Description: Glenn Sabine and Pike Setter settle in to their New York digs while they wait around for the contestants to arrive. From Glenn Sabine's viewpoint, things could not get any better than this, unless he sank a putt into the shot glass.
Eve Goes to New York. PART 10.
The Hotel Bexley was a dive bomb of stink, rattle, and roll. Situated on the subway line in the heart of Queens, however, and directly across the street from a barred-up graffiti-plastered convenience store, the place had its fringe bennies. They could save a buck staying at this rat-infested roach motel while still having convenient access to downtown, thereby making the Miss Teenager girls believe that their illustrious host was just a few blocks down from the Star in a classier location.
Classy. Sabine had altered his definition of the word months ago when he had started up this gig. What had he become now? Just a no-good snake in the grass next to his no-good pain-in-the-ass of an assistant. Staying at places like the Bexley with winos who yacked like stray cats in the alleys and binge drank on who-knows-what for most of the night until they passed out in the dumpsters. Sabine knew that came with the territory, but it was only a matter of time now, he thought. Soon he and Pike-something would be the wealthy recipients of all the participants’ money, or their parents’ hard-earned cash, whichever showed up in New York first.
Outside the tiny closet-size hotel room window, police sirens wailed, car horns honked, and New Yorkers shouted obscenities at their neighbors. Ah, city life! Inside the room, Sabine was about to win the Augusta National with ten under par. With his putter, he tapped golf balls across the carpeted floor into an empty shot glass that lay on its side. What else was there to do while he waited for all the contestants to arrive?
Pike sat at the mangey hotel desk, tapping a pen on the metal lamp to the tune of “I’ve Told Every Little Star” by Linda Scott. Dum-da-dum, da-da-da-da-da-da-dum.
“Well,” piped up Pike, bored to tears, “how’re we doing, Glenn?”
Sabine took aim and tapped a golf ball clear across the room, missing the cup by several yards. Without even looking up, he rolled another ball over with his putter to take its place. “I’m doing sensationally, friend – You… you’re on salary, remember?”
“Yeah,” drawled the Pike. “What I can’t remember is when I got paid last .”
“You’ll be paid up to date,” Sabine promised his protege with a handful of annoyance and a side of sarcasm.
The arrogant high-and-mighty Pike leaned on his elbow at the desk. His cigarette was a stick of smoldering fire. “Don’t forget to save enough for a long ocean voyage, Mr. Sabine.”
