The Feet of God

46 - IT ALL CAME OUT IN THE WASH

While a disgruntled ex-employee of The Cowridge Clan might be stalking them, this employee on “The Intimate Venue Tour” was thinking things was look’n up.  I mean, a hot shower and a comfortable bed in a legitimate motel?  Aside from a paycheck, what more could a dirty roadie ask?  I was excited as we crossed into the city limits of Elba a little past eight in the morning, and I could make out the sign of the Monett 4 Motel beckoning through overhead telephone wires and power lines.  But Freddy’s attention caught on something else, and he whipped the tour bus around in another direction.

Flashing his ol’ skyward thumb he shouted, “Hey, gang, are we lucky or what?”  The fabled digit was now pointed at a different sign, The Lucky Load Laundromat.  No sooner did we screech to a stop next to the Lucky Load than Freddy stood up and began disrobing.  “We got piles of laundry to do.  You bet!”

Before I realized it, the entire family was getting naked as jaybirds.  In less than five minutes the emergency door on the back of the bus flung open and everyone was chucking costumes out onto the parking lot.  Plastic bags filled with even more clothing was tossed on the asphalt.  Then they pushed me out.

Bobby hustled on over with a coffee can full of coins.  “Roadie, here’s some change for the wash.  Bring everything back to the motel when you’re done, including the leftover money.”  (I couldn’t figure out how this had escaped my detection earlier.)

As I took the can of coins from Bobby, something hit me in the back of the head.  A large, dark rubbery thing bounced on the ground next to my feet.

“Ooopsie,” I heard Miss Cherrie squeal.  “Could you get that for me, roadie?”  Her hand stretched out from the rear window of the tour bus.

I picked up the black missile and gave it to her.  She stuck the tapered end under her armpit and rotated the object to clean off any dust or gravel.  “Can’t let anything happen to Traveling Man,” she tittered.  “He’s my special friend.”  Cherrie disappeared back inside.

Meanwhile, Bobby never stopped yapping at me.  “Everything is white,” he threw more clothes at me till I was up to my butt in what was once white costumes.  “So it’s real simple.  Got that?  Just bleach the hell outta everything.  And here are some hangers for the shirts and pants, and here’s a bag for the delicate items.  Sequins are gonna come off, but hey, that’s show business.  Just keep an eye out for the rhinestone studs since they can be recycled.”  Bobby jumped back onboard the bus and waved, “See ya in a couple hours.”

Before he shut the door Mom Cowridge poked her head out.  I could see she was wearing nothing but a tight white T-shirt and huge pair of Bermuda shorts.  “Here’s a special load from me,” she threw a large trash bag my way.  “Please wash this separately, and run it twice through the rinse cycle.  I have a skin condition.”  As Mom went back inside she winked, “When you’re finished I have another job for you.  Ask the desk for my room number.”

“You bet,” I replied, while gathering up garbage bags and loose clothes.

Three hours later I was rolling 35 French-cut shirts, 23 pairs of rhinestone-studded bellbottoms, 87 white socks, and 3 pairs of leopard-print bikini briefs up the main drag of Elba in a borrowed Lucky Load cart.  I found the rainbow bus parked out front of the Monett 4 and headed straight to the motel office.

I knocked on the Plexiglas window.  I got the desk clerk’s attention and could see the counter was manned by a cow-faced woman.  She cranked open the panels on the security window and eyeballed me up and down.  “We don’t have any spare change.”

“I’m not asking for spare change, ma’am, I still got plenty.”  I jingled the coins left in my pocket to assure her I wasn‘t just a passing vagrant.

“How may I help you?”  Her tone wasn’t exactly hospitable.

“Which room is Mrs. Cowridge in?” I asked politely.

“Which one’s that?  The lunatic, the whore, or the fat old bitch?”

“That would be the fat old bitch,” I smiled.

“You’ll find her in Room #18.”

I nodded appreciatively and headed off to find Room #18.

The layout of the motel was a lot more complex than you might expect for a budget establishment of this type.  All the odd numbered rooms seemed to be on one side of one level, and all the even numbered in a totally different wing.  When I finally located Room #18, I quietly knocked on the door.  Then I heard a soft voice invite me in.

My eyes could barely contain the sight.  There in the dim light of this cheap motel, sprawled on the bed and only covered with a yellowed sheet, laid Mom Cowridge, once the third most popular mother in America.  She rolled over and smiled up at me.  “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

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