Garden of Nymphs

Chapter Three

Regret set in as soon as Helena turned the corner out of sight. She was being silly of course. A handsome stranger offers her a coffee, to be polite, and she swoons. Her mother was right: she needed to get out more. Besides, he wasn't that handsome. Okay, maybe he was. But he was probably full of himself. Yes, way too confident, she reassured herself.

She attempted to be cheerful as she stepped out onto the shuttle bus pick-up. She just needed a few hours of sleep to set her straight. She glanced around the bus stop. It was completely vacant, save a rumpled old man sitting on the solitary bench. He glanced her way. Out of habit, she gave him a friendly smile. He took a long pull on his cigarette and turned away. New York City was certainly a far cry from sunny, friendly L.A., she thought. She was sure she would grow to love it...eventually. As if on cue, a gust of wind plastered her dress to her body, and raindrops began pelting her face. She pulled her sweater tighter and waited for the shuttle to arrive.

Fortunately, she would not have to wait long. In a few minutes, she saw the headlights of a bus turning the corner. The huge mammoth of an automobile pulled up alongside the curb and Helena clambered in, carting her weighty sack of books.

New rule of travel: paperback only, she promised herself.

The driver looked her up and down with a frown. She looked away quickly and scanned the bus for an empty seat. It was dark inside the shuttle, and all she could distinguish were the shadowy outlines of a few passengers. She'd gone halfway down the aisle when she heard the driver shout something after her in a heavy accent. Taken off guard, she spun around, nearly knocking a man in the head with her carry-on bag. Again.

"Excuse me?" she asked politely.

The driver repeated himself in the same unintelligible accent, only more loudly. Helena hesitated a moment, unsure what to do.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I didn't understand you."

The man grew irritable and shouted at her again. Helena thought she had heard the words, "Runway Inn", but the rest was a string of garble. They had still not left the bus stop, as if the driver were awaiting something from her.

"I think he's trying to say the Runway Inn is full," someone from the back of the bus offered helpfully.

"But I have a voucher!" Helena tried to explain.

The bus driver unsnapped his seatbelt and stood up, gesticulating emphatically.

"I think he wants you to get off the bus," whispered an old woman seated nearby.

Helena could not believe this was happening. She was being verbally abused by a linguistically challenged bus driver. Of course, she supposed this was a rather unexceptional occurrence in New York City. But why would the airline have issued her a voucher for a hotel that was full? She wondered vaguely if all the passengers ahead of her in that line were not resting peacefully in their beds at the Runway Inn. Or maybe they were being beaten up and mugged, judging from the picture on the pamphlet.

Meanwhile, the rest of the passengers were so impatient to be on their way, they were ready to shove her out the emergency door. Helena felt as if she were being voted off the island in one of those ridiculous reality TV shows.

With a sigh of frustration, she gathered up her things and stepped back out onto the curb. The bus took off immediately. The chilly air bit through the thin fabric of her dress, and the angry rain pellets stung her cheeks as she watched the bus disappear down the road.

Thoroughly irritated, she trudged back into the terminal and called the phone number on the back of the Runway Inn pamphlet. A cheerful hotel clerk picked up on the other end and offered her assistance. Yes, the hotel was booked. No, it did not matter that she had a voucher. On behalf of the Runway Inn, she sincerely regretted the hellacious night Helena would spend fighting bag ladies over the only cushioned bench in the terminal lobby. In conclusion, the helpful employee wished her a pleasant evening.