Detour

Feeling free, Winston jumped into his new Ferrari and barely pausing at the guard gate, revved out of the studio lot. He’d always been free. But today, the first time ever, he had no responsibilities, no restrictions, and no demands on his time. He could go anywhere, answering to no one.

‘From now on, only doing what I want to do…’

Many said he was ‘movie star handsome,’ but Winston didn’t see it. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and with minimal bling, he could be any young man. Except for his driving this bright yellow Ferrari, no one would think of him as the star of the next big superhero flick, ‘The Salamander.’

Production had wrapped. The PR team was gearing up the campaign. Winston was at liberty until his manager, Stella, tapped him in a few weeks.  

Winston had a full wallet, a full tank of gas, and an empty schedule. Being the ripe age of twenty-one, no destination but the open road beckoned.

It felt great.

Heading north on the I-5, Winston left the city and hit the gas on the long grade down toward Bakersfield. Hitting 100mph took nothing. He imagined going airborne as he passed cars right and left. ‘Never stop’ became his mantra.

He sang until hoarse. Giddy at the wind whipping his hair, he yelled, “Sky’s the limit.”

Shortly after the highway straightened, he hit a detour. A recent flurry of earthquakes had closed a bridge and diverted traffic. Winston didn’t care. He’d go wherever the road led him.

He geared down and followed the detour signs onto a narrow, two-lane road that veered onto a rutted dirt track. He wasn’t concerned. His time was his own. The majestic desert was in bloom. This jaunt would provide him with stories to tell on the set.

Ruts and jutting rocks forced him to slow to a crawl. He didn’t want to bottom out the low-slung chassis.

‘Has anyone ever graded this? Sr. Ferrari never designed an off roader…’

It was all part of the adventure until his dash light warned him of low tire pressure.

‘Gotta be a gas station soon. Always is.’

He hadn’t seen another car for quite a while.

When the dashboard light flashed red Winston pulled into the weeds. Getting out he saw three of his tires dangerously low.

A dozen cows watched indifferently.

Grabbing his phone, Winston tried calling AAA. A robot responded that ‘service is not available blah, blah, blah...’

He called other numbers with similar results.

It was hot. As the sun approached the horizon the late hour worried him.

‘Where is everyone? What do I do when it gets dark?’

Hunger and thirst began gnawing at him. He looked at the cows and shook his head.

‘Where are my superpowers when I need them?’ he thought wryly. ‘I’ll get through this.’

In the twilight, a vehicle lumbered toward him, its engine revving. Its lights moved crazily as it maneuvered over the rough road. When Winston saw it was a flatbed truck, he fist punched the air.

“Yes!”

Though it could only be headed toward him, he waved to flag it down.

The driver idled to a stop and dismounted. Winston couldn’t believe the size of him.

‘How does he fit behind the wheel? They call you Tiny? Or Mountain?’

The driver said, “Lucky I spotted you from the main road. Mine’s the only truck you’ll see out here.” He looked at Winston’s car. “This yours?”

Winston nodded. “Where am I? I took the detour but ended up here.”

“Missed the sign. The detour went back to the main road about two miles back.”

Winston didn’t say anything. The driver examined the tires.

“Yeah, they’re finished. My shop’s close by. Want me to load her up?”

“Not much choice, is there?”

The driver chuckled. “Call me Gus.” He offered a massive hand to shake.

He pulled the truck forward and tilted the bed to winch the car onto it. Winston stood in awe of the whole process.

Once the car was secure, Gus signaled to get in.

Fastening his seat belt, Winston asked, “Going to Bakersfield?”

“Naw… unless you know a mechanic. But that’ll cost you. My shop’s closer.”

Both of them braced against the lurching truck.

Winston paused. “You rescued me. I’ll throw you the business.” Gus nodded. “Where are you?”

Over the roar of the truck engine, Gus said, “You wouldn’t know it. Should change the name to ‘Dustville.’ The geniuses building the interstate didn’t bother to provide us an exit. Been a slow bleed ever since.”

They made it back to paved road and soon after, pulled into a modern-day ghost town.

Gus pulled into the sole gas station and backed up to the garage. Emma’s Café shared a wall with Gus’s shop. It was the only place with lights on. A few cars had parked in front of it.

A grain elevator stood across the street, the largest building in town. The adjacent feed store was dark. Other buildings looked abandoned. A small water tower stood beyond them.

The few houses faced this way and that with weed filled yards. What looked like a warehouse stood about a hundred yards distant.

There were no trees. The single streetlight flickered on. Several crows stood sentry.

Gus opened the office and went in. Winston followed and watched Gus type on a computer keyboard.

Gus looked up. “Everything is closed. Tires and parts will take at least a day to get here. Need to make a call?”

“No. I’m not expected anywhere. I’ll just get a room.”

“Not here. No motels for miles. Can call Uber. Come back when the car’s ready.”

Winston looked at the worn couch in the office.

“I could stretch out there…”

Gus smiled doubtfully. “The pool table next door would be more comfortable…”

Winston laughed. He wasn’t sure where he’d sleep but had no worries.

Gus said, “Not much night life ‘round here. Assume you have no plans. Emma’s is where it’s happening… Go on. You must be hungry. I’ll handle your car.”

Winston walked over to the café while Gus attended to his Ferrari.

The brightly lit café was almost empty. But voices and music from beyond the double saloon doors drew him. The small room held a bar, a pool table and the dozen men and women watching two men play. It felt like a party.

His walking in was met with a warm greeting from most of them.

The bartender called out, “Whatcha drinking?”

“Whatever’s on tap,” answered Winston, miming filling a glass at a spigot.

One of the players made his final shot and the group cheered. Another stepped up to play the winner. They racked the balls. Lively chatter rose above the music.

Winston got his beer, took a seat and noticed a gap in the rack.

He mentioned it to the man sitting next to him. “One of the balls is missing.”

He said, “Yeah… the eight ball. Some kid filched it a while back.”

Obviously common knowledge, it was also the source of humor.

The player asked his challenger, “Why don’t you use one of yours, Gil? You’re not using them for anything.”

The whole group burst into back slapping and laughter.

Gus entered and nodded at Winston as he approached the bar.

Winston realized no one recognized him. In Los Angeles, strangers already approached him despite the fact his film had hardly any buzz. Once his movie came out, his movements would be more constricted. Knowing what lay in store, he savored this anonymity. Lack of privacy unnerved Winston. His fellow actors craved the attention.

Gus joined Winston and introduced him as a guy whose car Gus had towed.

One guy asked, “What’re you driving? You know, so I don’t buy that brand…”

“Uhm, a Ferrari.”

“You’re kidding! You could buy half this town with that kind of money.”

“I doubt that.”

“Check it out. Ask anyone… Of course, I’m not saying it would be a smart buy… Be chasing your tail all the way down. Cheaper by the minute…”

Winston didn’t get it. “But why? What’s wrong with the town? Everyone seems nice.”

The man scanned the room. “It’s dying. About three-quarters of the population is here tonight. The last hold outs.” He offered his hand. “I’m Jesse, by the way.”

They shook.

Another man joined in. “Hi. I’m Walter. Yours?”

“Winston. Winston Smith… Here ‘til Gus gets my new tires.”

“That’s what I understood… Pretty nice car you’ve got. Hope you don’t mind my saying, but you’re just a kid. How’d you get wheels like that?”

Winston looked around. “I’m… uhm… Hollywood. Finished a movie yesterday.”

His eyes bugged out. “You mean I just shook hands with a real movie star?”

“Uhm… yeah. I guess.”

Before Winston could stop him, Walter shouted. “Hey! Everybody… We’ve got a damn movie star sitting here tonight.”

All talk stopped. Everyone looked at Winston. The juke box went silent. He nodded. Several people shrugged.

Someone said, “I’ve never seen him…” They returned to their conversations. The music began again.

Winston realized he’d stopped breathing. He relaxed.

Jesse said, “Yeah, half of us have retired. The rest are biding their time ‘til the kids are out… Once they turn eighteen… nothing to keep ‘em here.” He leaned in, “You going back to LA? My kid would catch a ride with you if he could.”

“I’m not going that way.”

“Which way are you headed?”

“Not sure. North… east… Maybe up the coast. No way. Parts unknown.”

Gus said, “Never thought I’d own a monopoly.” He laughed. “My shop and Emma’s are about the only going concerns…”

Jesse added, “Feed store’s only by appointment… We’re waiting out the clock. This is God’s waiting room.”

“No. That can’t be. This is a great place.” Winston looked at the people he had barely met, but with whom he felt a kinship. “I don’t live here. I don’t know anything. But…”

Gus said, “It is… or was a great place. But all the air’s leaked out. Nothing’s left.”

“But why is everyone leaving?”

“The farms keep us limping along. But… well you know. The city calls to the kids. Go to college and don’t come back. Can’t compete…”

“What if…?”

Gus raised his beer. “Here’s to the good times. Those we had, have and may still have.”

Everyone toasted to that.

Someone made a shot and people cheered.

Winston said, “Should build a casino or something. Develop something. Build something. Bring in new blood…”

Some people turned away.

Jesse said, “Yeah, I’m not much for gambling…”

“Or rent it out for movie locations…”

Gus cocked his head. “Ah, the movies. You know about that?”

“A little. They’re always out for a new look…”

A smiling woman sidled up to Winston and put out her hand. “I’m Denise. What were you in? Maybe I saw it.”

“Not out yet. They’re calling it, ‘The Salamander.’”

“Ahh… Fire! The elementals… Finally! Can’t wait…”

Jesse said, “We don’t have a theater. Have to drive an hour to see a good old-fashioned movie anymore. Nothing but a bunch of superhero flicks…”

Winston nodded but said nothing.

Gus held up his empty bottle to Winston. “’Nother?” He nodded.

Jesse said, “All the kids leave as soon as they’re eighteen. Theater wouldn’t survive with only us…”

Gus handed Winston another beer.

Denise clinked glasses with Winston. “You like our little town?”

“Sure… People are nice. Sorry it’s…”

“What?”

“…Struggling…”

“It’ll come back…”

~

The next morning, Winston’s manager, Stella, rolled to a stop in front of Emma’s Café. The gravel crunched beneath the tires of her late model Mercedes. Winston had called and told her about being stranded. He wanted her to see his discovery.

She stepped out and took in the fresh air and the morning light.

‘I get it… Not as bleak as I feared.’

She found Winston inside eating breakfast. They went outside to talk in private.

“Thanks, Stell, for coming up here on such short notice.”

“So, you’re leaving the car as collateral for…?”

He pointed to the distant warehouse and acreage with a house, he’d pledged to buy.

“Very forward thinking, Wins. I see possibilities… An investment, not too far from the city. A stable place you can escape the madding crowd.”

“And get away,” he added.

She said, “But tell me, is this is a sly way to leave Hollywood? ‘Cause, you’ve got work waiting…”

“Like what?”

“Ever do comedy?”

“Don’t know… Can try…”

“Never mind.”

“What?”               

“With comedy, you know. If you don’t know by now…”

Winston gave her a look and refocused. “Back to your question, Stell…” He nodded toward the property he planned to buy. “I want to do this. I’ve heard of burnout. I can recharge here. And maybe bring work here too, sometimes.”

“It could make a location. But you know, producers are fickle. No one uses the same location over and over.”

“A series would… The realtor, Denise, said the market is slow. Buying now, I’m getting a good price. And I’m not forcing anyone out. The place is empty. Needs work, but… doable.”

She nodded. “That’s all good. But are you sure you want to run for mayor? We’re looking at a stack of projects back home. You’re going to be very busy down in LA, Winston.”

“It was their idea, Stell. They said if the election was last night, I’d have won in a landslide. They’ll know I’m not some fly-by-night, throwing cash around for a quick profit.”

“Right. But do you know these people? They trying to profit off you?”

Winston hadn’t looked at it that way. He shook his head.

“The place has potential. Either for production, an art colony, or a getaway, close to Lake Isabella and the mountains. I get in now, I can help rebuild. Pick up some used equipment. Rent it out…”

“Any paperwork to look at? To show the attorney…?”

“All here.” He patted his satchel. “I’ll buy you a coffee and head back.”

She said, “I’m good. Got my thermos. Need to go.”

Winston said, “Alright… Let’s hit it.”

They got into Stella’s Mercedes and pulled out. The car drove over by the warehouse and circled back.

A light breeze cleared the dust from the lot.

As they drove back by Emma’s, toward the freeway, Denise stepped out of the café and waved goodbye.