The Motel Tapes

Part two of a revelatory new book

The Motel is situated somewhere in the United States. The rooms are identical, with an oversized bed, a television set and a bathroom off to the side. In each room, there is a printed notice establishing the price—$19 for a double, $14 for a single.

Of Course I Love You

Floyd: Wow! Did you see that chick?

Judy: The one going in next door?

Floyd: Yeah, far out! He sure got himself a pretty one.

Judy: A pretty what?

Floyd: A pretty chick. Hey, what's the matter now? I'm just kidding.

Judy: That doesn't much sound like kidding to me.

Floyd: Hey, he may have got himself a pretty one, but I got myself a beautiful one!

Judy: You've got yourself a beautiful what?

Floyd: A beautiful you. Hey, don't go getting mad at me now. A beautiful you!

Judy: This is an awful mistake, Floyd. I knew this would be a mistake. I really think it would be better right now if we called the whole thing off.

Floyd: There's nothing to call off. Yet.

Judy: This is all a mistake.

Floyd: Hey, hon, it's no mistake. What's the matter with me saying my chick's beautiful? You are beautiful.

Judy: Floyd….

Floyd: Yeah, I don't care what anyone else says, you are beautiful.

Judy: There you go again. Floyd, that doesn't help things at all. It's not funny. You can't love me. You wouldn't talk to me the way you do if you loved me.

Floyd: Of course I love you—I'm fuckin' you, ain't I?

Judy: I want to go home.

Floyd: Oh, come off it. That's an old joke from the Army. Don't let it bother you. "Of course I love you—I'm fuckin' you, ain't I?" It breaks me up every time I think about it.

Judy: I'm going home, even if I have to call a taxi.

Floyd: Do you really want me to call you a taxi?

Judy: Yes, I do.

Floyd: Really?

Judy: I'm serious.

Floyd: All right. You're a taxi.

Judy: Are you crazy?

Floyd: You told me to call you a taxi. All right. You're a taxi. Does that make you feel any better? Hey, come on, you'll get over it, baby. I'd call you a taxi, except I've already paid for the room.

Judy: Where are you going now? What're you up to?

Floyd: I'm just goin' to the little-boys' room—I'll be back in a minute. Hey, sugar, don't start without me.

Judy: Floyd, I'm going. It was a terrible mistake.

The Hook

Mike: Hey, where'd you get a name like that, anyway?

Veronica: My mother gave it to me.

Mike: Your mother gave you a boy's name?

Veronica: Ronnie's not a boy's name; it's short for Veronica. Most of the guys call me Squirrel Girl, anyway.

Mike: My name's Mike.

Veronica: Hello, Mike, whadaya want?

Mike: I want you.

Veronica: That's not what I mean. C'mon, you got to tell me. Whadaya like?

Mike: What's the choice?

Veronica: Like half-and-half or straight French; you know.

Mike: What's a half-and-half?

Veronica: Come on.

Mike: No, I really don't know. I never even heard of a half-and-half.

Veronica: That's where the girl sucks you till you're ready and then you fuck the girl.

Mike: I guess I'd like a half-and-half. That sounds like hitting all bases.

Veronica: Just leave me lay my dress down neat.

•

Mike: Oh, yeah, baby, yeah. That's right. Oh, you know what you're doin', you know what you're doin' No, don't stop that.

Veronica: You said half-and-half.

Mike: Just keep doin' that.

Veronica: You want the straight French, then?

Mike: Straight French, fine, just don't stop. Yeah. Oh, oh, oooohhhhh. Oh, hold my balls. Oh, yeah. Oh, oh, oh.

•

Mike: Hey, where's the fire?

Veronica: I got to get back to the Alcove.

Mike: Hey, Ronnie, stick around for a few minutes. We'll go one more time. Fifteen dollars, right? The price hasn't gone up, has it? Just gimme a minute and we'll do that number again.

Veronica: If you want to go again, you got to go back to the Alcove and pay Bryan. I can't go a second time without his being paid for it.

Mike: That Bryan is some character. He's one mean hombre——

Veronica: Oh, he just looks mean. He's really sweet. You want to know something? He's going to marry me.

Mike: He's gonna marry you and he spends all night fixing you up with customers?

Veronica: Look, I really got to go back there. Bryan don't want us partyin' with the customers.

Mike: Just a minute. Hey, wait a minute. I'm going out there—I'll be back in a minute. I want to try that one more time.

Veronica: The same?

Mike: I wouldn't want you to change a thing.

Veronica: Well, you got the money, honey, I got the time.

•

Veronica: What took ya?

Mike: Your fiancé wanted to talk. He told me to stop for a little jolt, it'd be OK.

Veronica: Yeah, what'd Bryan say?

Mike: He told me this time I should go for one of them half-and-halfs.

Veronica: That's what he said?

Mike: You know something, you got a nice little body there. I like a woman who's built compact.

Veronica: That's my problem—a nice little body and a nice big nose.

Mike: What're you talking about?

Veronica: The old schnozzola.

Mike: What're you puttin' yourself down for?

Veronica: I'm not putting myself down. It wasn't a bad schnozzola until a car ran over it.

Mike: A car ran over your nose? Tell me another.

Veronica: Believe it. Three years ago, I was riding my bike and a car hit me. The only broken bone in my body was my nose.

Mike: You can't even notice.

Veronica: You never even looked.

Mike: I was looking at you. I looked, all right, and I didn't see nothing wrong. It's all in your head.

Veronica: It's all on my head, you mean. The reason you didn't notice nothing is because I always look at a customer straight on. That way, you can't see the bump. I'll turn my head now; you can see how bent up it is.

Mike: I still don't see nothing.

Veronica: That's 'cause I only looked away for a second. I don't let anyone see the profile, not for long.

Mike: This really bothers you.

Veronica: Of course it really bothers me; it'd bother anyone. As far as I'm concerned, it ruint my looks. Some of the guys out there call me The Hook. Others call me Squirrel Girl. Until that accident, I looked just like a kid.

Mike: You still look like a kid to me.

Veronica: Yeah, well, I'm 27 years old and I've got two kids of my own; the boy'll be nine in March.

Mike: What're you doin' with someone like that Bryan character?

Veronica: Whadaya mean? He's goin' to marry me, that's what I'm doin'. Hey, you must be rested enough now. Let's see if we can get this li'l fellow to stand up straight like a man.

Mike: He's gonna marry you and, meantime, he fixes you up with his customers.

Veronica: You know, if you're gonna start in again on Bryan, I'm gonna go back to the Alcove.

Mike: Hold on a minute. Don't get all in a uproar. I didn't mean nothing. I don't even know your Bryan. He just looks like some character to me.

Veronica: Bryan was gonna marry me when the accident happened. But the whole thing is, no one would marry anyone with a schnozz like this one. But when I get the nose fixed, Bryan and me are getting married.

Mike: Why don't you just get it fixed now?

Veronica: Sure, give me $1400 and I'll do that little thing. That's what the plastic surgeon says it'll run, and then it'll be as good as new.

Mike: Bryan and you are getting hitched—but he's not going to get hitched with you until the nose gets fixed, so to get the dough to fix the nose, he fixes you up with other guys; I've heard every thing now.

Veronica: Are we goin' another time or what?

Mike: Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Veronica: Don't get the wrong impression of Bryan. He loves me.

Mike: Yeah.

Veronica: Hey, he really does love me.

Mike: Yeah, it's a regular storybook romance.

The List Maker

Mary: Sometimes I'm impressed just being with you. I mean it. I'm always amazed that you'd even bother with me. You're by far the most successful person I've ever known.

Nicholas: Is that right?

Mary: Oh, yes, you're the most successful man who ever took an interest in me. The other guys I've gone with, they all seem like losers. I don't know what I ever saw in any of them.

Nicholas: Maybe it was the fact that they needed you.

Mary: Don't you need me?

Nicholas: Yes, I do. I need you and therefore I'll have you. You know why those other guys are losers? It's the same reason that most people are losers. They don't have the slightest idea how to focus on anything. Whatever I'm going to do in life, I focus in on it completely.

Mary: I think so. I think you do—but where did you learn that? Why doesn't everyone know how to do it?

Nicholas: I'm really not sure. I can tell you what happened to me. When I was still in grade school, I was asked to do a book report—I've often tried to think of the title, but it has always escaped me; but it was a study of the most successful and affluent men in the country. Hundreds of them, I think, and they were all asked for the secrets of their success. Many of them had different ideas, but almost every one of them mentioned an ability to focus, to eliminate all distractions and get down to brass tacks. Almost every one of those men made a list. That's always stayed with me; you've seen my notebook. I'm always working on one list or another. Whatever I write down in there, that's what I'm focusing on. The act of writing it down almost forces me to start focusing. Before I begin the day, before my first cup of coffee, I list the six or seven goals I hope to accomplish on that day. Always in order of importance.

Mary: And those are the things you always get done?

Nicholas: Not at all. But it shows me what I should be concentrating on and it saves me much wasted effort. It's like being in the jungle and having a map.

Mary: Was this on the list?

Nicholas: This?

Mary: Me. "Make love to Mary"—something along that line.

Nicholas: No, it wasn't. The beauty of making up a list is that you don't have to follow it. If something better turns up, then the thing to do is focus on that. You're not on the list today—but you're definitely something better.

I'm not going to apologize for the list—I use it for almost everything I do. Some of the guys at the office wonder how come I'm able to play scratch golf. Golf is a perfect example of what I'm talking about. If ever there was something that required total concentration, complete focus, it's golf. Most of the guys think they can go out and talk about business and women and what not and still play a decent game of golf. They're fooling themselves.

Mary: I'm sure you're right, it's just that I never gave it much thought before.

Nicholas: I know it's right. When I turned 40, I spent a full year traveling around the world. I just left the office. Almost every person I know in the business world—they all said how lucky I was and how they would love to be able to do something like that themselves. If they really wanted to do it, if they were able to focus on the act of actually doing it, then, by Christ, they would do it.

Going to Europe is no more difficult (continued on page 172)Motel Tapes(continued from page 120) than going to Chicago. And Tahiti is just another short step. It's all a matter of steps. Step one, the decision to do it. Step two, write it down on the list—at the same time assigning it its proper priority. Step three, determine feasibility—is it something that can be done? Four, make full plans for the accomplishment of the goal. Five, start moving toward the goal with no undue delay. After that, it's simply a matter of moving one foot after another.

•

Mary: I've got this feeling I wouldn't be too good at making a list. I think writing it down would inhibit me.

Nicholas: How's that?

Mary: Well, in a way, it's limiting. You plan things out too carefully and you commit yourself; I think you may be cutting out a lot of possibilities, a lot of happy accidents.

Nicholas: Maybe so. Maybe that's the price you pay. My feeling is that we pay a price for everything in this life. If writing things down on a list eliminates some degree of spontaneity, then so be it—it seems a small enough price to pay.

•

Nicholas: I think I should be honest with you. There was a time I did put your name down on a list.

Mary: I thought maybe you had.

Nicholas: I did.

Mary: I'm not sure I like that whole notion. I'm not sure that isn't just a bit mechanical for my liking.

Nicholas: I don't think you'd be so annoyed if you saw the list. It was some list. I'll—I better tell you about it. I decided to make a list of the ten things in the world that I wanted most. You were there and a villa in Acapulco was there and a Brionvega stereo was there and a Citroën-Maserati was there——

Mary: I hate to point it out, Nick, but you still drive a Lincoln.

Nicholas: Someday, someday. I've man aged to get most of the things on the list. The stereo was no problem. I got the Eames chair. I haven't quite managed Acapulco yet——

Mary: Nick, where was I on the list?

Nicholas: What do you mean by that?

Mary: What was my priority? Where was I on the list?

Nicholas: You were right at the top. The first word I wrote was Mary. I don't know how you could ask me a question like that.

Everything All Right?

Willoughby: Oh, God. Do that, do it, oh, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! Oh, God. Hold, hold! Oh, oh, God, ah, ah, ahhh! Huhhhhhhh, huhhhhhhh. ohhhhhhh! Do it that way, that way. That way, THAT WAY! Oh, Jesus, my darling, darling, my darling, I'm going to come. Oh, God, I'm coming, I'm coming now, hold on to me, hold me in you, tight, tight! Oh, I'm coming now, now, coming now! GOD, JESUS, GOD, JESUS, NOW!

•

Willoughby: Oh, honey, are you all right? Was that all right for you?

Confessions of a Mechanical Man

Alice: Did you like that?

Thomas: Sure. Why?

Alice: You didn't say anything. You didn't say a word. I don't know, sometimes I get the feeling you don't even like it anymore.

Thomas: I like it just fine.

Alice: I just don't know.

Thomas: Hey, hon, what brings this on? I'm telling you, it felt just fine. What else do you want me to say?

Alice: I don't know. But something. You used to say things to me. Now I get the feeling that you think you're doing me a favor.

Thomas: I know what you mean, but it's not your fault.

•

Thomas: You know, it's probably just growing older. The last time I felt really good was a long time ago. I was just thinking about it. I was 25 years old and just out of the Air Force and I was driving an old Ford convertible through Spain. I owned the car, I had money in my pocket, I had a damn good job waiting for me back in the States. For the first time in my life, there was no place that I had to be. I could have stopped for a week and stayed on the beach. I could have turned around and gone back to Paris. I had the top down and the sun was unbelievable. I was listening to the Voice of America and I was singing along at the top of my voice. The people along the road were turning to look at me—you know, the crazy American—but for once in my life, it didn't matter what anyone else thought. It was such a good moment in my life that I kept telling myself to remember it, to remember how good everything was, to re member once in my life how it felt to be really happy. And I still do remember it. I was driving along this beautiful countryside—there was a town called Murzia—and I stopped at some whitewashed café and had a bottle of the local wine. The wine had an almost smoky edge to it, the wine of Murzia, and if I ever again see wine from that region, I'll buy a case of it. I'll tell you something—at that moment, I felt so good that nothing in life has ever been able to top it.

Alice: I know what you mean. Sometimes I can get turned on that way, too. Sometimes when I'm listening to the radio and the music seems so special——

Thomas: This was different. It wasn't—you couldn't call it a turn-on. I've felt good that other way, too. With music, with sex—but that's just a few seconds, not much more than that. There was no sex at all connected with this; that would have meant another person and that would have ruined everything I was feeling. Sex would have just gotten in the way of what I was feeling.

Suddenly, everything felt special. I saw an old woman balancing a clay pot on her head and suddenly I could see her great beauty. I mean, she always had that beauty, but at that moment I was finally able to take it in. Maybe I shouldn't try to explain this; maybe I can't explain it. All I know is that it was one of the few times in my life that I didn't have to worry about another person on the face of the earth. In fact, I didn't have to worry about another thing. What it was, I guess, was, for the first time in my life, freedom. I felt free. I promised myself that someday I'd go back there and sit at that same café and drink that same wine, but I somehow never got around to it.

Alice: We could go over the kids' spring vacation——

Thomas: No. It's too late. It wouldn't be the same.

•

Alice: The problem is, you don't feel free with me, do you?

Thomas: In a way, I do.

Alice: "In a way" really isn't what I wanted to hear.

Thomas: Whenever I stop to really think about it, whenever I open my eyes and look around me and see what's happening to me, I see all the traps. I see that my whole life is a trap.

Alice: How can you say that? There are many who would be envious of what you've got.

Thomas: Maybe it's because I see the limits of it all too well. I see what I've got myself into all too well. Making love with you is about the only exception.

Alice: You don't have to say that.

Thomas: When we're like this, it's about the only time I come alive. This is life. My life. The rest of it, that's someone else's life. I mean that, by the way. I really have the feeling that I'm leading someone else's life.

Alice: But it's all your life.

Thomas: Maybe not. I can't remember the last time I did anything that I wanted to do. Every now and then, there's a minute or two that belongs to me, but the life is someone else's. Seriously. Just think about it for a minute. From the minute I get up in the morning, I start living someone else's life. I wake up at an hour I hate—6:30, God!—and I sit down to breakfast with three kids who think I'm a fossil. Then I eat a breakfast I can't stand—granola! Then I go off to a boring office, where I meet with a partner I can't stand. Days go by, weeks go by, and it's as if someone else was doing it all. Sometimes I get the feeling that this other guy is calling all the shots and I'm just along for the ride.

Alice: Can't you just change things?

Thomas: It's gone on too long. It's gone on forever. And it was never a question of what I wanted to do; it was always something someone else decided I should do.

Alice: There must be millions of people feel the same way you do.

Thomas: I haven't even told you the worst of it. What kills me is that I don't even like this other guy who's living my life. We've got nothing in common. Here I am, walking around in his shoes and wearing his clothes, and he's a complete yo-yo. He walks around, smiling at everyone, never expressing an opinion of his own, being nice all day long, never saying an interesting or pertinent thing. And somewhere inside, deep inside, there's me, seething. I mean it. I'm so mad at this big yo-yo that I'm yelling inside. "Speak up!" I shout to him. "Stop it!" I say. "Cut the crap!" But he goes on doing the same nothing stuff. I wouldn't mind living someone else's life if it was only a life. I wouldn't mind leading Robert Redford's life. Or Teddy Kennedy's life. There's lots of lives I wouldn't mind leading. But what kills me about this life is that it's so boring.

One Wish

Kermit: If you had just one wish, what would it be?

Lois: One wish right now?

Kermit: Yeah, but just the one wish.

Lois: I would wish that just once I might spend the whole night with you.

The Timetable

Doris: Thursday's going to be bad for me—it looks like Thursday is completely out. Jenny's got to go to Dr. Smith.

Justin: Couldn't you change the appointment?

Doris: I've already changed it twice and I don't dare mess with this week. Not the third time. I don't want to go down as a three-time loser in Smitty's book.

Justin: Do you know how unreal this is? Letting an orthodontist run your love life.

Doris: You don't have to tell me how idiotic it is.

Justin: The last time, it was her ballet class. I'm starting to think your little Jennifer's got something in for me.

Doris: Don't blame me. I've told you what we should do. We ought to find some time for us—one day every week—and we should decide in advance that nothing short of a coronary can get in the way on that one day.

Justin: I hate like hell to put this on a schedule. The trouble with my life now is that everything is on a schedule.

Doris: I know. Oh, darling, I know that—but if we don't get some kind of a timetable going, we're never going to get together. You know how long it was this time?

Justin: Yeah, it so happens I do know how long it was.

Doris: Or we could do it this way—we could pick out one special day, and then if something comes up, we just cancel and no one goes away mad.

Justin: Like what day?

Doris: I was thinking in terms of Wednesday night.

Justin: That—you know that's the night of the game.

Doris: So you start missing the game. You say——

Justin: I wouldn't mind missing the game, but there's a small catch. We know all these guys. Their wives all happen to be Charl's best friends. All I have to do is miss the game and word'd get back home by Western Union. I figure it's all right to take a chance and miss a game every now and then, but there's no way I could just drop out. How about Thursday?

Doris: I thought about that. I thought, well, I could give up the class, but that won't work out, either.

Justin: Why not?

Doris: Oh, I can miss it every once in a while. But the thing is, he likes to surprise me and pick me up afterward for a soda. It could get very hairy.

Justin: It's a good thing I don't have a big ego problem. You won't give up an orthodontist appointment for me. You won't give up the kid's ballet lesson. You won't even give up a class in Chinese cooking——

Doris: It's not that way at all. This is all so childish. I'm not saying I won't give up a class. I will—I do—but it's like your precious poker game. There's no way to do it full time.

Justin: Yeah——

Doris: I know this is complicated, but try to listen. The thing about the class is that it's Hunan cooking and there's no way on earth to fake that. Every week after the class, I practice the dish we learned at home. I make it at least twice, then I try it out on company. The thing is, if I come home and I'm not trying out some exotic Hunan dish, it won't take him too long to figure things out. He's jealous to start with——

Justin: OK. The weekend is clearly out for both of us. No Friday, no Saturday and no Sunday. We've eliminated Wednesday and Thursday. Monday's my busiest day at the office—half the time I'd be calling up and canceling. I mean, that's the one night I do work late at the office.

Doris: Monday'd be tricky for me, anyway. Michael wants us to join the Great Books thing at the library. They meet Mondays.

Justin: Jesus, Great Books now. That leaves Tuesday. Just Tuesday.

Doris: And Tuesday's no good for me. That's the ballet after school and Michael gets paid on Tuesdays. It always strikes him that we ought to go out and celebrate his good fortune. At his salary, I sometimes wonder just what we're celebrating. But he usually calls on Tuesday to say Jet's go out for dinner.

Justin: Another big night at Arthur Treacher's.

Doris: At what he makes, I don't ask questions.

Justin: You know something, I think we just eliminated the whole damn week.

Doris: Maybe we could make it Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday after lunch but before your poker game.

Justin: That's a bad day for me. I'll tell you—how about Tuesday morning? Tuesday morning I'm always sitting around with nothing to do.

Doris: Tuesday morning?

Justin: It's about the only time all week I'm sitting around with nothing to do.

Doris: Tuesday morning at what time?

Justin: Sometime before lunch. Then I could go back to the office after lunch. Just like nothing had happened.

Doris: We'll give it a try. We'll try it this Tuesday and see how it goes.