CHAPTER THREE
The motel looked shabby from the outside, and wasn't much better inside. Keith knew that he wouldn't be able to check into one of the big named hotels without drawing attention to himself, so the Sunset Inn just behind the strip was his only hope. He pushed the door to his room open and was quite taken aback with what he saw. He had been in some dives in his life, but this took the cake! The wallpaper was a garish red and gold and was peeling from the walls, the bed was propped up on four cinder blocks and the dresser leaned to the right, missing two of its legs. He didn't even want to think about checking out the bathroom as he stepped in tentatively, hoping not to meet any other living creatures that may be scurrying about.
At least it was clean; he could smell the chemicals that had been used recently. To cover up what, he didn't want to know. Putting his bag down on a dilapidated chair next to the dresser, Keith instinctively brushed the brightly colored bedspread off and sat down on the bed. He was exhausted and hurting, now, wanting nothing but to fall asleep. As he looked around the room, tears came to his eyes. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was even here. He guessed it was to run away from his problems, though he knew that if he were really thinking straight, he would be home, with Mom, letting her take care of everything. At least he would have someone to talk to, someone to hold his hand when the pain became too much. But he didn't want to put her through this. And, too, he knew that before long, all of his brothers and sisters would be there, too, fussing over him and worrying about him, forsaking their own lives for his, however short it would end up being.
Oh, god, he was going to die! He might not see Christmas, or even his birthday; nor Mom's birthday, which was approaching rapidly. Tracy's birthday was a week ago, which meant that Shirley's wasn't far behind. Could the cancer take him that quickly? He felt a shiver spear through him and he clutched his arms, suddenly feeling alone and afraid.
He began to sob, deep, penetrating sobs that shook his whole body and he fell onto the bed, curling up, wanting so badly to be held and knowing he couldn't be. Maybe not ever again…oh, boy, Keith Partridge, what have you done?!
****
The room was smoky, hazy, with a band playing some pretty horrible music in the background and the sound of someone playing pool somewhere beyond the shrouded darkness. Chris sat at the bar, blankly watching the television above the bartender's head as it flickered in the low light. He clutched the beer bottle in his hand as if it were the last thing he owned, which, for the moment, it was. He'd spent his last five bucks on beer and a lousy tasting taco that really had something to be desired.
He really wasn't a drinker; until tonight, he'd only had maybe four beers in his life. As he stared down at the now empty bottle in front of him, he just shook his head. What in the world was he thinking? Mom wouldn't be happy if she could see her youngest son like this. For all she knew, he was in the dorm, studying his life away to make her proud of him; so she could say, "My son, Chris, is a DOCTOR."
But he wasn't a doctor; it just wasn't going to happen. He would just have to do something else with his life, but what? The only other thing he really knew was his drumming. He was good; great, in fact. Keith had once asked him to be his drummer in his solo act; something that Chris was humbled by. Keith was his hero, he really was, and one hell of a fine musician. To be asked to play in his band was an honor beyond words. And, stupidly, Chris thought, he turned him down. All for the sake of thinking he, Chris Partridge, could be a doctor. What a fool he was!
Chris turned his attention to the lousy music being put forth by this so-called band up on the makeshift stage across the room. He concentrated on the beat, which was so off, it made his skin crawl. Too bad Keith wasn't here; he'd have those guys sitting in the audience in no time, showing them what REAL music sounded like, and then he would blow them away with his prowess on the guitar. Chris smiled, in spite of his misery. That drummer could use some lessons. Without even thinking twice, Chris got down off the barstool and sauntered over to the four guys as they finished mangling what had slightly resembled "Stairway to Heaven."
"Mind if I sit in on a song or two?"
The drummer shrugged. "Think you can do it, kid?"
With one arm tied behind my back, Chris thought, but out loud, he said, "I think so."
The man stood up, handing the sticks to the youngster. "She's all yours. I gotta take a leak anyway."
That was more than I needed to know, Chris said silently, and slipped into the chair. Looking at his new bandmates, who obviously didn't care WHO was drumming, he readied himself. "Name your tune."
"Let's hear you first."
Shrugging, Chris started the beat, slowly at first, then built up speed. He pounded out his problems, taking his frustrations out on the drumheads as hard as he could.
He drummed for a good five minutes, then ended it abruptly, out of breath. He looked up at the other guys, who just gaped at him, completely and totally impressed.
"Who ARE you, man?" The one with the bass guitar stepped forward, his face reflecting awe.
Chris smiled wearily. "Chris Partridge. Musician," he said.
****
Keith was in agony. The back pain was immense, now, and he found, to his horror, he was out of medication. Frightened and alone, he huddled on the bed, bearing the ache as it ravaged him, rendering him immobile at times. When it peaked he would moan, his body shuddering from the fight, then the pain would ease a bit, and he lay there, exhausted. Death would be a blessing; it really would, but to die here, alone in this place…he couldn't let that happen. His mother would be livid…
Trembling, he reached over and pulled the phone down off the nightstand. The effort caused him more pain and he waited it out, then, barely able to see the keypad, he dialed.
****
Chris slipped into the dorm room, looking, for all it was worth, haphazard and rumpled. It was mid afternoon and Eddie was in class. For that, he was grateful. No explanations of his four day disappearance would be needed right away. All Chris wanted to do now was take a hot shower.
He saw a note in big, bold red letters on the fridge: Chris, call HOME!!!!, and in his weariness, he couldn't focus on the importance of it. Shrugging it off, he headed for the bathroom, scratching at his unshaven face. If Mom could see him now…
The phone rang, and Chris toyed with the idea of ignoring it for the moment. Then again, there was that note.
Sighing, he picked up the receiver. "Hello," he muttered, still scratching the stubble on his cheek. Chris frowned. "Yeah. Who's this?"
The voice on the other end was unrecognizable, faint. He almost hung up, then reality struck. "Keith? What's the matter? I can barely - " His expression softened, and then darkened. "Oh, god…where are you?
His heart pounding, he grabbed a notepad and pencil. "Look, let me call Mom, and then I'll catch the first flight out. Yes, she needs to know! Keith, listen to me. Get your butt to the hospital, and I'll meet you there. I know, pal, I know." Chris swallowed. Hearing the pain in his brother's voice was heartbreaking. "But, can you stand it for that long? It's gonna be hours before I get there!" He scribbled on the notepad. "Okay, Sunset Inn, I've got it. If the pain gets too bad, though, go to the emergency room. Okay, I'll see you as soon as I can. Hang in there, buddy."
He pressed the receiver buttons and quickly dialed San Pueblo.
"Danny? What are you -?" He paused, shoulders drooping. "Yes, I know. He just called me. He's in bad shape." Chris began to pace. "He's at some seedy motel, the Sunset Inn. I'm taking the next flight. Great, then I'll meet you there. Since you'll be there before me, get him over to Desert Springs Hospital. He's bad, Danny. Yeah, I know, me, too. Thanks." With that, Chris hung up and pulled a suitcase from his closet.
****
Keith awoke with a start. He'd been dreaming he was seventeen again and back in San Pueblo. He and Danny were arguing over a song arrangement and Shirley and Laurie were trying to intervene…it was a familiar old scene, and Keith felt tears come to his eyes when he realized that it was only a dream. He was not seventeen, he was not in San Pueblo and neither Danny, Laurie nor Shirley were there.
The pain, however, WAS still there, nagging at him, though not nearly as forceful as before, and he managed to roll over and look at his travel alarm. One forty-five. He'd only called Chris an hour ago; hardly time for him to get to the airport, let alone clear across the country.
With a groan, Keith sat up, hunching over and putting his head in his hands. Chris had told him that if the pain got unbearable, he should go to the emergency room. He pondered his brother's words. How bad was unbearable? Worse than now? Keith swallowed, leaning back, lifting his chest, arching his back and looking ceiling ward. The pain actually eased off a little with the motion and, a tad surprised, he stretched again. Maybe a little exercise was the answer. If it took the edge off the ache in his back, he was willing to walk to the Hoover Dam.
Easing out of the bed, he grabbed the tattered phone book from beneath the telephone and thumbed through it. He was hungry, couldn't remember the last time he'd even eaten! A restaurant had to be nearby, and if he could walk off this pain and satisfy his hunger at the same time…
There was a listing for a café just about a block away and he nodded. He would have plenty of time to get over there and back. Maybe; if this darned backache didn't debilitate him, first.
First, though, he would need to shower. Keith Partridge just could not be seen out in public looking like a bum. He grabbed a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom. He caught his reflection in the mirror and was startled. His hair was mussed from the restless sleep he'd encountered over the last little while, and there was a day's growth of stubble on his face. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot and his clothes were rumpled. He looked like he'd been to hell and back and felt like it, too. Shaking his head, he reached into the shower and turned on the water, then slowly began shedding the remnants of the past two days.
****
The note, written in Danny's barely legible writing and pinned to the bulletin board in the kitchen, left Shirley, Laurie and Tracy in the dark. It read, simply: Mom, girls, left for Vegas, 2 p.m. flight. Will call when I find Keith.
Laurie was angry as she watched Shirley sink into a chair at the table. "I can't believe he left before we got back! He promised he'd wait."
"Well, it's probably the only flight he could get," Tracy, once again the pacifist, checked her watch. "It's still half an hour before his plane leaves. We could call the airport and have him paged."
"He's already boarded." Laurie sighed. "At least he's on the way. Now, if we can just get hold of the other one…" She reached for the phone as Shirley closed her eyes.
Their mother was exhausted, Tracy could tell. The little shopping spree they'd taken her on to forget about her prodigal sons had worn her to a frazzle, and coming home to this news wasn't helping her morale any.
Tracy sat down beside her, putting her arm around her shoulders. "You should try and get some sleep, Mom. I know you didn't sleep all night. Danny won't be there for another couple of hours, so it will be a while before we hear anything.
Her hand shaking, Shirley wiped at some stray tears on her face. "I don't know - "
"We promise to call you if there's news. You're going to wear yourself down, and then what?"
Sighing, Shirley pushed herself up from the table. "I suppose you're right." She turned. "But the second you hear something…"
"Cross my heart," Tracy smiled, making an 'x' over her chest.
As Shirley left the room, however hesitantly, Laurie very nearly slammed the receiver back into its cradle. "Still no answer! I am going to buy that boy a portable phone for Christmas!"
Tracy smiled. "You'd think that as long as he's going to be a doctor, he would at least get a pager."
"That would help," Laurie went to the coffee pot. "Want a cup?"
"No thanks. My nerves are already on edge. I wish Danny would have taken Ken with him. All we need is for HIM to get lost, too."
A smile tugged on Laurie's pert lips. "I remember there was a time when we wished all three of them would get lost."
Tracy nodded as her sister joined her at the table, her coffee steaming in the cup she clutched in both hands.
"I hope Keith's not in pain or anything. I hope he's taking care of himself," Tracy said.
"Just the fact that he took off like that makes me wonder if he's even in his right mind. I can see him, now, huddling on some street corner with his guitar, having people ignore him, and enjoying the anonymity of it all. He's been so recognizable for so long, this would be like starting all over." Laurie shook her head. Her brother was indeed very famous, and while she knew he loved the celebrity life, he'd often confided to her that once, just once, he would love to be able to go somewhere and not be bothered because of who he was. She did not envy him his life.
The motel looked shabby from the outside, and wasn't much better inside. Keith knew that he wouldn't be able to check into one of the big named hotels without drawing attention to himself, so the Sunset Inn just behind the strip was his only hope. He pushed the door to his room open and was quite taken aback with what he saw. He had been in some dives in his life, but this took the cake! The wallpaper was a garish red and gold and was peeling from the walls, the bed was propped up on four cinder blocks and the dresser leaned to the right, missing two of its legs. He didn't even want to think about checking out the bathroom as he stepped in tentatively, hoping not to meet any other living creatures that may be scurrying about.
At least it was clean; he could smell the chemicals that had been used recently. To cover up what, he didn't want to know. Putting his bag down on a dilapidated chair next to the dresser, Keith instinctively brushed the brightly colored bedspread off and sat down on the bed. He was exhausted and hurting, now, wanting nothing but to fall asleep. As he looked around the room, tears came to his eyes. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why he was even here. He guessed it was to run away from his problems, though he knew that if he were really thinking straight, he would be home, with Mom, letting her take care of everything. At least he would have someone to talk to, someone to hold his hand when the pain became too much. But he didn't want to put her through this. And, too, he knew that before long, all of his brothers and sisters would be there, too, fussing over him and worrying about him, forsaking their own lives for his, however short it would end up being.
Oh, god, he was going to die! He might not see Christmas, or even his birthday; nor Mom's birthday, which was approaching rapidly. Tracy's birthday was a week ago, which meant that Shirley's wasn't far behind. Could the cancer take him that quickly? He felt a shiver spear through him and he clutched his arms, suddenly feeling alone and afraid.
He began to sob, deep, penetrating sobs that shook his whole body and he fell onto the bed, curling up, wanting so badly to be held and knowing he couldn't be. Maybe not ever again…oh, boy, Keith Partridge, what have you done?!
****
The room was smoky, hazy, with a band playing some pretty horrible music in the background and the sound of someone playing pool somewhere beyond the shrouded darkness. Chris sat at the bar, blankly watching the television above the bartender's head as it flickered in the low light. He clutched the beer bottle in his hand as if it were the last thing he owned, which, for the moment, it was. He'd spent his last five bucks on beer and a lousy tasting taco that really had something to be desired.
He really wasn't a drinker; until tonight, he'd only had maybe four beers in his life. As he stared down at the now empty bottle in front of him, he just shook his head. What in the world was he thinking? Mom wouldn't be happy if she could see her youngest son like this. For all she knew, he was in the dorm, studying his life away to make her proud of him; so she could say, "My son, Chris, is a DOCTOR."
But he wasn't a doctor; it just wasn't going to happen. He would just have to do something else with his life, but what? The only other thing he really knew was his drumming. He was good; great, in fact. Keith had once asked him to be his drummer in his solo act; something that Chris was humbled by. Keith was his hero, he really was, and one hell of a fine musician. To be asked to play in his band was an honor beyond words. And, stupidly, Chris thought, he turned him down. All for the sake of thinking he, Chris Partridge, could be a doctor. What a fool he was!
Chris turned his attention to the lousy music being put forth by this so-called band up on the makeshift stage across the room. He concentrated on the beat, which was so off, it made his skin crawl. Too bad Keith wasn't here; he'd have those guys sitting in the audience in no time, showing them what REAL music sounded like, and then he would blow them away with his prowess on the guitar. Chris smiled, in spite of his misery. That drummer could use some lessons. Without even thinking twice, Chris got down off the barstool and sauntered over to the four guys as they finished mangling what had slightly resembled "Stairway to Heaven."
"Mind if I sit in on a song or two?"
The drummer shrugged. "Think you can do it, kid?"
With one arm tied behind my back, Chris thought, but out loud, he said, "I think so."
The man stood up, handing the sticks to the youngster. "She's all yours. I gotta take a leak anyway."
That was more than I needed to know, Chris said silently, and slipped into the chair. Looking at his new bandmates, who obviously didn't care WHO was drumming, he readied himself. "Name your tune."
"Let's hear you first."
Shrugging, Chris started the beat, slowly at first, then built up speed. He pounded out his problems, taking his frustrations out on the drumheads as hard as he could.
He drummed for a good five minutes, then ended it abruptly, out of breath. He looked up at the other guys, who just gaped at him, completely and totally impressed.
"Who ARE you, man?" The one with the bass guitar stepped forward, his face reflecting awe.
Chris smiled wearily. "Chris Partridge. Musician," he said.
****
Keith was in agony. The back pain was immense, now, and he found, to his horror, he was out of medication. Frightened and alone, he huddled on the bed, bearing the ache as it ravaged him, rendering him immobile at times. When it peaked he would moan, his body shuddering from the fight, then the pain would ease a bit, and he lay there, exhausted. Death would be a blessing; it really would, but to die here, alone in this place…he couldn't let that happen. His mother would be livid…
Trembling, he reached over and pulled the phone down off the nightstand. The effort caused him more pain and he waited it out, then, barely able to see the keypad, he dialed.
****
Chris slipped into the dorm room, looking, for all it was worth, haphazard and rumpled. It was mid afternoon and Eddie was in class. For that, he was grateful. No explanations of his four day disappearance would be needed right away. All Chris wanted to do now was take a hot shower.
He saw a note in big, bold red letters on the fridge: Chris, call HOME!!!!, and in his weariness, he couldn't focus on the importance of it. Shrugging it off, he headed for the bathroom, scratching at his unshaven face. If Mom could see him now…
The phone rang, and Chris toyed with the idea of ignoring it for the moment. Then again, there was that note.
Sighing, he picked up the receiver. "Hello," he muttered, still scratching the stubble on his cheek. Chris frowned. "Yeah. Who's this?"
The voice on the other end was unrecognizable, faint. He almost hung up, then reality struck. "Keith? What's the matter? I can barely - " His expression softened, and then darkened. "Oh, god…where are you?
His heart pounding, he grabbed a notepad and pencil. "Look, let me call Mom, and then I'll catch the first flight out. Yes, she needs to know! Keith, listen to me. Get your butt to the hospital, and I'll meet you there. I know, pal, I know." Chris swallowed. Hearing the pain in his brother's voice was heartbreaking. "But, can you stand it for that long? It's gonna be hours before I get there!" He scribbled on the notepad. "Okay, Sunset Inn, I've got it. If the pain gets too bad, though, go to the emergency room. Okay, I'll see you as soon as I can. Hang in there, buddy."
He pressed the receiver buttons and quickly dialed San Pueblo.
"Danny? What are you -?" He paused, shoulders drooping. "Yes, I know. He just called me. He's in bad shape." Chris began to pace. "He's at some seedy motel, the Sunset Inn. I'm taking the next flight. Great, then I'll meet you there. Since you'll be there before me, get him over to Desert Springs Hospital. He's bad, Danny. Yeah, I know, me, too. Thanks." With that, Chris hung up and pulled a suitcase from his closet.
****
Keith awoke with a start. He'd been dreaming he was seventeen again and back in San Pueblo. He and Danny were arguing over a song arrangement and Shirley and Laurie were trying to intervene…it was a familiar old scene, and Keith felt tears come to his eyes when he realized that it was only a dream. He was not seventeen, he was not in San Pueblo and neither Danny, Laurie nor Shirley were there.
The pain, however, WAS still there, nagging at him, though not nearly as forceful as before, and he managed to roll over and look at his travel alarm. One forty-five. He'd only called Chris an hour ago; hardly time for him to get to the airport, let alone clear across the country.
With a groan, Keith sat up, hunching over and putting his head in his hands. Chris had told him that if the pain got unbearable, he should go to the emergency room. He pondered his brother's words. How bad was unbearable? Worse than now? Keith swallowed, leaning back, lifting his chest, arching his back and looking ceiling ward. The pain actually eased off a little with the motion and, a tad surprised, he stretched again. Maybe a little exercise was the answer. If it took the edge off the ache in his back, he was willing to walk to the Hoover Dam.
Easing out of the bed, he grabbed the tattered phone book from beneath the telephone and thumbed through it. He was hungry, couldn't remember the last time he'd even eaten! A restaurant had to be nearby, and if he could walk off this pain and satisfy his hunger at the same time…
There was a listing for a café just about a block away and he nodded. He would have plenty of time to get over there and back. Maybe; if this darned backache didn't debilitate him, first.
First, though, he would need to shower. Keith Partridge just could not be seen out in public looking like a bum. He grabbed a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom. He caught his reflection in the mirror and was startled. His hair was mussed from the restless sleep he'd encountered over the last little while, and there was a day's growth of stubble on his face. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot and his clothes were rumpled. He looked like he'd been to hell and back and felt like it, too. Shaking his head, he reached into the shower and turned on the water, then slowly began shedding the remnants of the past two days.
****
The note, written in Danny's barely legible writing and pinned to the bulletin board in the kitchen, left Shirley, Laurie and Tracy in the dark. It read, simply: Mom, girls, left for Vegas, 2 p.m. flight. Will call when I find Keith.
Laurie was angry as she watched Shirley sink into a chair at the table. "I can't believe he left before we got back! He promised he'd wait."
"Well, it's probably the only flight he could get," Tracy, once again the pacifist, checked her watch. "It's still half an hour before his plane leaves. We could call the airport and have him paged."
"He's already boarded." Laurie sighed. "At least he's on the way. Now, if we can just get hold of the other one…" She reached for the phone as Shirley closed her eyes.
Their mother was exhausted, Tracy could tell. The little shopping spree they'd taken her on to forget about her prodigal sons had worn her to a frazzle, and coming home to this news wasn't helping her morale any.
Tracy sat down beside her, putting her arm around her shoulders. "You should try and get some sleep, Mom. I know you didn't sleep all night. Danny won't be there for another couple of hours, so it will be a while before we hear anything.
Her hand shaking, Shirley wiped at some stray tears on her face. "I don't know - "
"We promise to call you if there's news. You're going to wear yourself down, and then what?"
Sighing, Shirley pushed herself up from the table. "I suppose you're right." She turned. "But the second you hear something…"
"Cross my heart," Tracy smiled, making an 'x' over her chest.
As Shirley left the room, however hesitantly, Laurie very nearly slammed the receiver back into its cradle. "Still no answer! I am going to buy that boy a portable phone for Christmas!"
Tracy smiled. "You'd think that as long as he's going to be a doctor, he would at least get a pager."
"That would help," Laurie went to the coffee pot. "Want a cup?"
"No thanks. My nerves are already on edge. I wish Danny would have taken Ken with him. All we need is for HIM to get lost, too."
A smile tugged on Laurie's pert lips. "I remember there was a time when we wished all three of them would get lost."
Tracy nodded as her sister joined her at the table, her coffee steaming in the cup she clutched in both hands.
"I hope Keith's not in pain or anything. I hope he's taking care of himself," Tracy said.
"Just the fact that he took off like that makes me wonder if he's even in his right mind. I can see him, now, huddling on some street corner with his guitar, having people ignore him, and enjoying the anonymity of it all. He's been so recognizable for so long, this would be like starting all over." Laurie shook her head. Her brother was indeed very famous, and while she knew he loved the celebrity life, he'd often confided to her that once, just once, he would love to be able to go somewhere and not be bothered because of who he was. She did not envy him his life.