MIDNIGHT ICE: FOUR

  

Harrison corralled my purchases, hugged them to his chest, and stood. I leaned on the crutches and reached for the items, but he took the torn bag from me instead, loaded everything back inside, and knotted the handles together.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I didn’t expect that man to—to—”

I didn’t know what it was I’d expected or not expected from the man who called himself Louis. I didn’t know how to explain to Harrison that I’d overheard very strange things. And I didn’t know how to rationalize, to myself, that little by little, I was losing touch with reality.

“You seem a little shaken up. Would you like me to walk you back to the hotel?” Harrison asked.

I scanned the street, looking for signs of Louis, but there were none. I didn’t know where he had gone. I wanted to take Harrison up on his offer, but I didn’t know how to explain my paranoia without looking like a fool.

“Only if I can buy you a drink to say thank you.”

Harrison looked surprised. “I thought you wanted to have a drink with our security manager?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

I thought for a moment and bit my lip. “I’m sorry. Is there another way I can say thank you?”

He blushed, and then I blushed, realizing how the whole thing had sounded. First I’d come off like I was trying to fill my happy hour dance card, and now I sounded like a cougar on vacation.

We walked to the hotel side by side, me on the crutches and Harrison holding my bag. I wanted nothing more than to throw the crutches away, to burn them, to wake up tomorrow morning and be able to walk like I walked before the skiing accident, but the voice of the hospital doctor echoed in my head. Recovery will take time. Don’t try to rush it.

We reached the hotel quickly. I leveraged my weight against the banister and hopped up the three steps in front of the hotel door. I turned to face Harrison and looped my hand through the handle of the shopping bag.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry I already made other arrangements for tonight.”

“Tell you what. I’ll come to the bar around nine. If you’re alone, I’ll join you. If you’re with Mr. Jordan, I won’t.”

“That hardly seems fair. You’re helping me and now I’m inconveniencing you.”

“Ms. Night, I’m happy to help you. In fact, if there’s anything you need, anything you forgot to buy at that drug store, I want you to call me.” He pulled a small notepad out of his jacket pocket and wrote a phone number on a blank piece of paper, then tore it off and handed it to me.

“Does the hotel offer this kind of service to every guest?” I asked.

He leaned in and whispered, “Only the ones who know Ms. Day.” When he pulled back, he smiled a warm smile.

It was well after eight by the time I returned to my room. I hadn’t seen any other familiar faces in the lobby or hallway, and I hoped the opposite was true as well. In less than an hour I’d be sitting with the hotel security manager and I’d be able to tell him about the conversation I’d overheard. If he believed me, I’d tell him about the men by the elevators. Harrison could verify one of the guests had approached me on the street. I felt better knowing I was doing something about the situation, versus locking myself in my room and fearing for the worst. The only thing I did fear was being recognized. Walking around in a vintage dress with a sixties-style blond bubble cut wasn’t doing me any favors in the anonymity category, and my one attempt to blend in, in the Carmel sweatshirt, had already been made. I needed some kind of disguise, but aside from wearing the hotel bathrobe, I had no other options.

Unless…the suitcase. Maybe there was something in the suitcase.

I flipped it open and dug past the layer of Ziploc baggies to the neat piles of folded clothes. I set the baggies on the bed, exposing a red and white bandana print and a cowboy hat. What the—?

I closed the suitcase and located a luggage tag right next to the white tag the airline had wrapped around the handle. “Elliott Lisbon” read the name. Elliott. This was one odd dude. What kind of a weekend did he think he was taking? A country and western escape?

I moved the cowboy hat to the side and picked up the red and white bandana print. It was a long prairie skirt, the kind I passed over in countless thrift shops while I looked for the sixties vintage I favored, only, this one had tags attached. Was Elliott a cross-dresser? I put the skirt back into the suitcase and rooted further down. A red and white poppy print peeked out from below something chambray. It was a swing dress with dark brown accents. I could wear that, I supposed. Whoever this Elliott character was, he was nothing like me, and that might work to my advantage.

I changed into a clean pair of panties and pulled the swing dress over my head. It was pretty in a sundress kind of way. Repeated washings would soften the fabric, but like the bandana skirt, this dress had tags on it, too. I imagined Elliott shopping for this weekend with the same care with which he had packed his toiletries. I imagined, for a second, the stranger’s reaction when he opened my suitcase and saw my polyester dresses and four tubes of sunscreen. I was sure it would be a letdown.

I fished the elastic bandage out of the bag from the drug store and wound it around my knee, tight enough to minimize the swelling but not so tight I cut off my circulation. I swallowed four anti-inflammatories with a glass of water from the sink and looked at my reflection.

Exhaustion painted the two dark circles under my eyes. I needed to sleep tonight. The time change, going from the east coast to the west coast, had left me feeling like it was going on midnight, not nine. And being a morning person, I wasn’t used to being up until midnight. I’d make my meeting with Mr. Jordan brief. I’d tell him what was going on and I’d retire.

I ran cool water into my hands and ran my hands through my hair, then massaged a dollop of complimentary hotel moisturizer into it and combed it straight back. My lips were rosy, as were my cheeks. As the clock approached nine, I thrust my room key into my handbag, grabbed the crutches, and headed down to the bar.

I took a seat along the wall next to the fireplace and looked for familiar faces. I saw none. A cocktail waitress approached me and I ordered a glass of white wine. As she left to fill my order, I saw my worst nightmare, standing in the entranceway. The two men from the elevator, engrossed in a heated conversation with Harrison the Concierge. With them was a fourth person, and there was no mistaking his identity.

It was my Ex, Brad Turlington.