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  I got up off of the bed for the first time in hours and headed to the bathroom. After taking a piss, brushing my teeth, and plugging my phone into my charger, I switched off the lights, climbed under the covers--the bed was already warm from my body sitting on it for so long--and fell asleep.

  I had forgotten to call Amy back.

  Chapter 6

  The following morning I told my first lie to Amy. I woke to the sounds of people and suitcases in the hallways, and sunshine blasting through the window in my room--I had forgotten to close the curtains the night before. The clock on the nightstand told me I still had three hours before my flight left. Good, I could take my time.

  I got up, stretching at the window and watching people load their luggage into their minivans and SUV’s, getting ready to either head back to their normal life, or off to another hotel, another journey. The weather was beautiful, like a kindergartener’s water-color; Yellow sun and blue skies, along with white fluffy clouds. Satisfied with what I saw, I headed to the bathroom. On the way I saw my cell-phone and my heart sank to my intestines.

  Shit, I thought. I never called Amy back. She’s going to be worried sick. No, fuck that. The police will probably be knocking on my door any second now. Are the choppers in the sky yet?

  I ran over to the desk, nearly tripping on my sweatpants, which were balled up at the foot of my bed, tossed there in a fit of getting hot at some point in the night, I’m sure. I pressed and held down the 1 key-Amy’s speed dial button--and put the phone to my ear.

  The conversation went better than I had planned. I was prepared for the worst. Amy would be hysterical, wondering if I was ok, and demanding to know the reason I hadn’t not only not answered the phone when she called, but why I had not called back sooner. I was prepared for yelling, possible screaming--if you could differentiate. What I got instead surprised me a bit. Amy was mostly calm, even a little joking. She had answered cheerily, thrilled that I was, in fact, not dead, and then with a huge layer of sarcasm applied, although there was a pile of actually wanting to know alongside it, she asked, "So how crazy did things get last night that you couldn’t even call your wife back, hmm?"

  And right then and there I made one of the quickest decisions to lie that I had ever made. Think about it, I was terrified to let Amy know about crazy women who were doing inappropriate things at my signings, which I was one hundred percent not guilty for. How well do you think things would have gone over if I had simply went with the truth about the night before? Well Ame, I’m sorry I didn’t answer your call last night. I was on the phone when you called actually--checked the caller ID and everything--it’s just that I was on the phone with another woman. I thought I’d be off soon, but we just talked and talked, laughing about this and that, and before I knew it it was 1:00 AM. Oh, but it wasn’t that I didn’t want to wake you--assuming you were asleep, and not up worried sick about me--I just completely forgot to call. You know, it being late and all.

  So, the story that I served her was believable enough. I had went to a Chinese place a few blocks down from my hotel for dinner and something hadn’t gotten along very well with my stomach. I had only just managed to hold in my vomit before reaching my hotel room toilet, and the night had gotten pretty graphic from that point forward.

  Side note: Why are stories--true or false--about getting sick from food always so much more likely to be believed when dealing with Chinese food? Chew on that for a while. Pun intended.

  Amy believed it. Even though I was a writer, and had a knack for conjuring realistic details, I was still nervous the whole time we spoke, waiting for her to call bullshit at any second. She didn’t. All she did was say she was sorry and that she was glad I was feeling better.

  So that’s how my trip ended; One very big lie to my wife.

  After that I made a conscious effort to keep my conversations with Jenna short and to the point, often cutting her off as she tried to chat. A part of me felt bad about it, Jenna and I were friends, after all, but I still felt guilty about the lying to Amy and didn't want to find myself in another situation like that again. However, I couldn’t deny the fact that a part of me missed talking to Jenna, missed it more than I should have, and for that I felt even guiltier. But overall, things were going well. The tour was over, I was back home and writing again, Amy and I were still very much in love, life was exactly where I wanted it to be.

  Then I went to New York and destroyed everything.

  It was July, and I got the call from Jenna a week before the trip was scheduled. I was to go to New York City, meet Jenna, meet the publishers, and do a small bit on a morning Talk Radio show. My publishers were pushing for a television spot--Perhaps The Today Show--but that hadn’t been finalized yet.

  I was nervous on too many levels to think straight. New York City suddenly seemed too large and daunting for a small-town twenty-four year old such as myself, and imagining myself getting lost among its traffic and people and buildings scared me. Talking on a national radio show, and perhaps even national television didn't help matters any. But, those things aside, meeting Jenna in person for the first time sent the oddest twang of unease through me. I had developed a little bit of a crush on her, sad as it was. But, I had done well since the phone call in the hotel to put that behind me. I knew I loved Amy more than anything and was determined to remind myself of that over and over again. Especially if Jenna happened to be attractive. For my own sake I hoped she looked like a combination of any number of trolls from various Fairy Tales, or maybe some sort of lizard. The uneasiness I was feeling might have been my subconscious trying to warn me, head me off. If it was, I should have listened more carefully.

  Dillon's parents had dropped him off at our house on Sunday afternoon, and early Monday morning they and I were both in the sky; them flying to Miami for their cruise, me to New York. I arrived without trouble, and miraculously made my way from the airport to my hotel without a glitch. I paid and tipped the Taxi driver, grabbed my bags, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, craning my neck up to look at the buildings and the signs that seemed to surround everything. Not wanting to look too much like an awe-struck tourist I picked up my luggage and headed into The Eagle Hotel.

  The air-conditioned lobby was cool and spacious. The marble floor was a sea of deep blues and white. Simple, yet obviously expensive and elegant chandeliers hung down all throughout from the high ceilings. The Lobby floor continued all the way to the rear where it met a row of four elevators, the lights above them dancing to the left and to the right as passengers traveled from floor to floor. The left side of the lobby was scattered with occasional sofa or chair, often placed around a large flat-screen TV. A Hispanic woman, who appeared to be a member of the housekeeping staff, busied across the floor in front of me, carrying a stack of towels in one arm and a box of mini-shampoos in the other. She stopped briefly at one of the TV sets--CNN was on--and then took off again in the direction of the elevators.

  To my right there was an open doorway leading into the hotel’s in-house restaurant. A small podium stood to the left of the door, where I assumed a host or hostess would probably start his or her shift in a few hours. To the left of the restaurant’s entrance was where I needed to go. The front desk. There was a black sign with gold lettering attached to the front section of the counter closest to me that read CHECK IN. That’s where I headed.

  Once checked in and holding the electronic keycard to room 318, two young bellhops--Billy and John, they introduced themselves as-- placed my luggage on a cart and let me to into an elevator.

  The elevator’s bell gave off a quiet chime and the doors slid open, revealing the hallway of the third floor in front of us.

  I let them lead the way and they wheeled the luggage car, John taking the front and Billy taking the back, out into the hall and turned left. I followed them for only a few doors before they stopped in front of the door to room 318 and turned to look at me. It took me a second to realize that they weren’t just looking at me, they were waiting on
me. I had the key. I slid the keycard from my pocket and gave it a quick swipe through the reader on the door. The tiny light on the reader flashed quickly from red to green and I pushed the handle down and opened the door.

  I stepped into the room. It wasn’t a suite or anything, but it was plenty large and comfortable enough. A king-sized bed was centered against the right wall, covered in a comforter of a dark burgundy color. The pillows looked inviting. Mounted on the wall opposite the bed was a slightly smaller version of the flat-screens I had seen in the lobby downstairs. The remote, I saw with a grin, was sitting--correctly--on top of the small nightstand to the left of the bed. Along with a tiny table lamp and a phone. The red message light on the phone was blinking.

  Everything else in the room was standard. A small desk in the corner, positioned to let whoever was sitting at it to look out of the window--which displayed only the buildings on the other side of the street--and a chair. I turned around and saw that John and Billy had placed my luggage on the bed and were just standing in the doorway together, again just looking at me. I reached for my wallet. It seemed odd that I needed to tip both of them, but I got over it. At least they were working for their money in a respectable way, not dealing drugs on the streets or selling bootleg DVDs. I handed them each a five dollar bill and as they were turning to leave it was Billy how turned back and said, "Oh, Mr. Dawkins, you’ve got a phone message. Just pick up the phone and press seven."

  I glanced back at to the phone and then turned back to thank Billy, but he and John were gone. I could hear the wheels of the luggage car squeaking down the hallway, followed by the bell of the elevator as the doors opened and then closed.

  I used the restroom quickly--a plane ride and then a commute into the city made for a pretty full bladder--and then walked around the bed to the phone. I picked up the handset and pressed seven as Billy had instructed and then listened.

  "Hey, Dan, it’s Jenna. If you’re getting this message then I’m glad you arrived in one piece. Sometimes getting out of JFK can be more trouble than it’s worth. Make you want to just turn around and fly back to where you came from.

  "Anyway, since you’re in town for a few days, I figured I’d just stay here too, show you around, make sure you don’t get lost. That can happen pretty easily around here. I’m right next-door in room 320. Come knock when you get in. Ok, bye."

  I held the receiver to my ear a second longer after the message stopped playing but I heard Jenna’s voice repeating itself. I’m right next-door.

  Well, this was it.

  I hung the phone up, checked myself quickly in the mirror in the bathroom and then went out into the hall. I took two small steps to the left, and then knocked on the door of room 320.

  I stood there in the hallway, facing the door to Jenna's room like a sophomore in High School who had managed to borrow the car from his folks for the night to take out the girl he was crushing on at the time on their first date. I was nervous and jittery, my hands shifted from hanging at my sides, into the pockets of my pants, and then back to hanging. I put my weight on my right leg, and then my left, rocking back and forth like I had to go to the restroom.

  Dan, get a hold of yourself, you asshole! I scolded myself. What the hell is your problem? She’s your Agent. You two have a business relationship and nothing more. Stop acting like an idiot and straighten the fuck up. Now!

  "Just a minute!" a female voice sounded from inside the room. A voice I had never heard except being broadcast off of a cell-phone tower. I heard footfalls approaching the door and in an effort to look normal, trying desperately to stop my fidgeting, my body went rigid. I locked my knees, clicked my heals together and rested my hands straight down my sides. If I had thrown in a salute and a "Sir, Yes Sir!" I might have been mistaken for a soldier at attention. This thought made me smile and I was still grinning when the door opened.

  Jenna stood in the doorway and we both just stood there for second, our eyes taking in the sight of the other for the first time. Well, she’d seen me on the back jacket of my book, but this was different, in the flesh. After those first few seconds, her face broke out into a smile and her eyes--seen behind stylish, oval shaped reading glasses, a look not often found on mid-twenty year olds--lit up as if she had run into a best friend, long lost since grade school.

  "Dan Dawkins!" she exclaimed. "Finally I meet the great wordsmith." She stepped back, holding the door open, inviting me inside the room.

  "And finally I meet the great negotiator. The woman who managed to get an amateur sap writer from Virginia a massive paycheck. How hard did you squeeze them, honestly?

  She let out a quick, sharp laugh. "Not as hard as I’ll squeeze next time."

  I stepped over the threshold and walked towards the bed, intent on sitting on the edge. There was a laptop computer, an open briefcase, and papers strewn about the desk. I assumed Jenna would sit on the chair there. She did, and once we were both seated, I let myself look at her--really look at her for the first time.

  My initial thought when I saw her open the door was that she was short--5’4’, maybe 5’5" if she was lucky--and had a little bit of a thickness to her. She wasn’t fat, not by any means, but… healthy. Maybe even a tad muscular. She was a straight shooting professional as far as dress goes. She wore a black woman’s business suit with flat black shoes. A white and blue pin-striped button up shirt was underneath the jacket, the buttons buttoned all the way up, except the very top one. Conservative.

  Her face was pale, but pleasant, with a little bit of a flush on her cheekbones, and two tiny dimples made an appearance when she smiled. Her eyes were green, and even through the glasses they were pretty. Her hair was a color brown that reminded me of autumn, and it was cut a little above shoulder length, she had it neatly pulled back--a style similar to what Amy had been wearing the first time we met that day in the Teachers’ Lounge.

  Jenna wasn’t the gorgeous bombshell I had feared she might be--and she would never turn as many heads as Amy had in life--but she was still cute. Cute in a quirky kind of way that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  Jenna shuffled some papers on the desk and hit a few keys on the keyboard of her laptop. "Give me five minutes and I’ll be done here. Then we can go get you some city experience."

  "Whatever you say boss." There was a book lying next to me on the bed by an author I had never heard of. I picked it up and started reading the inside flap.

  My nervousness and the feeling of unease I had carried from room 318 over to room 320 began to dissipate, and I let myself relax a little, sinking a bit into the mattress of the bed I was sitting on.

  Things were going to be ok.

  I almost laughed at myself out loud. I mean really, what did I expect was going to happen. Jenna would open the door, be super hot and then we just start ripping each other’s clothes off? Not likely. This wasn’t Hollywood. Sure, we had had an interesting phone conversation a few months ago that gradually started to walk the line of inappropriate and flirting, but in our defense it had gotten late--very late--and nothing like that had happened since. Case closed. This was a business trip, and I was going to enjoy it, probably build a good friendship with Jenna at the same time.

  Things were going to be ok.

  Wrong.

  Twenty minutes later I was standing in the lobby of The Eagle in cargo shorts and a Virginia Tech t-shirt watching a rather obese black woman wearing shorts that appeared to be nearing the end of their life cycle, due to stress, argue with the same nice young woman who had helped me check in--something about an incorrect Room Service bill--when the elevator gave off its Ding and Jenna stepped out.

  She had swapped the business suit and dress shoes for a pair of New Balance jogging shoes, cream kapri pants that fell midway down her calves, and a green woman’s Polo shirt--one of the ones with the huge horse printed on the front, almost as if screaming Brand Name at you. Her horse was white.

  "Ready to go?" she asked.

  I nodded and followed her o
ut the hotel doors and into the city.

  Chapter 7

  New York City requires stamina, a type of stamina that I quickly learned I apparently lacked. When Jenna and I returned to the hotel hours later, after braving city streets and the hot July air, we entered an elevator and I slumped against the rear wall, leaving the button pushing duties to Jenna. With the big round button for the third floor pushed and illuminated, Jenna turned to me as the car started to rise.

  "I’ve made us dinner reservations for eight-thirty at The Nest."

  Dear God. The thought of going back out into the city again struck panic into my fatigued body.

  "Great," I said. Doing my best to sound enthused. "How far away is that?"

  She grinned and our elevator came to smooth stop, the doors opening. "About two floors down."

  I smiled. Ah, the in-house restaurant. That I could handle.

  We headed down the hall to our rooms and she slid her key into her door lock and I did the same with mine.

  "See you in a little while," I said, eying my bed as I opened my door and was already fantasizing about myself collapsing onto it.

  "Oh, Dan?" She called back, just as I was about to shut the door.

  "Yeah?" I poked my head back out into the hall.

  "Wear a tie if you have one. It’s kinda a formal place."

  "Will do." I gave her a quick solute. To keep from having to walk numerous blocks or jump in another taxi I’d gladly dress up in a giant Eagle suit and be the hotel’s mascot for my meal.

  Jenna disappeared behind her door and I closed mine.

  I collapsed onto my bed and didn’t move for a solid six or seven minutes, letting the cool air conditioner work its sweet, sweet magic. When I had regained enough strength to actually sit up, I pulled my digital camera out of the pocket of my cargo shorts and turned it on, intent on viewing the pictures I had taken during mine and Jenna’s adventures.