On the Fly
"That does sound dicey."
"It's worse than dicey, it's downright deadly. I'm going to take a shower."
"Okay. And then I can have a good long soak in the tub."
I came out of the bathroom with a towel around my waist. "Go for it," I said. "I've started the water for you. I even put in some bubble bath crystals. It's made here. It's called Sin Agua."
"Thank you, kind sir."
I turned on the television and selected an American news channel. Nothing much had happened since we left San Diego ten or twelve hours ago. I couldn't be bothered figuring out the precise lapsed time. I channel surfed. Christie used to complain when I did that.
One of the luxuries concomitant with staying in hotels, one that breeds bad habits, is the lack of a need to hang up your towel after you have come from the shower.
"In the morning," I muttered casting my towel across the room. It was a hangover from my bachelor days.
I didn't even know what I had intended to say, I was that tired. Whatever, it was, could clearly wait for morning if I managed to remember it then and if I didn't it couldn't have been very important. My old habit of talking to myself had resurfaced. When I am under stress, it has a tendency to do that. I thought of Frank as I slipped between crisp cool white sheets. I felt like Goldilocks. That reminded me of a joke. I felt like Goldilocks. She wasn't available. I was so tired that I could have fallen asleep on a bag of rocks. It would have been merely perfect. This bed was heavenly. Clarissa poked her head around the corner.
"Max, be a sport and turn out the light, will you? I didn't pack a nightie."
I pulled the chain. "Your bed's the one by the window."
"I won't be able to find it in the dark."
"I'll turn the light on for a sec and keep my eyes closed."
"Don't you dare."
The blackout curtains were of a quality that would have made an octopus feel safe. In the inky darkness, I sensed her presence. I could distinguish nothing. I was sure I could hear her breathing. I didn't have a clue where she was until tiny fingers, as delicate as snowflakes on Christmas Eve, caressed my chest.
She had slipped in beside me so stealthily that I reacted with nervous laughter.
"Is this the bed by the window?" she asked.
"I knew I should have turned on the light."
"You don't seem to be complaining."
"I wasn't complaining, I was merely commenting." I slipped an arm around her.
"You smell good."
"It's the wet sin."
"The Sin Agua. In English it is sin but in Spanish it means without water."
"In Spanish it is a sin to go without."
"Close enough," I said. "We're going to be alright. We'll make it."
"You'll make it okay, Max," she said softly. "You could make it okay for me too.
"There's no need to wait 'til morning, Max. If you wish, that is."
"You wish?" It was a question.
"I wish."
"Mei guan shee," I said. It's okay. I desperately hoped that it was true.
There was no need to look into her eyes.