Tony Landry was lost. He had to be at the most important meeting of his life in four hours and he had no idea where he was. He left the Raleigh/Durham airport upset. Upset that the rain and fog had canceled all incoming and out-going flights and his lively-hood, his very life, depended on how this meeting turned out. He was in debt to everyone and there were some very powerful people who wanted their money, now. He needed only a few more days and he could pay off all his debts with interest, but he had to get to this meeting.

 

The rain had let up but it was the fog, the damn fog, that was everywhere and seemingly had the entire whole world at its mercy. If you can't see what is in front of you, even with all the GPS hardware in the world you're still stuck, and that was exactly how Tony felt now. He had left the airport in his car, mistakenly thinking the roads would be clearer. He was now turning into what seemed like a motel, but there was only a sign in bright red neon letters that said "Dew Drop Inn". 

 

He got out of his car, walking carefully on the uneven parking lot, which was made of millions of tiny pebbles that crunched under the weight of his body and made a noise that sounded as if he were eating cornflakes as a kid. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. It might have even been funny, except it was the only sound. He didn't see any other cars in the parking lot, although he couldn't really see to tell anyway. He stepped in a small hole and fell, cutting his knee and tearing a hole in the new pants of the suit he had bought just for this special meeting. Goddammit, what next?

 

He made his way to the front door of a small office and using his coat sleeve, wiped the rain and fog from the office window. Peering inside, he saw nothing and thought the owners must be sleeping. He looked for a doorbell and not finding one, banged on the window. No one heard, or if they did, they weren't getting up. He was now as mad as ever and started kicking the door leading into the office, yelling for whoever worked there to get up, he needed a room and he needed it now. Perhaps they could delay the meeting for a few hours and allow him a chance to get cleaned up if he could get to a phone "Hey...,hey, is anyone in there? I need help goddammit it, wake up. What kind of place is this. I'll have your job if you don't open these doors, now!"

 

Nothing. After a few minutes of fruitless banging, he held his one hand to the side of the building as he walked down the sidewalk of the motel.  He felt for the doors of other rooms and knocked, but still, nothing. This was insane. Surely, he wasn't the only one here. The sign was on and although it mentioned nothing about being open, it did say "Dew Drop Inn". What did that mean exactly? Dew Drop Inn? Some idiot's idea of a play on words. Funny, real funny. He would see how funny it was when he found the manager. He was angry, but growing scared. Something wasn't right. Something was very, very wrong.

 

He came to the end of the cement sidewalk, and the last room. He didn't care if anyone answered the door or not, he was kicking it in. He was going to take a shower and watch some television and see how much longer this damn fog would be around. He knocked and was about to kick the door open when he turned the doorknob and the door slowly opened. He thought of going back for his bags, but decided to check the room out first. He tried the light, and again, nothing. He stepped in just as the door closed and the room lit up like Time's Square, with what seemed like millions of colored lights blinking on and off. The joint was jumping, with music and dancing and a bar as long as the motel itself serving drinks to dozens of people. He was stunned, to say the least.

 

Marilyn Monroe, or her identical twin, sauntered over to him and asked if he would buy a girl a drink? He was losing his mind. He looked over at the piano and saw a man playing "My Way",  but the singer was recognized all over the world. It was Francis Albert Sinatra, his hero, actually singing his favorite song and smiling at him. He nodded towards Sinatra and walked to the bar with Marilyn Monroe. It was all so surreal, he had to play along, it seemed the only thing to do. The bartender, Humphrey Bogart, asked him what he was having. He looked down at Natalie Woods, who used to be Marilyn Monroe and asked her what she was having. She looked up at Tony and said, "I'm having what you're having Tony, after all, you own the joint". And the Band Played On~