"You know what's the best thing to see in Chuckwalla Flats?" asked Zia of no-one in particular in the empty hotel bar.
No-one in particular answered her. She finished the last of her martini.
"I said, you know what's the best thing to see in Chuckwalla Flats?" she repeated.
"No, I can't say that I do," said the woman sitting next to her that she hadn't noticed. Zia almost fell off her barstool in surprise.
"Who in Hell are you?" she asked once she recovered.
The stranger smiled. "Who in Hell do you think?"
Zia shrugged. "Hell if I know. Are you part of the business convention? 'Nother mid-level manager?"
"No, not exactly," she laughed. "I'm passing through Las Vegas on other business of my own and overheard you. Call me Lucy."
"Pleased t'meetcha Lucy. I'm Zia."
"So, you were saying something about Chuckwalla Flats? Where is that?"
Zia thought for a moment, pushing through the martini haze. "Oh. Yeah, 's a joke. Little town way southwest of here where I live, y'see. So, best thing to see in Chuckwalla Flats is… the Welcome To Chuckwalla Flats sign in the rear-view mirror. Of the car. As you leave. Because it's awful. That's the joke."
"Oh dear," exclaimed Lucy. "You simply must tell me all about it."
"Uuuuuugh," moaned Zia, leaning forward and resting her head on the bar. "I think that was a few too much martinis. Too many. Little too many martini."
"You want some tea or coffee?"
"Coffffeeeeeee… y'know, there's no good coffee back in Chuckwalla Flats. Sludgy at the bottom, watery at the top, awful flavor, never the right temperature. I'd sell my soul for good coffee."
"Ha. Luckily for you that won't be necessary." Lucy made a complicated sleight-of-hand gesture too quick for Zia to follow, and appeared to snatch several crisp uncreased bills out of thin air. "Hey Barkeep," she said, slamming them onto the counter.
"You've got my attention," responded the bartender, noticing the money with interest.
"A shot of Fireball for me, a glass of water and a mug of coffee for my friend. Keep 'em coming until we're finished talking, see that we're not disturbed, and when we're done you can keep what's left of those hundreds as a tip."
"Yes ma'am!"
A minute later, the two were sipping their new drinks. "Tell me everything," said Lucy through a wicked cinnamon-scented grin; "every awful little detail about your awful little town." And Zia began to explain.
—————
She spoke of the location: too far southwest to be convenient Las Vegas, but not far enough southwest to be convenient to anywhere pleasant in California.
She spoke of the weather: alternating heatwaves and sandstorms, with a rare bit of rain that just turned into flash-floods strong enough to knock over anything not nailed down, then dried out before doing anything useful.
She spoke of the roads: potholes so big that they were marked and named on maps of the town; cracks you could grow corn in if there were any water.
She spoke of the people: uninteresting, unfriendly, unhappy, casually xenophobic (though she herself was white-passing enough and boring enough that they didn't go out of their way to bother her), few hobbies beyond awful politics (not that they ever did anything other than complain).
She spoke of the cuisine: one burger stand with burgers that were too dry, fries that were too soggy, and a shake machine that was perpetually out of order.
She spoke of the culture: one bookstore with a terrible selection of books; one video rental place that only stocked Betamax.
She spoke of her job: the sole reason why she moved to Chuckwalla Flats in the first place. The one part of it that she liked was the occasional excuse to get out of town for a business convention in Las Vegas or Los Angeles.
Zia went on like this for quite some time. Lucy listened with both concern and fascination, nodding or frowning when appropriate.
—————
"Incredible," said Lucy after Zia ran out of things to say. "Your town is so full of so many little miseries.
"Yeah." Zia finished off her current mug of coffee, then drank more water. "Hey, I got another joke for ya. They say the devil owned Hell and Chuckwalla Flats, and decided to live in Hell and rent out Chuckwalla Flats. Heh."
Lucy did not seem amused. "Doesn't sound very believable to me."
"Eh. Yeah, guess not. Just a joke."
"You've given me an idea, though." She paused to collect her thoughts, then continued. "What if I offered to buy Chuckwalla Flats from you? What do you think would be a fair price?"
"Wait, what? Buy the town? I mean, not that I want to keep it, but it's not exactly mine to sell."
"Then whose?" asked Lucy with an expansive shrug. "Think back on all you've told me this evening. No-one on Earth knows Chuckwalla Flats like you do, no-one understands Chuckwalla Flats like you do, no-one loathes Chuckwalla Flats like you do. If Chuckwalla Flats can be said to belong to any one person, that person is you. So… how much?"
Zia stared into her empty mug. "'S not much of a town," she muttered. "Million bucks, I guess."
"One million dollars is quite reasonable. You have yourself a deal, my friend."
Zia rolled her eyes. "So now what? You conjure up a contract and I sign it in my own blood?"
"Nothing so theatrical. Yours is the town, yours is the loathing; all you need to do is want to sell it. And, for the sake of appearances, how about a toast to seal the deal?" She raised a half-full shot of Fireball and held it forward expectantly.
"A toast, then." Zia picked up a fresh mug of coffee that the bartender had just dropped off, and clinked it to the shot glass. "Let's say… here's to the cities that make us happy: the cities we are happy to live in, the cities we are happy to visit, and the cities we are happy to leave."
Lucy laughed. "Wise words. In that case I think our business here is concluded. I have appointments elsewhere, and you seem sober enough to return safely to your hotel room, so I will leave you to it. I thank you for an enjoyable evening of conversation, and I bid you adieu." And she was gone.
"Well that was weird," said Zia to no-one in particular in the empty hotel bar.
No-one in particular answered her. She finished the last of her coffee.
—————
By the next morning, Zia had forgotten most of the previous night's proceedings, with a headache as the only lingering result. The convention being over, she drove home to Chuckwalla Flats and expected to resume her unpleasant everyday life.
But a few days later she happened to be checking her bank account online, and noticed that the balance was higher than she expected.
Exactly one million dollars higher than she expected.
She panicked, checked the transaction history several times, found nothing out of the ordinary, called the bank to demand an explanation and ask what was going on and if she was in any sort of trouble, and was reassured by several perplexed bankers that no, nothing was the matter, and there had been no significant changes to her million-plus-dollar account for quite some time beyond than the usual paycheck deposits, bill payments, and sporadic small withdrawals.
It was as if it had always been there.
A million dollars. Well. That changed things. Zia started thinking about the possibilities.
The next day, she received an email from corporate headquarters: a slightly higher-rank middle-management position had recently opened up in the Las Vegas branch; they knew it was a little far from her home, but she was a promising candidate for the job; would she be interested in a promotion and transfer?
That changed things even more. By evening Zia had decided. It was time to leave Chuckwalla Flats.
She responded to the email with an enthusiastic yes. She browsed around on real estate websites, and found quite a nice place on the outskirts of Vegas (near a diner with very good reviews, famed for its coffee) that was entirely affordable to her unexpectedly high bank account. She made the appropriate arrangements, and began to pack her things. For a little while she wondered if there was anyone in Chuckwalla Flats that she ought to say goodbye to, but quickly realized that there wasn't.
—————
Zia loaded the last box into the rented trailer behind her car, and handed the house keys to the landlord. With a sigh of relief, she turned onto the old highway that formed Chuckwalla Flats' main street and began to drive out of town. A hazy bit of dialogue rose out of her memory: "The best thing to see…"
With the slight bump of a familiar pothole, the car crossed over the city limits.
"The best thing to see in Chuckwalla Flats…"
On a whim, Zia glanced in the rear-view mirror.
Her car screeched to a halt as she pulled over to the side of the highway and turned her head to verify with her own eyes.
There was no Welcome To Chuckwalla Flats sign.
There was no Chuckwalla Flats.
The only thing behind her was miles and miles of sun-bleached highway, stretching out across the empty desert to the horizon.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
