Tom unlocked the door to room 102 at the E-Z Drive Motel just as the phone started ringing. The answering machine activated, all clicks and static and a small voice mumbling from the depths of Hell. He didn’t hurry to pick up, Tom didn’t really care who was calling, he was in a terrible funk, just as he had been for months.
Probably just another creditor.
Tom Hitler was about as depressed as a person could be. Six months ago he’d hired a lawyer, Frankie Pincus at Pincus and Glockfern to help him petition the North Bergen Superior court for a name change.
Somehow, Tom had managed to live twenty-four years walking around as "Tom Hitler", but enough was enough. He wanted the change, and it had better be soon. He’d been lied to, stalled, and sidestepped by the court and state lawyers every step of the way, and here it was six months along, and he was still stuck with "Tom Hitler".
He hated his name. It didn’t even have a good ring to it. Long ago, he blamed his parents, but as time went on he realized that his dad and mom had done all they could. When his dad, Larry Hitler, had married Rachel Greensteinberg, his high school sweetheart, their families had abandoned them, rarely communicating except for a cheap card with no return address every third Christmas or so.
Dad was a good man, though, he had taught Tom right, all about their place in the scheme of things, Tom’s mission in life, solid Republican values.
Nevermind though, that Tom’s sister Hilary had changed her name to Hilary Swank, and was now working in LA and happy. She never wrote him. Too busy, apparently. Tom had given much thought to his pending legal action. He really, really needed this name change. He’d heard all his life that a man’s name, if it’s the right one, could open doors for him. People capitalized on their names all the time, didn’t they? Sure, they did. Paris Hilton, and what’s her name...her sister? Jerry Manilow, and even the President, just to name a few.
Well hell, might as well see who was calling. He placed the receiver to his ear. Frankie Pincus was on the other end.
"Hey Tom, that you?"
"Yo."
"I’ve got good news."
Tom’s heart thumped a couple of hard beats, he had trouble getting his next breath.
"Let me have it."
"Well, the state has approved the name change. I had to go mighty high up the chain to get it done, but now all we’ve got to do is file the amendments. Can you drop by tomorrow and sign some paperwork?"
"Sure. Oh, and can I go ahead and start using my new name?"
"No problem." See you tomorrow, early is best."
"Uh, Frankie, about your fee. Should I...."
"Forget the fee, kid, I’ll see you at the Hall tonight and just make sure you mention me in your speech."
"I’ll be happy to do that."
"Good."
"Bye."
He had to hurry now. Wouldn’t want to be late, he had an appointment with his therapist at two. Boy, will that egghead be surprised. His therapist, Stan Hepple, had suggested to Tom that he not do the name change, there could be consequences Tom might not like.
Tom had replied, "It’s just a name, right? Right?"
What Stan didn’t see was just how determined Tom was, and now that the legal hassles were over, his dogged determination was going to pay off.
The hell with it, I don’t need any more damn therapy. Screw it, I’m not going.
He pulled his suit from the dry cleaning bag. God damn, it was sharp. Clean. Creases just so. The suit lent him a look, an air of importance, a man to be reckoned with.
They were going to love him tonight. He’d been practicing in front of a mirror for weeks, and had the speech nailed. He knew just where to raise his voice, when to pound the lectern, when to scowl, when to cajole and soothe. He couldn’t wait.
He finished dressing and fussed with his mullet for a couple of minutes.
There. Looks good.
He carefully removed his spitshined shoes with their two inch lifts from the plastic storage case and slipped them on.
Well, better get going. The Ku Klux Khristian Konvention couldn’t be kept waiting, they needed him, their leader.
He took one more look in the mirror. The finely trimmed one inch square on his upper lip was perfect.
Resplendent in his new brown suit, smile on his face, and secure with his new name, Adolph Hitler left Room 102, goose stepping all the way to the bus stop.
There are no comments.