg tablet. It took about half an hour before she became calm.
Doris was feeling so much better. Optimistic. As they passed the sign for Vegas she turned to Bruce and asked, “So where are we going tomorrow?”
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