He runs his hand through his hair, which is hanging in his face from a combination of sweat and humidity. He catches a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the hotel’s glass front doors. Besides the nice jacket, the rest of him looks a bit worn out. His shirt is untucked, his pants baggy and hanging off his hips, and his hair—despite his best efforts—is hanging over his right eye.
How did you manage to get drunk twice in one night? Scotty asks from inside his hidden pocket.
“Shut up,” Steven says.
“Who are you talking to?” Dania asks, stumbling in her high heels.
“Nobody,” Steven says, and puts an arm around the small of her back. She’s so thin, he’d probably be hugging himself if he tried to put his arms around her.
The two of them walk through the automatic doors and into the hotel lobby. Dania is singing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” and Steven tries to remember the male part of the song. He’s doing a bad job remembering the lyrics, which makes Dania laugh while trying to sing her part. Hotel employees look more annoyed than amused as the two of them stumble across the floor.
“This evening has been . . .”
“I’m drunk as hell right now. . . .”
“So very nice . . .”
“I think that cab driver had lice.”
Dania laughs and, in the middle of the lobby, takes off her heels and stumbles toward the elevator. Steven sees the desk clerk staring at him and, for a quick second, thinks about buying his Santa hat off of him. Then he realizes he’s already wearing one he bought earlier in the night. He’s smart enough—even in this condition—to just keep walking to the elevator and make a quick exit.
Back at his room, Dania leans on the wall as Steven tries to find his hotel key. He’s always been bad about remembering which pocket he put the card in. When he finds it, he first puts it in backward. Then does it wrong again the second and third time. Finally, they both fall into the hotel room, Dania still singing the same Christmas song she’s been singing for an hour.
“Say, lend me a comb,” she sings as Steven takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. His wingtips took a nice scuffing tonight. Scotty would be proud. Thinking about his brother like this reminds Steven that the ashes are still in his pocket, so he takes out the paper bag and puts it into the cardboard box the remains came in. Then, just to be absolutely carefree and crazy, Steven tosses his sports jacket onto the floor.
“I’m a wild man, I tell you!” he yells much too loudly for someone who is in a small hotel room. Dania stops singing and looks shocked. Then she smiles and looks at the jacket on the floor. Singing quietly to herself, she walks over, picks up the jacket, and hangs it neatly on the back of the desk chair. Then she walks over to the window and looks out at the view of Singapore City.
“Looks so pretty from up here,” she says. “Like we’re in New York or Chicago, almost.”
“Think so?” Steven asks. He’s seen both of those cities and thinks this one looks nothing like them.
“It’s not real,” she says. “This is the Singapore you see in photos. Or on the Internet. It’s not the Singapore that I know. Not even the city that I know.” She turns around to look at Steven, standing just a few feet behind her. “I wish you could see it.”
“That’s not in the cards, I’m afraid,” he says, and taps his watch. “My morning flight makes the rules.”
“No good. You didn’t even get to eat real Singaporean food.”
“I didn’t eat any Singaporean food.”
“What the hell is wrong with you, white boy?”
“Hey, I’m a sommelier. I have a very delicate palate.”
Dania scoffs. “I think you have a delicate vagina, is what I think.”
Steven pulls the front of his chinos and looks down at his underwear. He makes a shocked look and then looks back up at Dania. “It’s small, but it’s definitely a penis, I assure you.”
“Okay, but next time you stay longer. And let me show you some real local food.”
“Yeah, next time. You got it.”
“Hey, never say never.”
“Whatever you say.”
Dania looks one last time out the window and lets out a quiet humming sound. It’s as if she’s still singing and letting out air at the same time, almost a whistle. Her face gets serious for a minute, and then she turns to Steven.
“Okay,” she says, “you’re here and you’re safe. Set a wake-up call, and then I’ll know my job is done and that I got you back here alive and well.”
Steven salutes and does as he’s told, calling the front desk and making certain that he has plenty of time to get to the airport. He’s thrilled to find he doesn’t need nearly as much time as he does back home in Canada. He showed up in Toronto three hours before his flight. He thinks Toronto’s airport doesn’t handle international flights well.
Hanging up the phone, Steven sits on the edge of his bed and looks around. He closes his eyes for a brief second and is pleased to see that the room doesn’t spin when he does.
“That’s a good sign,” he says.
“What?”
“I’m not shitfaced.”
“You’re not what?”
“Shitfaced. It means really, really drunk.”
“That’s funny.”
“Yeah, I got it from . . .” Steven opens his eyes and looks over at the box with ashes in it. “A friend of mine.” He realizes that it’s not a word he really ever uses.
It’s just then that Steven realizes that he was just really starting to become friends with Scotty again. After years of barely speaking—except for holidays and birthdays—things had seemed to be looking up for the first time in a long while. Six months ago, Scotty talked about coming back to Canada for a month or two, just to get home and be back in Toronto. Steven didn’t realize at the time how much he had wanted that to happen.
I wouldn’t have liked that bitch you were dating, Scotty’s ashes say from inside their box. And you know it.
The fact that Robin just dumped him doesn’t bother Steven so much as knowing that the very thing Scotty would have hated is gone and now Scotty won’t be coming to visit anyway. Steven realizes that he technically has two things to be mourning tonight, but only one matters to him. The other, he feels, doesn’t deserve it.
You’re thinking of the wrong woman, Scotty says.
“Should you not be encouraging me to put the moves on your girl?” Steven says under his breath to Scotty.
“What?” Dania asks.
“Nothing.”
Bro, I’m dead. Scotty says. What the hell do I care what you do now?
It’s at that point Steven realizes that he’s drunk and that the only person doing the talking is him. He’s saying exactly what he wishes Scotty would say . . . but probably never would. Scotty was just as territorial as anyone.
“Are you happy?” Dania asks, and snaps Steven out of talking to himself. “Going home to Canada?”
“Yes and no. I’m glad to go home, but there’s not much left to go home to.”
He tells her about Robin. About his condo that will be mostly cleaned out when he gets there. And about how having no family left leaves him with little to celebrate this year.
“You love Christmas,” Dania says. “Scotty told me. That’s why he couldn’t invite you here this year. He said you can’t stand being anywhere that’s not cold at Christmas.”
Steven smiles. “That’s true.” He looks up at her, still standing at the window. “I think we have a problem, you and me.”
“I think you’re right,” she says, then catches herself. She clears her throat. “What do you mean?”
“You seem to know everything about me, and I know nothing about you.”
“Ah. I’m one big secret.”
“So it seems.” He stands up again and looks out the window. It’s funny that Dania doesn’t like the view. It’s the one part of this city he has liked since the moment he arrived. It may not look like the view outside his co
ndo, or the skyline in New York or Chicago, but it’s close enough. Other people like to feel as if they are on vacation; he prefers to feel like he’s home.
“You, too,” Dania says after a minute, making eye contact with Steven through his reflection in the window. “One big secret.”
“Hardly.”
“Very much so. There’s someone hiding behind those glasses. Underneath the nice clothes.”
You look like me, only better dressed, Scotty’s remains whine from across the room. Steven shakes his head and ignores it.
He steps closer to her and smells her hair. He’s only a foot behind her now and knows she must feel his breath on her neck. But she doesn’t move. She doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable. He’s had too much to drink, and should back off. But she doesn’t move or seem to want him to, either. So he just stands there and lets the faint smell of flowers fill his nose.
“You agreed we have a problem. What did you mean?”
“That I know so much about you,” she whispers now.
“No.” His voice gets quieter, too. “That’s what I said. You were thinking something else.”
“It was nothing,” she says, still looking at his reflection, her back to him.
“Tell me,” he says, and steps slightly closer. Her breath gets a little heavier, and she inhales deeply before she speaks again.
“It’s just that . . .”
“Yes?”
“You hide your true feelings.”
“Am I hiding them now?”
“No,” she says, and turns to look at him. Her face is only inches from his. She’s almost as tall as he is, even without her shoes. “You pretend to be one thing, but you’re another.”
“Am I?” He’s actually whispering now. He wonders if he should back away. Neither one of them moves. This is probably a bad idea, but neither one of them moves. “Like my broth—”
Dania puts her mouth on his and presses her lips against his tightly. At the same time, her hand comes up and gently rests on his left cheek. Her lips are soft and her touch is so gentle, Steven feels all the blood in his face drain away. Her hands are almost as big as his, and yet her touch is so soft. Before he can move, before he opens his mouth, she pulls back and looks him in the eyes.
“No more,” she says. “I don’t want to talk about him again.”
“What do you want?”
She kisses him again, more passionately this time. Both her hands make their way around his face, his chin, through his hair. He knows this is wrong, but he lets her do it anyway. He doesn’t know which one of them is making the mistake, but he’s willing to let it happen. He wants it to happen. He kisses her and runs his hands along her neck, her waist, up her arms.
She stops kissing him and pushes him back a few feet. He can still feel the alcohol in his head. He still can’t stand very straight, and he wonders if he’ll regret this when he’s sober.
Scotty’s ashes aren’t talking to him anymore.
“I want to make you feel good,” she says, and kisses his neck. “I want to make you happy.”
Steven closes his eyes and feels her mouth on him. No one has ever said that. For the first time, he wonders if anyone has ever really made him happy. Dania’s mouth on his neck makes him smile, and he runs his hand through her very long, silky hair.
“Sit,” she whispers in his ear, and pushes him back on the bed. He looks up at her, standing in front of him, and wonders if she’s as drunk as he is. Will she regret this tomorrow? Are Scotty’s ashes right? Is this only because Steven looks almost exactly like the last man she did this with . . . and only days or weeks ago?
Who cares? he thinks to himself. Isn’t this what you want?
“Shhh.” Dania stops him when he tries to speak. It’s as if she knows what he’s thinking and doesn’t want him to worry. She really wants him to be happy. She reaches up and slowly unbuttons her blouse, revealing a very thin, tan body. Steven immediately thinks her breasts aren’t real, but are still amazing. As she lowers her skirt, he can’t help but stare. Her entire body is gorgeous, from head to toe. Every inch of her is tan, toned, and striking.
Completely topless, but still wearing a pair of black thong underwear, she walks over to where he’s sitting and kneels in front of him. He reaches down and puts his hands through her hair, pulling her face close to his. She runs her mouth down his chin, his neck, and his chest. Working her way down, she unbuttons his shirt with each kiss of his body.
Steven reaches down and holds her shoulders. He tries to pick her up and bring her onto the bed with him, but she will not let him. Instead, she looks up into his eyes, unbuttoning his pants at the same time.
“You stay there,” she says. “Just let me take care of you.”
Steven closes his eyes and feels Dania’s hand push him backward onto the bed, until he’s lying down with his feet still on the floor. In the background, he can hear the toilet in the next room. It’s making noise as if someone needs to jiggle the handle to keep the tank from constantly trying to fill. He can hear the air conditioner in the background and a slight rattle it’s making. The refrigerator in the room is humming louder than it should be.
“Wait,” he says, opening his eyes and feeling instantly sober.
“What?” Dania lifts her head and looks him in the eye, her hair falling over one side of her face.
“Just . . . wait.”
“What is it, sweetie?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Dania sits up farther, resting on her elbows, still straddling Steven’s body. He feels her skin, so warm against his, and it gets him excited while making him uneasy at the same time. He wants to grab her and make love to her, but that very thought makes him feel so . . . sad.
“What do you want, sweetie?” she says, her voice sounding sultry and soothing.
“Is this because I look like him?”
“Shhh.” She gently runs a hand across his stomach. “I told you not to talk like that.”
“But is it because we look the same?”
Does it matter? Scotty is patiently watching from the darkness.
“You don’t think that, do you?” Dania asks, covering her breasts with one of her arms, as if she’s suddenly embarrassed at being exposed.
“I don’t know,” Steven says, rolling over on one side to look at her. She’s more beautiful than any woman he’s been with. Part of him thinks he’s a fool for stopping what she started. Scotty would agree.
“What do you know, then?”
He pauses for a minute and lets his head stop spinning and lets the sounds of the refrigerator and the air conditioner and the toilet stop annoying him. Then he reaches across the bed and touches her shoulder, feeling several strands of her hair that are falling across her body.
“I know that the only thing I’ve liked since I came here is being with you,” he says.
She looks deeply in his eyes for a moment without saying anything. Then she reaches up with the hand she was covering herself with and touches his hand that is resting on her shoulder.
“I think we both wanted this because we both needed this,” she says. It makes perfect sense. Steven doesn’t say anything. He just smiles gently and touches her face.
“Stay?” he asks.
“Of course.”
He pulls her close, not thinking of the clothes he’s wearing or whatever she isn’t. Without practice and without a bit of hesitation, the two of them fit their bodies against one another, Steven spooning against Dania, wrapping his arms around her as she cradles him close to her. He smells her hair and pulls her tightly to him as he quickly—and happily—feels himself drifting off to sleep.
11
Steven thinks the elevator is running much slower than usual. It normally takes a lot less time to get all the way up the building. He watches the numbers light up as he continues his ascent. He could swear that the building used to be only eighty-six floors, but he seems to just keep moving upward. By the time he reaches the ninetieth fl
oor, he wonders how much longer until he finally reaches the top.
He’s startled by the loud bell that rings out as the doors open. The hallway outside is dimly lit and appears to be empty. Even though he’s pretty sure this isn’t where he’s supposed to be, Steven steps out of the elevator and around the corner. The hallway is long and straight, with only a few doors here and there on either side. He keeps slowly walking, occasionally looking back at the elevator behind him.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice says over his left-hand shoulder, and he turns to face it. A security guard is standing there, holding a bag of potato chips in his hand. He’s shoving handfuls of them into his mouth as he stands there, but Steven doesn’t seem to notice any noise.
“I don’t know where I’m going,” he says.
“You’re not there yet.”
“I know, but this is where I wound up.”
The security guard takes off his hat, and his hair falls down to his shoulders. Steven thinks the man looks ridiculous, but he doesn’t say anything. He looks down at his own clothes and realizes he has no business criticizing anyone else. His pants are torn and dirty, and he’s wearing an old T-shirt with stains all over it.
“Make sure you’re on time.” The security guard puts on a pair of glasses and walks away.
“I’m already late.”
Steven takes a deep breath and rolls over, feeling a sharp pain in the back of his head. The pillow is wet, and he has a terrible taste in his mouth. He knows that if he doesn’t drink a lot of water right now, he’ll wake up with a much worse headache and probably a terrible hangover. As it stands, he thinks he might still be slightly drunk.
Another anxiety dream, Scotty’s ashes tsk-tsk from across the room. Some things never change.
Steven ignores the wisecrack and walks into the bathroom. He stands at the sink and gulps several glasses of water until he’s certain he’s had enough to stave off any serious dehydration. If need be, he’ll have some beer on the flight to chase away any hangover that might linger. Or he’ll load up on sleeping pills and hopefully be nearly comatose all the way back to Canada.
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