volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

The living room is swell. Real neat and cozy. Although
the furniture is old and was bought used, it’s in good condition.
There is a red couch from the fifties, and a leather chair from the
sixties—the kind with a wooden stickshift that lets you recline
and rest your feet. Off to one side is a massive, oak roll-top desk
that must weigh a ton and be at least a hundred years old. Roy
imagines it came from a bank in the Wild West days. There’s
even an Oriental rug on the floor, worn in places but still pretty
nice. The windows are all covered with floor-to-ceiling drapes,
and gold-framed oil paintings he’s never bothered looking at
hang on flocked wallpapered walls. Plants—mostly Boston
ferns—are all over the place. Some hang from chains while
others sit quietly on fancy, ornamental stands. The largest ones,
like somber guards, slouch upward from heavy planters on the
floor.
Roy thinks Rick’s pretty lucky to live in such a swank place.
He has his own bedroom, plenty of heat—and a kitchen. Which
is funny, because Rick hates to cook—calls it bitch’s work—and
endlessly needles Roy because he enjoys it so much.
Roy thinks Rick doesn’t know how good he has it.
Not that Rick hasn’t lived on the streets in cardboard boxes
in the dead of winter, or in shelters or shit like that. It’s just that
he always takes what he has for granted, like life owes him or
something.
These thoughts hold Roy’s hand as he makes passage across
the intricate, ancient rug to the far side of the cavernous room,
where he stops before the hallway door.
The laughter grows louder.
This makes sense, because he’s closer now.
He can even make out some words between bouts of laughter.
He tips his balding dome forward and rests it against the door.
“Rick? Mel?”
Using his forehead, he eases open the door.
At the end of a long, dark hall cluttered with oddments of
furniture and hung with more gold-framed (and unviewed by
Roy) paintings, looms the kitchen.
Its door seems to float eerily in space. Light emanates from
around it like in a creepy movie.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY