Resurrection – Chapter 2Posted: April 26, 2018
The Wayside Motel
Harlan Sanders moved to Corbin, Kentucky in in 1930 at the age of 40. He had tried many things in his life with few successes. When he got the Shell station on 25W, he was desperate to make it a success.
25W was a main thoroughfare for travelers going from Cincinnati or Lexington south to Knoxville or Atlanta. He quickly realized offering food as well as gas would make him a nice profit. He cooked the fried chicken and other country foods his mother had taught him, serving travelers in his own dining room, the food cooked in his own kitchen.
By 1934, he had purchased the filling station across the highway and expanded to six tables.
Stuart “Stu” Croley became a friend of Harlan’s and watched his success. Stu owned the local Farmer’s Trust bank and loaned Harlan money from time to time. When he learned Harlan was thinking about expanding to over 100 tables, Stu decided those travelers might just need a motel as well.
Stu quickly put up the Wayside Motel, just down 25W from Harlan’s station and restaurant. It was one floor with 16 individual rooms, each with its own bath.
Immediately, it was a hit. Most every night all the rooms were filled. Stu was making good money on his little investment and started thinking he needed to expand. Harlan, however, had other ideas.
Seeing Stu’s success meant to Harlan that he could be making even more money if he had his OWN hotel. He purchased the closed, rundown hotel across the street from his restaurant, renovated it and opened the Sanders’ Cafe and Court in 1937.
Within a year Stu’s business had dropped to just a fraction of what it had been. He tended to only be full on nights when Harlan’s hotel had already filled up. By 1940, he decided to sell.
Since then the Wayside has gone through a number of owners, including a major renovation in the 60s. But it always struggled. When I-75 was built in the 70s, business stopped completely. A developer bought it just for the value of the land in 1980, speculating Corbin would expand in the years to come and his investment would pay off.
In 2010 the developer died and his son, Arnold Harrison, who didn’t have any head for business let alone experience, decided to open the Wayside again. He took his inheritance, fixed the place up, redid the bathrooms, updated everything, then waited for the business to flock in.
As several owners before him had discovered, the Wayside was never going to make a profit. He kept it as a going concern, but it soon became known as the place you could go for quick liaisons. Seeing a chance for a quick buck, Arnold decided to offer a “nap rate” – $25 for clean sheets, towels and a four hour “nap.”
Polly Henderson frequented the Wayside at least three times a week. She was seeing three men, two married, and the Wayside provided her a simple place to see them without tongues wagging in Silerville.
Most of the men she met online. Facebook or the occasional dating site. She didn’t mean to lead them into affairs. She kept telling herself she would stop, just like she would stop smoking. Someday. When she was ready. Right now maybe she would cut down, try to gradually quit.
But, just like her smoking, she’d get the urge and end up at the Wayside – or some other equally remote place. Polly had desire, but no self control. She needed men to want her, need her. It made her feel loved. It made her feel sexy.
Polly had a way with men. Though 35, she still looked 10 years younger. She talked in a way that men seemed to find sexy, suggestive. She started having this effect on men at 13 when she suddenly grew nice hips and large breasts. By high school she had learned to use her power over boys. She didn’t even have to sleep with them.
As she got older, she found she preferred older men, at least for “dating.” They had more money and could buy her nicer things – which they did almost without thinking about it. Most of them were better in bed too. She had tried picking up younger, heavily muscled, men, but they tended to lack technique she enjoyed.
This Wednesday afternoon, Polly pulled her red Mustang to number 12. Johnny was already there, waiting. She saw his Mercedes as she pulled around the back. He always got room 12 or 14, you couldn’t see the cars from the road.
Johnny Tyler was an attorney in Lexington. He never told Polly he was married, but the tan line on his ring finger did. The first couple times she was with a married man she felt a pang of guilt. “If they had a good wife, they wouldn’t want to see me,” Polly rationalized. That was years ago now.
The downpayment for the Mustang had come from him.
Polly knocked on the door and Johnny opened it immediately. Two drinks in hand. He gave one to Polly and then closed the door behind her.
When they emerged two hours later, they weren’t aware of the stranger looking at them through the blinds of 14. Polly kissed Johnny passionately then walked to her car. As she walked the stranger’s eyes followed every sway of her hips.
“Tasty,” he said to the empty room.