Chapter Thirty-Eight
In which our heroine begins a crash course in the plutocratic lifestyle.
“Your mandatory facilities tour is at 9:30 tomorrow morning,” the guard said, scanning Stimpy’s perfectly counterfeited Citizen Card. “You’re staying at the Trump Imperium Luxury Hotel. Prepaid for four days. Best hotel in the CCSA, that’s what many people say.” He seemed surprised by the next line of the readout. “You’re in the Libertine Suite. Man, y’all’s gonna have a lot of fun.” He gave Stimpy a lewd wink and handed the card back with a surprisingly respectful little bow of his head. “Just follow the golden crosses up the path here and bear right, Mr. Chapman, sir. Can’t miss it. Have an outstanding stay at our Christian golf resort.”
“He didn’t even look at my card,” Lorinda said as they cruised slowly along the grand entrance drive.
“That’s because you’re with me, and I’m The Man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Our friend Bill — I’m sure it was Bill — must’ve hacked our reservations and set me up as some kind of richy-rich oligarch dude. The ideal customer for this place.”
As Lorinda stewed on this, she saw that, in contrast to the patchy brown scrubland they’d been driving through over the past four (was it really only four?) days (it felt like months), here they were, surrounded by a deeply vibrant, evenly trimmed carpet of green. Small rainbows were visible in the fine mist that hovered over the turf, apparently the product of an elaborate hidden sprinkler system. Off to the left, she noticed two brilliant white patches of sand forming parentheses around an elevated freeform shape that was a darker shade of green. A little flagpole poked up from the middle of it. “We’re driving through a golf course,” she muttered.
Before Stimpy could respond, there was a loud bang on the roof of the truck. Lorinda flinched, shouting “They’re bombing us!”
Stimpy laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped.
“It was a golf ball,” Stimpy said gently. “Just a little golf ball. You’re right.” He put a calming hand on her knee. “We’re in the middle of a golf course. If I owned this truck I’d be pissed. Here we are. I’ll explain this place … later.”
He turned into the frilly, gilded porte cochère of the elaborately gilded entranceway of a pink-stucco ten-story building. In a robotic voice, he said: “Best hotel in the CCSA, that’s what people say.”
“Are we still walking old?” Lorinda asked.
Stimpy thought about it. “I think you can just walk normal,” he said. “I mean, not too normal. No jumping around or anything. We don’t want to attract attention.”
“And what about you? You get to jump around?”
“I,” he said, “will stay old. Old rich guy with cute, young sexy babe — we’ll fit right in here.” The baseball caps Archie had issued were sitting on the console between them. He handed Lorinda hers. “This’ll cover some of that gray.”
Lorinda arranged the cap on her head. “So you think I’m a cute babe?” She was pleased, and a little surprised, that he would describe her that way.
A teenage boy, wearing a fanciful light-blue military-style uniform and a white pith helmet, scurried over and opened Lorinda’s door before the truck had stopped moving. “Welcome to the Trump Imperium,” he attempted to purr — despite his cracking voice — as he opened the door. “I’m Regis, your val-lay. It would sure be my pleasure to take your bags.”
“O-kay …” Lorinda said uncertainly, not accustomed to being the target of fawning.
“No luggage,” Stimpy affably called as he got out of the truck. “We’re buying new clothes here. We understand you have terrific clothing stores in this enclave.”
“The best golf clothes in the country, sir. Especially the stores right here in the hotel mall. That’s what people say.” The young valet bowed slightly as he closed Lorinda’s door.
“When people say things, they usually know what they’re talking about,” said Stimpy, rounding the truck and dropping the key fob into the valet’s hand. “We’ve got a pile of guns on the floor there,” indicating the back door. “Could you rustle us up a cart so we can move them up to our room? We like to stay near our guns.” Lorinda hadn’t seen this sociable, charming-yet-assertive side of Stimpy before, and she was impressed
“Sure thing, sir,” said the valet. He sprang over to a golden luggage cart, rolled it to the truck, and lovingly transferred the handguns to the cart’s metal basket. “Hummin’ sweet!” he said as he picked up one of the heavy automatics and laid it across the suitcase rails. He sounded more like the kid he was than the fake military officer he was dressed as.
Stimpy took Lorinda’s arm and together they strolled into the hotel, Stimpy a bit stiffly, Lorinda — aware that she still was wearing the remnants of Archie’s makeup and dowdy clothing—only a tad more spryly. The valet followed with the jangling cart. The lobby was all columns, gold bunting, fake orchids, overstuffed sofas, and big screens running CCSA-TV with the sound muted. Stimpy approached the elaborately carved and gilt desk. If the young valet was dressed as a lieutenant in some imaginary army, the middle-aged clerk behind the desk was decked out as a five-star general.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Chapman, sir,” he said, snapping off a crisp salute. “Welcome to the finest hotel in the CCS of A. And welcome to you, Miss Howling. You’re prepaid here for four days, it’s your first visit here — well, y’all know that — so there’s the mandatory facilities tour tomorrow morning, I know you’ll enjoy it, your group meets right here in the lobby at 9:30 sharp, your room is the very special Libertine Suite up on the top floor, room ten-oh-one, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it, your Citizen Cards are your room keys for the duration of your stay, and welcome again to the Trump Memorial.” He paused for a breath. “Regis can bring that up for you if you like. And let me just say on a personal note that you two look very fetching together.”
“Thank you kindly,” Stimpy said. “C’mon, Regis.” The valet, with the gun-laden luggage cart, followed Lorinda and Stimpy into the elevator. Lorinda made eye contact with Stimpy, wrinkled her face, and mouthed: “fetching?” He gave her a comic shrug as Regis pressed the button for 10 and the gleaming golden doors slid shut.
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NEXT: Chapter Thirty-Nine. In which our heroine continues her crash course in the plutocratic lifestyle, then crashes.
PREVIOUSLY in THE SPLIT!
Chapter One. In which we meet our heroine and her dainty little gun.
Chapter Two. In which Lorinda demonstrates her bartending virtuosity.
Chapter Three. In which our heroine receives a promotion and prepares to celebrate.
Chapter Four. In which our heroine proves herself an immoral citizen of the CCSA.
Chapter Five. In which our heroine goes to church.
Chapter Six. In which Lorinda contemplates her future, ignores Pastor Doug, and gets something unexpected from Emmie.
Chapter Seven. In which Lorinda learns something that threatens her big dream.
Chapter Eight. In which our heroine freaks out.
Chapter Nine. In which our heroine says the forbidden word as an unwelcome visitor arrives.
Chapter Ten. In which two unpleasant men perturb our heroine.
Chapter Eleven. In which our heroine seems to have found a solution to her problem.
Chapter Twelve. In which that black truck follows our heroine all the way to Austin.
Chapter Thirteen. In which Lorinda lashes out.
Chapter Fourteen. In which our heroine gets a taste of life in the big city.
Chapter Fifteen. In which our heroine meets a fellow bartender and has a drink.
Chapter Sixteen. In which Lorinda once again takes a swing with her little pink gun.
Chapter Seventeen. In which our heroine prepares to escape.
Chapter Eighteen. In which our heroine gets in a truck with a couple of slightly scary strangers.
Chapter Nineteen. In which our heroine learns that she’s got a long way to go.
Chapter Twenty. In which our heroine spends a night in a gas station.
Chapter Twenty-One. In which our heroine learns about the enclaves of the CCSA.
Chapter Twenty-Two. In which our heroine learns way too much about the enclaves of the CCSA.
Chapter Twenty-Three. In which our heroine experiences liberty run amok.
Chapter Twenty-Four. In which our heroine’s escape is disastrously derailed.
Chapter Twenty-Five. In which our heroine finds herself back at the gas station.
Chapter Twenty-Six. In which Stimpy, on the road to Revelation, reveals Ren’s real name.
Chapter Twenty-Seven. In which our heroine manages not to crash the car as she learns more about CCSA enclaves.
Chapter Twenty-Eight. In which Lorinda and Stimpy enter Revelation.
Chapter Twenty-Nine. In which our heroine has pizza for the first time and readies herself to be an old fogie.
Chapter Thirty. In which our heroine finally gets to experience the Rapture Ride.
Chapter Thirty-One. In which our heroine’s long-awaited Rapture Ride experience is interrupted by some unwelcome visitors.
Chapter Thirty-Two. In which our heroine triggers the Rapture…or something.
Chapter Thirty-Three. In which Lorinda and Stimpy slip out of Revelation under cover of pandemonium.
Chapter Thirty-Four. In which our heroine trades arms for freedom.
Chapter Thirty-Five. In which our heroine does a bit of tactical shooting.
Chapter Thirty-Six. In which our heroine heads for the greens in a chartreuse truck.
Chapter Thirty-Seven. In which our heroine hears a ghastly story on the way to the enclave of golf.
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Lol, I love the "people say" thrown in at every opportunity!