Mr. Tall Read Online Free PDF Page A

after the war and marry me, though, and he did. I’ll give him that. His people had a motel in St. Petersburg, a big pink monstrosity called the Del Moroccan, and when we got married they set us up. He wanted to get out of Florida, be his own man, and I never really wanted to live on the mainland, so we came back to Nags Head. There wasn’t much here then. We were the only brick motel on the island. The tall sign was his idea. I thought up Wade-n-Sea.”
    The old man snorted through his nose.
    â€œHe wanted to call the place the Del Conquistador,” she said, “but I thought it sounded like somebody’s name. Hey, look, everybody. It’s Dale Conquistador. We were busy as we could be for a long time. Filled up all season. The same people came back every year. They would have kids and then their kids would grow up and have kids and the roof would blow off and we would put it back on and everybody would come back the next year.”
    â€œIt sounds like you’ve had a nice life,” Darryl said.
    â€œYou hear that?” the old woman said. “He says it sounds like we’ve had a nice life.”
    The old man waved as if swatting away a slow-moving mosquito.
    â€œThis one here,” she said, “he always had to have a new Cadillac, and he always had to have a fast boat, and he always had to have some little waitress tramp of a girlfriend, and in the winter when we went to Florida he had to be a big shot at the track, throwing money around, leaving big tips.”
    The old man raised his chin and gazed levelly at the old woman. Darryl couldn’t read his expression.
    â€œBig, shiny Cadillacs,” the old woman said, shaking her head. “He hates a Japanese car as bad as he hates a German. He thinks the Japanese are in cahoots with the Mexicans. Oh, and the Chinese. They’re in on it now. Is your car Japanese?”
    â€œSwedish,” Darryl said.
    â€œYou hear that? He says that car is Swedish.”
    The old man lowered his head.
    Darryl leaned toward the old woman. “If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “how did you two stay together?”
    The old woman blinked at him and twisted slightly in her chair. He had asked the question he shouldn’t have asked until the end of the interview. He was losing his touch.
    â€œThat’s kind of a personal question,” she said. “What’s the matter? You and your wife not getting along?”
    â€œNo, ma’am. Not really.”
    â€œWell, since you’re so damn curious, let me tell you the secret to a long marriage. If you want to stay together, then don’t leave.”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    The old man nodded.
    She put her hands on her knees and stood up. “You hear that?” she said to him. “Tide’s almost in.”
    Darryl hadn’t noticed the boom and shush of the surf until the old woman mentioned it. He wondered how that was possible. He turned and looked toward the wing of rooms barely visible between the parking lot and the ocean. “Wow,” he said. “That sounds close.”
    â€œIt is close,” she said. “We’ve lost four hundred feet of beach since we built the place. In the early years, when the tide was out it took forever to walk to the water. And now,” she said. “Well, now it’s time for me and him to go inside and turn off all these damn lights.”
    When Darryl walked by the wheelchair, the old man grabbed him by the wrist.
    â€œYour car,” the old man rasped, “is shit.”
    Â Â 
    Darryl was sitting on the rear bumper of his car when the Wade-n-Sea sign blinked off, followed seconds later by the pool lights. The wing on the other side of the parking lot vanished into the fog, save for the indeterminate yellow glow of what Darryl knew to be the safety lights underneath the covered walkway. The darkened rooms fronting the sea disappeared