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he do that? How did he make people feel that way with just a smile?
     

Chapter 6
     
     We drove to The Beach Club in Jay’s limo, which, even if the piss smell was gone, still stunk like vomit. I felt bad about that, but not bad enough to stop myself from pouring a gin and tonic from the limo’s bar.
    Jay looked back over the divider. “Watch yourself,” he said. “We don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”
    “Hair of the dog, Jay. I’ll be fine.” I pushed the button to make the divider go up. Jay pushed a button on his console to make it go back down. I sighed and looked out the window, nursing my gin and tonic.
    We turned right at a light, and passed a Hess gas station. “Just like the one down the street from my house in Baltimore,” I thought. This immediately brought forth into the periphery of my mind’s eye an image of my backyard, which I apparently couldn’t picture anymore without seeing Sam, bloody, hanging from his tree.
    I was going to have to sell that house. I never wanted to go back there again.
    I shut out the memory of Sam with a gulp of my drink and tried to concentrate on the scenery.
    On the left I saw a large, white, ornate sign for The BoardWalk Inn, another Disney resort with a 1920s Coney Island theme. I knew we were close to our destination, because according to the Fodor’s guide I’d bought at the airport and skimmed before getting completely obliterated in the plane, The BoardWalk overlooks Crescent Lake, along with The Yacht Club, The Beach Club, and The Swan and Dolphin. I fully intended to spend many hours lounging on the white beach surrounding the lake, taking in the sun, sipping a drink with an umbrella in it, and not giving two fucks about shit like selling my house.
    “On the right is Epcot’s backstage area,” said Jay, pointing. “That’s the back of the France pavilion right there.”
    I saw a fence and some trees. “Fascinating, Jay,” I responded, sarcastically.
    He continued, unfazed. “And right now we’re about to go under a canal that the Friendship Boats sail in. They carry people between the resorts and Epcot’s International Gateway.”
    Sure enough, we drove underneath what appeared to be a regular overpass. “Really? We just went under a canal with boats in it?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
    “Yes, we did!”
    “Cool,” I said, turning to gawk at the overpass through the rear window.
    It disappeared as we rounded a corner. I whipped around and caught my first glimpse of the place I’d be staying for the foreseeable future: The Beach Club. One half of what is traditionally called “The Yacht and Beach Club”, because of its proximity and similarity in theme to The Yacht Club next door. The Beach Club nonetheless has its own thing going on. Modeled after Cape Cod vacation homes, it’s painted soft blue and sea-foam green, with white trim and shutters. The buildings stretch and wind around a drainage ditch made to look like a relaxing canal, with white bridges crossing it at various points. I’d come to find that there were turtles living in that canal, dozens of them, and that they’d come out every afternoon when the sun was high and bob towards the top of the water. Every time I’d cross the bridges I’d look out for those turtles, and if I saw them I’d always stop and stare for a while. I’m not sure why I liked them so much….
    As we drove up to the lobby I remembered walking through the resort with my parents, marveling at the décor, knowing that we weren’t nearly wealthy enough to stay here but wanting to experience as much of it as we could. A wave of sadness and remorse hit me as I desperately wished they could be here to stay in my fancy suite. Seeing their faces when they realized they would finally be staying in the place that was always so far out of their reach financially maybe would have made all the years of building up my wealth not seem like such a fucking waste of time.
    I wiped a tear away and tried to smile.