“Injury accident on the 401, the Gardiner very slow as well,” crackles from the clock radio next to the bed. A nudge. “Hey, look who’s back.”
6:45. Jay arches away. “No way, I don’t do mornings. A morning hard-on is pure mechanics anyway, seventy percent blood flow, thirty percent needing a leak. I could be a loaf of Wonder Bread and you’d be just as turned on. Besides, we both stink.” She throws open the covers and jumps out of bed.
When she emerges from the bathroom, he’s ready in line, looking disreputable and rather sly. She’s back in bed when he returns to the room.
“I have to go. An interview.”
“It’s tough to be famous. Don’t you still have the imaginary flu?”
“Can’t get out of this; it’s by phone, to London. Go back to sleep,” a kiss, “and I’ll order us some breakfast.”
“Up there, where the suites are? Are the unfamous even allowed on that floor?”
He pulls away, and she is bereft. The lonely years, touch-starved eternities of endless nights, seem pallid and small compared to this; she keeps her back turned as he gathers his clothing. “Go ahead, turn the light on,” she says, but stays where she is, resisting the urge to snuggle back into the place still warm from his body.
She says, not looking at him, “You know what’s really amazing about all this? I slept with you. I mean, as in sleeping. I thought I could never do that again. I mean, even before, I nearly fell asleep. That really tells you something, don’t you think?”
“That I’m incredibly soporific?”
“No! My last affair before this long . . . um, drought, was with a man I met in a coffee shop. He was a salesman for an office supply company. We arranged a dirty weekend together, at a hotel in the mountains. And as usual, the sex was great; this man had a growth at the base of his penis that looked hideous, like a squashed pink prune, but it worked just like a French tickler.”
“Jay, it is entirely obvious to me that you haven’t been getting out much in recent years or you’d recall the basic etiquette that a lady doesn’t discuss previous paramours while her man is still trying to find his bloody socks — ”
“So that he can get the hell out of here.”
He stops, belt in hand. “I must. But I’ll call room service, order us breakfast in, oh, two hours or so? What do you usually have for breakfast?”
“Two prunes and a banana.” His grin prompts her to add, “I am being completely literal here.”
“Right. And tea?”
“Coffee. Intravenously if possible. When do you want me?”
“Around nine, I think. You really are lovely, you know?” Grabs his jacket and tie and strides out the door as she curls up around her naked self between the sheets and just smiles.