was in England and it all fit together of a piece. I’ll admit, once, that I rolled around on the bed like a kid. Okay. Moving on.
I peeked into the bathroom, curious. If the bedroom screamed I’m worth a fortune! then this room quietly projected wealth; no screaming here. It was all Italian marble and polished chrome fixtures. Not modern, exactly, just elegant. The shower was a solid green-glass-walled enclosure with four fixtures and enough controls to launch a satellite into orbit. I would have to figure it out later. The bathtub was an old claw-foot tub made for soaking. There was even a telephone on the wall nearest the door.
The bellhop waited while I dug around in my backpack for my wallet and I tipped him what I hoped was a decent amount. Then the bellhop surprised me by counting off a few notes and handing the rest back to me.
“This is more’n sufficient, miss. Wouldn’ wanna cheacha or nuttin’,” he said, bobbing his head. “Have a good evenin’.” He gave me one last shy smile, and he was gone.
I clearly needed to learn my pounds from my silver or I was going to get screwed at some point. I’d have to worry about it tomorrow, though, because right now I needed a bath. I desperately wanted a shower but, like I said, the controls were going to take some non-sleep-deprived concentration. The tub? Simply run hot water. I could do that.
I made sure the security latch was thrown on the door, and I shed my clothes. Just being out of the grimy things made me feel better. I stood in the bathroom, waiting for the tub to fill up. The papers. I had forgotten all about the two pieces of paper—one from the car, one from the front desk—that I wanted to look at. But the tub was almost full.
They’ve waited all evening. They can wait a little longer.
I stepped into the hot water and sat slowly, leaning back and sinking almost to my chin. I could feel individual muscles begin to relax and I sighed, running my hands back and forth through the hot water, grateful for such a small pleasure. The water stung my broken nails a little, and I made a mental note to rub an antibacterial cream into the tips before bed. I could feel myself slipping off to sleep. As I didn’t want to drown, I sat up and began scrubbing the travel grit off myself. I washed my hair, dunking it to rinse it out. I’d cut it pixie short before the trip so maintenance would be an easy task. Finishing the bath, I got out and toweled off. I reveled in my bare skin and, catching a glance of myself in the mirror, turned to analyze what I saw. I held my arms out parallel to the floor and looked at myself from all sides. I was tall for a woman at an even six feet. My waist was slightly indented above insignificant hips, which only served as a place to join my legs to my torso. My arms and legs were toned due to kick-boxing lessons, but they were still soft enough to be feminine. My breasts? All woman. I’m tall but not large, and thin but not runway model anorexic chic. My hair was naturally a dark brown bordering on black, my eyes a light green. I had always been easy going and generous with my smiles, with an open and accepting personality. I had even once been considered quick-witted by friends and co-workers. Of course, none of that mattered much anymore. Grief was my new moniker, and I wore it and bore its weight well. I sank slowly to the floor and watched as I disappeared from the sink’s mirror. Disappeared. How appropriate. Curling my arms around my legs, I made myself as small and insignificant as I could there on the cold marble floor and I allowed myself to weep for my losses. Grief, rage, terror, longing, abandonment—they all poured out in an open cry of invocation to any deity who would hear me, but my spiritual phone didn’t ring.
I pulled myself up off the floor, emotionally as well as physically thrashed. I treated my fingertips and crawled up into the highboy bed, yielding to the pull of sleep before my head hit the pillows. I began to dream.
Standing in an empty ballroom, I was wearing the most amazing gown. It was a sheath dress, which suited