by Harry Bryant
She took a tiny sip. "It's nice," she said. "Orangey."
"That's not a word."
"It's a flavor," she countered.
"Fine. Like ‘lemony'?"
"And ‘minty,'" she said.
"There we go, then. Orangey it is."
I looked at the glass, and she smiled as she raised it to her mouth. "Oh, you're not getting this back," she said.
I was going to protest, but I liked watching her drink. She leaned forward, and her shoulder brushed against me as she set the glass down on the bar. "Are you going to order me another one, Bliss, or is there something else I should try?"
"A glass of wine?" I suggested.
"I'm not in the mood for wine tonight," she said.
The hostess hovered nearby, derailing my thought train. "Your table is ready," she said.
Dolly smiled at me, and turned smartly and followed the young woman toward one of the small tables. I slipped a twenty off my clip, tossed it on the bar, and followed Dolly in her blue dress.
Our table was against the wall, and a long drape of dark purple fabric covered the wall to our left. The table was small enough that our knees brushed without much effort, and once we were settled, Dolly leaned her leg against mine.
"Worried I might run away?" I asked.
"I don't want you to step on my toes. You have large feet, and those boots . . ."
"What's wrong with my boots?"
"They're, like, ten years out of style."
"They're comfortable."
"So are sweat pants, but that doesn't mean you should wear them in public."
"These are leather. It takes awhile for good shoes to break in. To really fit your feet. That's when they stop feeling like you've shoved your feet into wet cement. It's all about comfort and support."
"I have a bra that totally fits that description. But do you see me wearing it tonight?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
"It doesn't match this dress, for one thing."
"How would I know?"
"I would know." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The one I'm wearing right now?"
I leaned forward too. "Yes?"
"Matching panties."
"Really?"
She nodded as if I had just confirmed that yes, indeed, the sun did rise in the east and set in the west.
"My socks match my briefs," I said.
"Not white, I hope."
"You don't like white briefs?"
"I don't want to imagine you wearing white socks with those boots."
"Give me a little credit," I said. "Besides, maybe I'm not wearing any socks at all."
It took her a second to get that, and then she laughed, wrinkling her nose and sitting back in her chair. Her leg pressed against mine.
Her laugh and body motion startled the young waiter who had just arrived at our table. "Oh, uh, good evening," he said. "My name is Julio. I'll be your server this evening. And how are you two tonight?"
"I'm good," I said. I glanced at Dolly. "You? Are you good?"
Dolly's shoulders were still shivering with laughter, and she held her hand in front of her mouth. She managed to nod.
"We're good," I said.
"Can I tell you about our specials tonight?" our waiter asked.
Dolly managed to get her amusement under control, and she lowered her hand. "Do your socks match your briefs?" she asked Julio.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not quite the same thing as asking if the carpets match the drapes, if you know what I mean," I explained. That only set Dolly off again.
"I . . . I don't understand," Julio said. "Is this . . . ?"
"I'm not wearing any socks," I said.
"What . . . What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not wearing any, you know."
He shook his head. "No, I . . . I don't know."
"Well, you'll figure it out someday, I hope."
Dolly let out a small shriek of laughter.
Julio tried again. "Would you like to hear about tonight's specials?"
I shook my head. "Not right now. How about you bring us one of the house Manhattans and a Vieux Carré. The bartender know how to make one of those?"
"I'll . . . I'll ask."
"Great. Thanks, Julio." After he was gone, I leaned forward to whisper to Dolly, "I am actually wearing socks. And they're not white."
She leaned forward too, and moved aside the fabric of her dress from her left shoulder. "I'm not wearing white, either," she said. What she was wearing under the dress was several shades darker. And silky.
"Oh, my," I said.
Dolly sat back in her chair, her smile suggesting she was pleased with my response. She picked up the paper menu and perused it. "Someone called the hotel today," she said. "Asking for you."
"For me? By name?"
She nodded.
"Did they say why?"
"No," she said.
"Did you tell them I was staying there?"
"Not really."
"That's not quite the same thing as ‘no,'" I pointed out.
She glanced at me over the top of her menu. "It has more letters," she said.
"And tends to mean something like ‘Well, I don't want to outright lie to you, but I'd rather not tell you the truth either, and so we'll wander into this sort of vague terrain in the middle where I have some deniability later if it comes back to bite me on the ass.'"
"It's not like that," she said.
"So, the answer is, actually, ‘no.'"
She hesitated for a minute. "Not really," she said.
"What did you say, Dolly?"
"I didn't say anything," she said defensively. "I answered the phone, like I always do, and a woman asked if you were staying there. I told her I couldn't give out that information, but that I could take a message."
"Isn't that confirming that I am actually staying there?"
"No," she said. "Desk clerks do it all the time. We just say ‘uh-huh' a lot while they're leaving the message, and then we say, ‘Okay, if that person ever checks in here, we'll give them that message.' And they usually get the hint."
"Did this person leave a message?"
"She said she'd call back tomorrow."
"And all desk clerks do this? So if I called fifty hotels and asked if I was staying there at each of them, all the clerks would take a message and not write it down. And then tell me that silliness about me checking in some day?"
"Some of them would, yes."
"But not all of them?"
She lifted her shoulders. "Probably?"
"So, like what? Thirty percent? Twenty-five?"
"Sure . . ."
"So if I called four hotels, and only one of them did this, and the others outright said ‘He's not staying here,' might that not lead me to the conclusion that the hotel where someone actually took a message might actually be the hotel I was staying at?"
"Maybe . . . ?"
I sighed.
"Are you mad at me?"
I shook my head.
"She said she'd call back tomorrow," Dolly offered, her voice getting smaller.
"It's fine," I said. "Really."
"Does that mean you have to check out? Tonight?"
"What? No, of course not. It's okay, Dolly. It really is."
The only woman who had any idea where I might be was Babs. Or her sister. Either one calling only meant Matesson was asking about my progress. I didn't have much to tell him (or them), and so any conversation we were going to have tomorrow would be pretty short. I didn't recall telling Babs where I was staying in Los Alamos, but maybe the name of the hotel showed up on Caller ID or something.
Julio returned with two drinks, which he carefully put down on the table. He put th
e Manhattan in front of me and the Vieux Carré in front of Dolly. "Here we go," he said, pleased with himself.
I reached over and picked up the Vieux Carré. His face fell, but I took a sip and pronounced it delightful, which brought his smile back.
"Now, for our specials—"
"Oh, dear," Dolly said. "We haven't had a chance to even think about food yet. Can we have a minute or two to try these drinks and look at the menu?"
"I, uh, sure." Julio hesitated, not quite sure which direction he should go, and then his brain made a decision for him, and directed him back toward the bar.
Dolly set her menu aside and reached for the drink in my hand.
"Oh no," I said, taking it out of reach. "This one is mine."
She made a face and picked up the Manhattan. "Is this the same thing as what you were drinking at the bar?" she asked.
"It is."
She took a sip.
"That was kind of mean," I said. "What you did to poor Julio."
"He's a hoverer," she said. "I can tell. He needs to give us some space."
"Are we going to be here awhile?"
"Maybe," she said, a merry twinkle in her eye.
I put my glass forward to toast to that, and she snatched it out of my grasp. Only a little bit sloshed onto her hand.
"Hey," I protested.
She held both glasses close to her breasts. "Mine," she said.
"Don't make me come over there," I said.
"Please do," she said. Without breaking eye contact, she lifted my drink to her lips and sipped slowly.
I vibrated my leg under the table, making it dance a bit, and she jumped slightly and then laughed at her surprise. "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting ready to come over there."
"Starting your engines, are you?"
"Vroom, vroom," I said, making the table shiver again.
Her eyes were bright, and her smile was big. "I like the sound of your engine," she said.
Eventually, we let Julio tell us about the specials. Dolly went with the fish, and as I was partial to animals that stuck to dry land, I went with the chicken. We ordered another round of drinks too, and while we waited for them, I told Dolly about my visit to Hidden Palms.
"Did you see your friend?"
"They weren't too keen on letting me wander around and pester the guests."
"I suppose not. It is a private resort, after all, isn't it?"
"A resort? I thought it was a spiritual center?"
"Can't it be both?" she asked.
"I don't get the sense that Hidden Palms is working hard to get listed in Zagat's."
"One of the rumors I was going to tell you about was that I heard it was a place for high-profile Hollywood types to kick bad habits."
"I definitely got that sense," I said.
"Is that why your friend is there?"
"Gloria?" I shook my head. "I don't know really. Probably."
"You don't know?"
"We haven't kept up."
"So why are you looking for her?"
"Another friend asked me to."
"So you are a bounty hunter," she said, pleased to have caught me out.
"No, I'm not. I just . . . I'm looking for a friend for another friend. That's all."
"Is the friend paying you?"
"Sort of . . ."
"That's kind of like ‘not really,'" she said.
"Okay, fine. Yes. He's paying me. I'm tracking her down. It's just like that. But, also, I did know her. One upon a time."
"What happened?"
"You are full of questions," I said.
"I'm actually getting answers, so why shouldn't I be?" was her response.
I was spared any further interrogation by Julio's return. He put two more drinks on the table, as well as two small dishes that each had a tiny pastry augmented with a dollop of white sauce and a mint leaf. "Compliments of the chef," he said.
"Do we know the chef?" I asked, staring somewhat dubiously at the mystery pastry.
"Chef Roberto Achellini?"
I looked at Dolly, who shrugged.
"So if we don't know him, why is he sending food out to our table?"
"You're kidding me, right?" Julio asked.
"About what?"
He glanced around the room. "We bring out one of these for everyone. That's just what I'm supposed to say."
"So it's not really compliments of the ‘chef,' is it?" I pointed out. "It's more like, ‘hey, here's a pastry on the house.' What? You don't do free bread anymore?"
"We never did free bread," Julio said.
I looked at Dolly. "I can't believe you picked a place that doesn't do free bread," I said.
She toasted Julio with her drink. "Drinks are good, though," she said. "You can get a loaf of bread at Ralph's on the way home."
"You can," Julio said.
"Why are you siding with her?" I asked.
He put up his hands and backed away. "Hey, man, I'm just trying—" He didn't even bother finishing; he just turned and bolted.
"You are so mean," Dolly said.
"You helped."
She pouted a little bit. "I did. Does that make me a bad girl?"
I nearly choked on my drink.
"I'll take that as a ‘yes,'" she said with a smile.
I got my breathing under control, and then took a proper sip from my drink to show that I had everything under control. Her leg was rubbing against mine in that comfortable way people get after a few drinks. I was sort of hoping she'd show me her bra strap again. Maybe I'd ask politely.
"What kind of drugs?" she asked suddenly.
"Gloria?" I shook my head. "I don't know."
"No," she said. "You. You said you went to prison for drugs. What kind?"
"Did I?"
"You did."
"I did."
"What kind?" she asked again.
"Do you really want to know?" I tried to deflect her question.
She nodded slowly, letting me know she was serious. But her leg had stopped its motion, and she took a long sip from her drink as she waited for me to respond.
"Cocaine," I said. "It wasn't enough that I had some, but I got sent up for possession, intent to sell, and transporting it."
"Were you? What do they call it? A mule? Were you a mule?"
"I was not a mule. I was barely a recreational user."
"The drugs just happened to be in your car when the cops pulled you over?"
"It wasn't my car, and no, the cops didn't pull me over."
"Did you steal the wrong guy's car?"
"No, I didn't steal the car," I said.
"So why did you do it?"
"I didn't." I paused and sighed. "It's a long story," I said.
"Sordid?"
"Terribly."
"Is it going to make me think less of you?"
"Probably."
She thought about that for a second. "Well," she decided, "I'll leave that for tomorrow then. I would like to think highly of you for a few hours yet."
"Excellent," I said, lifting my glass. "I like that idea."
"So what did you do before you weren't riding around in a car that wasn't yours with a bunch of drugs that you don't know how they got there?"
I drank heavily from my glass. "Where is our food?" I asked, looking around for Julio.
The food, when it arrived and spared me further embarrassment, was delicious. We continued to talk about everything and nothing, laughing more often than not. Finding excuses to touch more often than not. Our legs, pressing against one another. Moving apart, and coming back again. Her lips, lingering on the rim of her glass. Her eyes, watching me.
By the time Julio had cleared the plates and was working on getting us after-dinn
er coffees, I was ready to sweep the decorative candles off the table and climb over it and kiss her. Judging by the look in her eye, she was hoping I would.
Julio cleared his throat, and I pulled my gaze away from Dolly's face. "Would you like to see a dessert menu?" he asked.
"If it's more complicated than pudding in a cup that is ready to serve right now, then no," I said.
Julio looked at Dolly, who shook her head politely. He may have rolled his eyes slightly as he walked off.
I started toying with the edge of the decorative display, sliding it back and forth an inch or so.
A phone rang somewhere close by. Dolly's eyebrows pinched together, and her lips firmed.
"Is that . . . ?" I asked.
"It's my cellphone," she said.
We listened to it ring twice more.
"Shouldn't you answer that?" I asked.
"They'll leave a message," she said, and the phone stopped ringing. "See?" she said.
Ten seconds later, it started ringing again.
"I'm sorry," she said, reaching for her tiny purse. "It's probably Rick, at the hotel. This'll just be a second."
"It's no problem," I said.
She found her tiny flip phone in her purse, and a puzzled expression crossed her face when she looked at the display. She flipped the phone open and put it to her ear.
"Hello?" she said. "Yes, this is she. Uh, okay."
She glanced at me, and there was something in her eyes that I hadn't seen all evening.
"Yes," she said, breathlessly returning her attention to the phone. "David? What's going on?" She listened intently, her eyes tracking back and forth. "My God," she muttered. "You didn't. Oh my God, David. No." She put her hand over her mouth, fighting back some emotion that threatened to spill out of her.
"No," she said sternly in response to something said to her. "I am not calling Mom. Just—no, damnit. David. We talked about this. You were supposed—" Her lips made a tight line and she shook her head slowly as she listened. "I'll be there," she interrupted. "I'm coming down there now. No! I'm coming down."
She hung up the phone before anything else could be said, and then she put her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she drew in a long breath. She dropped her hands to the table, and raised her face to me. Her eyes were bright with tears. "I have to go," she said in a tiny voice.
