Chapter 4: The Deposit
[Chapter 4: The Deposit]
"Come on, hurry up! Why is it taking so long to check out? It's just a bunch of furniture -- who'd want it anyway?"
At the front desk, Link urged impatiently.
"Sir, after inspection, we found that you wet the bed. We'll have to deduct from your deposit for cleaning costs," replied a fat black woman behind the counter, her expression unchanging as she hung up the phone.
Suddenly, all the guests waiting to check out turned their attention to Link, their eyes filled with mockery. Some even erupted with laughter.
Link's face flushed a deep red, his pale complexion taking on a sickly hue as he protested, "That's nonsense! You can't blame me for that. I'm a twenty-year-old man; how could I possibly wet the bed? Do you really think that's likely?"
His question drew nods and murmurs of agreement from the crowd. After all, how could a young man possibly have such an accident?
Was this some kind of scam on the hotel's part to keep guests' deposits? The guests' doubtful glances shifted back to the black woman.
Unfazed, she rolled her eyes and replied, "Sir, there was a large, solid stain on the bedspread. It couldn't possibly have come from spilled milk. Do you want my colleague to verify it?"
Link's face burned even more. He clenched his fists and slammed them on the counter.
All eyes were now focused back on him. A few women stared boldly at his lower half while some men burst into laughter. Their expressions dripped with ridicule.
"Ma'am, your reasoning is completely unreasonable! As a young man, how am I supposed to control something like that? No, it isn't possible. What man could? It's just like how women can't control an unexpected period. As fellow humans, you should understand me and not humiliate me over this."
The crowd shifted, their eyes showing a mix of hesitation as they looked at the black woman. A few guests even whispered about switching hotels.
"And another thing, ma'am. The heating in the room was colder than a corpse, making me catch a cold."
"Alright, sir, you win," the woman sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically as she pulled a ten-dollar bill from the register and slapped it on the counter.
"Actually, I don't care about the ten bucks. It's just that your reasoning is ridiculous. I'm all about fairness. And by the way, I hope you have a good day at work."
Link pocketed what was rightfully his and politely nodded to the black woman and the surrounding guests. He grabbed his backpack and strode out of the hotel.
---
Every morning, a tourist bus left Park City for Salt Lake City, priced at eight dollars. Other bus fares could run over twenty dollars.
Link needed to catch this bus, or he'd have to walk back to Los Angeles.
As he waited for the bus on the side of the road, a group of sharply dressed people emerged from the Hilton across the street.
In the middle of the group was a stout man in a black wool suit, looking to be in his forties, with a round face and a big belly, which was cinched with a flashy designer belt. The belt seemed to strangle the gut, making it wobble as he walked, and one could almost hear it creaking with every move.
The man gestured as he spoke, clearly in charge, and everyone nearby leaned in to catch every word, hanging on his every utterance.
Among the crowd, there was one who seemed quite at ease. He stood over six-foot-three, with fluffy curly hair and an elongated face, with a chin that curved slightly upward like a banana. This man, with his rugged features, looked both menacing and absurd. He was none other than Quentin Tarantino, the breakout director from this year's Sundance Film Festival known for his film Reservoir Dogs.
The fat man who looks like a toad next to him is none other than the current big shot in the Hollywood independent film circle -- Harvey Weinstein, president of Miramax Films.
Link saw them chatting about film distribution, and it suddenly felt like a missed opportunity.
...
"Hey, Quentin!" Link called out across the street.
He knew Quentin. Before coming to Sundance, they had both lived in the same apartment in West Hollywood, albeit in different buildings. Over the past few months, they'd brushed elbows a few times and recognized each other.
Once in Park City, Link had caught Reservoir Dogs while Quentin had seen his own film, Buried. But now, with Reservoir Dogs' explosive success, Quentin was busier than ever, and Link might not have the chance to see him again.
"Hey, Link!" Quentin waved back.
Before Link could speak, an elongated black Lincoln pulled over, and Quentin hopped in alongside Harvey Weinstein.
The luxury car glided away, leaving only a shadow on the street as it disappeared into the chilly embrace of Park City.
---
A gust of cold wind blew by.
The bus arrived.
Link hopped on and rode to the Park City bus station.
By a little after two, he boarded the tourist bus heading to Salt Lake City.
From there, he planned to take a train to the West Coast and back to Los Angeles.
Utah sat nestled in the Rocky Mountains and Colorado Plateau, the majority of its regions well above 6,500 feet in elevation.
In December and January, most of Utah's temperatures hovered around a chilling thirty degrees Fahrenheit.
The ski resorts drew in many middle-class Americans each winter.
Park City, known for hosting the Sundance Film Festival, was a significant tourist destination.
But for someone like Link, it felt like an arctic hell.
As the train passed through Nevada and into California, the warmth of the sun spilled in through the windows. Link couldn't help but shiver and slowly awaken from his nap.
Outside, the sky was a brilliant blue, as colorful birds soared overhead.
Sunshine gleamed upon the mountains surrounding Providence.
The greenery was lush, and flowers were in full bloom.
Southern California boasted a Mediterranean climate with hot, dry summers and mild, wet winters, and temperatures averaged between sixty and eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit.
As long as plants were brought from other climates, they could thrive here.
There, one wouldn't have to worry about freezing, but living well and enjoying life came with the same difficulties as in other cities.
"Hey, buddy, you finally woke up. Someone stole your backpack," a voice called.
*****
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