by Lori L. Otto
“That’s true. I’ll make it quick,” she says, sniffing the flowers and smiling. I call the car service my family uses while I wait, asking them to send a sedan to pick us up. It then dawns on me that there’s a bigger possibility in someone getting a picture of us going into the hotel together than there was of us going into the dorm.
I call Coley from downstairs. “Do you have a coat with a hood? Or a hoodie?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Is it raining now?”
“Sure,” I lie, and it’s obvious I’m not being honest with her. “Just wear it.”
To my right, I see a town car and start to wave it toward me, but it goes straight through the light. I watch it to see if it doubles back, but it stops two blocks ahead, just in front of The Witness offices. For a second, I do a mental check to think if I gave them the wrong address, but I didn’t. Just as I start to turn back toward Coley’s building, I see a couple dressed in formal attire get out of the car. I’d recognize that gold sequined dress from a mile away. I’d never seen Pryana in anything but slacks and a button-down shirt in all the days I’d known her, but she looked breathtaking in that dress tonight. She and Asher go into the building together, and panic sets in.
Did they see me standing in front of Coley’s building?
Asher knows she lives here. He’ll never let me live this down. I have no doubt he saw me. I start to text him to explain, but on the very off chance that he didn’t see me, I decide to let it be.
“Mr. Holland?” My heart still racing, I’m startled by the sight of the car now parked directly in front of me on 112th Street and the driver standing at the curb. “You arranged for a car?”
“Hi, Gavin.” I walk over and shake the hand of a man who’s been working for the company longer than I’ve been alive. “Yes. I’m waiting for a friend to come down. I’m taking her to the Carlyle Hotel.” He looks a little surprised, having driven me and Zaina around many times in the four years we’ve been dating. “I just need you to wait for me while I get her settled in, and then I’ll come back down. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Then you can drive me back to my apartment.”
“You’re still at the Avalon?”
“Yes, sir.”
The door to Coley’s building opens behind me, and as soon as I acknowledge that she’s with me, Gavin has her bags in hand and is opening the door for her. “I thought we were gonna get a cab,” she says softly.
“I thought this would be nicer,” I tell her. “Frank wanted the full princess treatment.”
“Then where is my horse-drawn carriage?” she asks just before Gavin shuts the door. I walk around to the other side of the car and get in the backseat with her.
“Sorry, but this was a purely spontaneous decision, and all the carriages were spoken for already.”
“The Carlyle Hotel, correct, Mr. Holland?”
“Yes, Gavin.” I turn my attention to Coley. “Do you write to music?”
“I like Mozart for poetry… but sometimes I just like silence. I have noise cancelling headphones that I use. I just got them for Christmas. They were the only thing I asked for… I still can’t believe I got them. Sometimes any noise makes me lose the pulse of a poem.”
“Hmmm,” I breathe out in a light laugh. “Like it dies?”
“Yeah,” she says. “Exactly.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that happened.”
“It does.”
“Can it be revived?”
“Some have been.” She shakes her head slowly. “Others… they just sit on their pages, unfinished.”
“Lots of doodles on those pages?” I ask her.
“No. Nothing beautiful lives on there. They completely die.”
“I guess I have nothing to compare it to,” I tell her, not quite understanding. “Do you… grieve them?”
“No. I just turn the page.”
“Do you revisit them?” I ask her.
“Sometimes.”
“Can I see them?”
“Absolutely not ever never no,” she responds jovially.
“Maybe I could… I don’t know,” I say, looking at her, her face intermittently highlighted by soft, orange street lamps, “breathe some life into them.”
Her eyes dance, as if searching for something in mine, and the energy between us catapults to heights I’ve never flown and to depths I’ve never felt. I quickly exhale, looking away from her.
“I’m no poet. I’m just an editor.” I shake off my previous thought.
“You’re a writer,” she encourages, touching the back of my hand with her pinky finger. It’s the lightest, airiest tap–our skin is barely in contact–but my whole body is warmed by her. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve helped me with plenty of poems for The Wit. It’s not so different.”
“Depends on what the subject matter is, I guess,” I say, trying to move on from the topic.
“Love,” she says simply.
I close my eyes and swallow.
“The Carlyle, Mr. Holland,” Gavin says, saving me from continuing the conversation.
“Coley, I know this is weird, but trust me on this. Hood up. Go in first. If I go first, someone may be waiting to see who’s with me…”
“Ohhh,” she says, understanding now. “Okay.” She nods and quickly gets out when Gavin opens the door for her. Our driver hands her things to the bellman, then peeks in the backseat to see why I haven’t gotten out yet.
“Sir?”
“I’ll just be up there for maybe ten minutes,” I explain. “If you can drive around and come back. Is that okay?”
“Of course, Mr. Holland.”
“I’m just getting her checked in, and I have to get my things from upstairs. You see, I’m giving her the room I was supposed to stay in, but I don’t want it. I just want to go home, which is where you’re taking me–” I suddenly feel so guilty, even though I’m honestly doing nothing wrong.
“I understand the plan, sir.”
“It’s not a plan; it’s the truth.”
“I know, Trey,” he says, being less formal with me, as if to comfort me. “It’s okay. I don’t see any cameras, either. You’re safe.”
“Thank you, Gavin. I’ll be back down soon.” I slide out of the car and briskly walk into the hotel, keeping my attention focused on the floor. I glance up once to see where Coley is, stopping in the middle of the foyer when she’s nowhere to be found. Just as I reach for my phone to call her, she’s texted me.
- - I’m on the 31st floor.
I grin, fully appreciating the steps she’s taking for discretion. When I get up to the floor, she’s standing in a corner, facing away from me. “What are you doing?”
“I thought, you know… in case someone else we knew was staying in one of these other rooms.”
“I booked them all to have the whole floor.”
“What?” she asks.
“It’s a security thing we always do,” I explain. “So if you hear anyone come up here, call down to the front desk. No one should be up here except you.”
“I’m still stuck on you having the whole floor. So I can, theoretically, stay in any room I want?”
I look at my watch. “Can you just trust that I already did the legwork and picked the one with the best of everything? Really, the most expensive one has the best rooms and the best view. It’s 3101, where my stuff is.”
“I mean, not everyone has the same taste, but I guess,” she concedes playfully, following me into the room. I hand her the key, as well as the keys to the other three rooms on the floor.
“You can go scope them out, too. Whatever.”
“I’m just kidding, Trey. If you told me I had to sleep in the janitor’s closet at the Carlyle, it’d probably be more spacious and quiet than my dorm room.” She gives me back the other keys. “Take them. I’m not going to use them.”
“Okay.” I smile down at her, finally moving my foot and allowing the door to close. I’ve never been alone inside a hotel room with any girl other tha
n Zaina, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I can’t gather my things fast enough. I stuff all the toiletries I’d had out into my small bag haphazardly. I hadn’t even unpacked any of the clothes I’d intended to wear beyond tonight. “Here are sodas and some snacks. That book has menus for room service and the number for the concierge. Go crazy, order whatever you want. It’s fine. They’ll even do in-room massages. You should get one.”
The thought of her naked body laid out on a table is too much for me to take right now. I attach my duffle to my rolling suitcase, fold up the luggage that held my tux, and hurry past her.
“I’ll just take this,” I say, picking up the bottle of bourbon on the desk.
“Hey! I thought you said I could have that.”
“I can’t leave you with a full bottle of bourbon.” I shake my head. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but if you got caught with it… I just… want me to pour you a glass?”
She nods. I sigh as she takes the bottle and I drop my things.
“I’ll go get some ice,” I tell her as I grab the bucket and the key that’s still by the door. Do I stay and have a glass with her? Because I really, really want to. It’s just a friendly glass of bourbon and Coke. I’ll pour way more Coke than bourbon. And I’ll hang around for five minutes, tops. I check my watch again. It’s already been ten minutes. Gavin will wait. I shouldn’t do it. I absolutely should not do it.
Coley has a Coke set out with two glasses set on either side of it when I come back in the room.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, placing ice in both of the glasses and then putting a splash of liquor in the bottom of each. “I’m going to take a rain check on this drink and make two for you. Put one in the fridge to keep it cold.” I pop open the soda and split it evenly between the two glasses.
She looks at me, smiling strangely. “They were actually both for me,” she says, trying to let me down gently.
“Of course they were.” I glance in the mirror in front of me, just to make note that my face is the same color as the Coke can. “I’m a stupendous idiot.”
“Just a little one,” she says, gesturing with her thumb and forefinger. “Why don’t you let me know when you get home? We can have a drink remotely. Deal?”
“That would be better,” I say. “Yeah.” I still feel incredibly stupid. “Gavin’s downstairs, so I better run. Enjoy the next sixteen and a half hours. Get some studying done–or don’t. It’s Coley time. Just… uh… love it, okay?”
“I will. Thank you.”
“I’m happy I could do it for you.”
We both look at each other awkwardly for a second or two before moving to hug one another. It’s nice to hold her like this again. The last time I hugged her, it was to comfort her; to take away her sadness. This time, it’s a show of gratitude, and I get great pleasure out of it. I hold her long enough to learn the scent of her shampoo and to feel the end of her silky hair through my fingertips. Piña-colada. I’m already drunk.
“So… good night,” I tell her.
“You, too.”
She walks me to the door and opens it, handing me the bourbon on my way out. At the elevator, I realize I probably shouldn’t be wandering around with an open bottle of alcohol in my hands and tuck it safely in my toiletry bag.
When I get back to my apartment, I don’t bother to change or unpack. I grab a highball and pour myself a drink, thinking about my gaffe with Coley. How could I make that assumption? I’m such an idiot!
After digging through the Valentine’s basket my sister brought over this morning, I find some sour gummy hearts and start binge-eating them. They’re my weakness, and I need something to make me feel better. They taste like shit with the bourbon, but I pour myself a second glass when the first is done and then a third glass when I’ve downed the second. It’s only then that I have the courage to call my friend.
She answers while I’m mid-chew with a mouthful of gummies. “I’m really sorry about that,” I tell her, alternating between talking and chewing and swallowing.
“What?”
“Thinking you wanted me to stay and have a drink with you. I don’t know what I was thinking–”
“Don’t worry–”
“I am gonna worry. This fucking holiday is just messing with my head.”
“Wow. You just went straight to launching the f-bomb. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘fuck’ before, Trey Holland.”
“I’m on my third drink. It brings out the fucks in me. I’m sorry.”
She bursts out laughing audibly into the mic. “Three, already? My second is still in the fridge! How long have you been home?”
“Long enough to have three bourbon and Cokes and about twenty-three gummy hearts.”
“Awww,” she says. “Are you an emotional eater?” My chuckle comes out as a snort. Nice, Trey. “Why do you let this holiday get to you?”
“Believe it or not, I’m a little bit afflicted by romanticism, too. It’s not just you,” I explain.
“Do you miss her?”
I sit in silence, rubbing my thumb against my forefinger because I swear I still feel her soft hair there. “Sure,” I say softly.
“Go pour yourself another and grab some more gummies. I’ll go get my second and we’ll talk about it.”
“’kay,” I say, dropping the phone on the sofa and pushing myself up off the couch with some difficulty. Did I eat dinner tonight? Oh, the hotel had that salmon dish. I didn’t eat much of it. It was too awkward, sitting at a table of couples and then just… me.
I squint at the amount of liquor I poured this time. It’s half the glass. I’m definitely going to regret this in the morning. After finishing it off with the soda, I choose chocolates instead of the gummy candy and go back over to the couch again.
“Did you leave me?” I ask her.
“I’m still here.”
“Good,” I say with a sigh.
“So, if Zaina were here, what would you be doing with her tonight?”
“Well, we’d be staying in that room you’re in, I guess,” I tell her bluntly.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “I guess I can figure out what you’d be doing.”
“I don’t know about that. If it’s what I think you’re insinuating.”
“What do you think I’m insinuating?”
“I mean… you know…”
“What, the third drink brings out the ‘fucks’ in you. Does the fourth one make them go away?”
“Wooow…” I say, over-exaggerating the word. “That is… that is forward. That is what that is. Wow. You think we’d be fucking, huh?” I wish I had never said that out loud. I close my eyes and let my imagination do whatever it wants to with her.
“It’s what couples do… especially on Valentine’s Day.”
“What messed up world do you live in, Coley, where couples fuck on Valentine’s Day? I thought you were a romantic. Where’s the romance in that?”
“Maybe you’ve never been fucked right.”
My eyes are wide open. I sit up straight on the couch and every damn part of me is alert to what she just said even though she was quiet and meek and as sweet as the chocolate that’s melting in my hand when she said it. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t think I did.” I can hear the ice cubes in her glass on the other end of the line. I take a drink, too, needing something to cool me down. My heart is on the loose in my chest. It’s out of control, running wild, and I’m afraid Coley’s listening to its cavorting over the silence that’s now overtaken the conversation. “Is this how friends talk?” I ask her.
“I don’t think so,” she whispers.
I think about that for a minute or two. “I’d better go.”
“I know.”
But I don’t want to.
“Sleep well, laureate.”
“Sweet dreams, Trey.” She has no idea.
On second thought, I think she does.
chapter nine
“Thank you for calling the Carlyle Hotel. How may I assist you today?”
“Room 3101, please.” I can hear faint typing in the background.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the guest in room 3101 has checked out already.”
“This is Trey Holland.”
“Oh. Sir, the room was checked out to you… it shows you checked out this morning? At seven-thirty-five a.m.”
“That’s right,” I say. “Just checking. I was making sure I did. Thank you.”
Why won’t you answer your cell phone, Coley?
I decide to leave her a message this time. “Hey, Coley. It’s a little after two. Look, I’d like to do the cowardly thing and say I don’t remember what was said last night, but we both know I’m not the cowardly type, so I’m just going to say I’m sorry. I should have just gone to bed when I got home. That conversation was completely inappropriate. I hope you’re not mad at me. I hope you’re not diverting all my calls directly to voicemail, but it’s kind of seeming like that now. And the hotel said you checked out really early. I feel like such an ass. Can you call me so we can talk and work this out before class tomorrow? So it won’t be all weird? Please? Thanks.”
Feeling unwell, I have another sip of chai tea at Starbucks and go back to my blog to work on some coding and pray that the right summary paragraph of my latest entry will magically appear in my head while I do. It’s not working. I just keep kicking myself for getting into that conversation with her last night. I wish I had someone to talk to, but I can’t talk to anyone in my family; if I could find Asher, he’d probably kick my ass for having feelings for her; and I’m afraid that Max would side with Zaina, even though he was my friend first and he’s as good as my brother. I know they’re close, and of course he’d be sympathetic to her. No matter how I frame this scenario, I’m the bad guy.
Callen. Max’s ex. Sure, we’re not as close as we used to be because of their breakup, but I could still talk to him. He’s pretty much my last resort. It’s only eleven in the morning on the west coast. There’s a good chance he’s not awake yet, but I try him anyway.
“Mmmm…” he answers groggily.
“Man, I’m sorry I woke you up.”
