The Wild Woman's Guide to Traveling the World

by Kristin Rockaway

  At the same time, I didn’t want to have to call and explain to her—for the thousandth time—that I was a big girl who was quite capable of traveling the world by myself. I’d been working on the road for several years now, hopping on an airplane every other week and living out of suitcases in dozens of different foreign cities. Not to mention, I leased my own apartment in the biggest, baddest city in the world. When was she going to realize I had grown up?

  The clock read 12:45 p.m., which meant it was already past midnight back at home. Grandma would be sound asleep, with her hearing aids turned off and placed on her nightstand. If I called her now, she’d never hear the phone ringing. Which meant it was the perfect opportunity for me to leave a message reassuring her of my safety, without getting roped into an irritating conversation or draining my battery down to zero. I scrolled through my contact list, pulled up her number, and hit SEND. I knew the phone would ring six times before her ancient answering machine would click on. I leaned back against the foot of the bed and closed my eyes while I counted the rings. One…two...

  “Hello?”

  My eyes sprang open in surprise. Grandma didn’t sound like I’d woken her from a deep sleep. Her voice wasn’t hoarse or groggy. On the contrary, she seemed energized and a little on edge. As if she’d been chugging coffee for hours.

  “Gram,” I said.

  “Sophie, is that you?” The edginess in her voice exploded to full-fledged frenzy. “Oh thank God. Thank God you’re safe!”

  “What are you doing up?”

  “What am I doing up?” she screeched. “I can’t sleep! I’ve been worried sick about you, alone out there on the other side of the world. Finally, you called. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Gram.” I rolled my eyes, suppressing the urge to ask, Why wouldn’t I be all right?

  “So when are you coming home?”

  “I get into JFK late on Saturday night.”

  “You’re staying?”

  “Of course I’m staying,” I said. “I used my entire balance of flight and hotel points to come over here. I’m not going to give that all up and leave.”

  “For God’s sake, be careful, Sophie,” she said. “All alone like that and so far away, you could get yourself killed!”

  I took a deep breath to steady my voice before saying through gritted teeth, “Gram, I travel everywhere. All over the world. All the time. By myself. I know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to get myself killed.”

  “I know.” Her voice softened. “I wish you’d stop gallivanting, though. I worry about you all the time; you’re always so far away. I just love you so much, I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I love you, too, Gram,” I said. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “That Elena is a piece of work,” she said, getting louder as her anger began to resurface. “What the hell’s the matter with her? Leaving you like that. She should be ashamed of herself. And for a boy!”

  “Roddy’s twenty-seven, Gram. He’s not exactly a boy.”

  “He’s a boy! He’s got nothing going for him.”

  “He’s got a good job,” I said. “He’s a personal trainer.”

  “Doing jumping jacks all day? You call that a good job?”

  “Trainers make good money, Gram. Besides that, he loves what he does.” Am I really defending Elena’s relationship with Roddy right now? And to my grandmother, of all people?

  “It’s not dignified,” she sniffed. “Elena shouldn’t be wasting her time with him. You should talk some sense into her.”

  I decided I didn’t like where this conversation was going, nor was I interested in spending any more of my precious limited time in Hong Kong engaged in the same discussion we always had across her kitchen table. Stop traveling. The world is dangerous. No man is ever good enough.

  “Listen, Gram, my phone’s about to die,” I said. “I just wanted to let you know I’m okay. I’ll give you a call when I get home.”

  “Fine. But don’t talk to any strange men. And don’t ever put your drink down and walk away! You never know what they’ll slip into it. Men are wild nowadays.”

  “Okay, Gram. Bye.”

  I hung up before she could squeeze in any more helpful advice. I knew my grandmother meant well and that all her fretting and nagging came from a place of love. I was also growing exasperated with pretending it didn’t annoy me. My whole life, I’d followed her directions, taking her suggestions and opinions as gospel. She told me to be independent, to never rely on a man, to always have a plan. It was true that if it weren’t for her, I never would’ve made it this far. After all, she was the one who’d encouraged me to work hard, establish a distinguished career, and earn a steady income. I’d done it all to make her proud. But once I became the successful, independent woman she’d groomed me to be, she seemed intent on keeping me close by, in some futile attempt to shield me from the rest of the world. Maybe she didn’t want me to be independent after all.

  Of course, I knew where this all came from. I knew she only acted this way because she didn’t want me to turn out like my mother. A pregnant teen, a high school dropout, a deadbeat absentee mom. By now, though, wasn’t it clear I had chosen a different path? I’d followed Grandma’s advice; I’d done everything I could to make her happy. I hadn’t turned out like my mother, and I would never be anything like her. What else did I have to do to prove to my grandmother that I was a completely different person?

  Sneering down at my phone, I regretted ever turning it on to begin with. Only 3 percent of the battery life was left. Just as I was about to shut it down to conserve what precious power remained, the tiny blue light in the top right-hand corner started to flash, signaling a new message had arrived.

  From Elizabeth.

  At one in the morning, New York time.

  Does this woman ever not work?

  To: Sophie Bruno

  From: Elizabeth Fischman

  Subject: re: Hong Kong Office

  See attached agenda for discussion topics.

  The attached document contained five pages of bullet points organized under six different subheadings. It would take hours to touch on them all. Was I expected to spend the whole day with this guy?

  To: Elizabeth Fischman

  From: Sophie Bruno

  Subject: re: Hong Kong office

  How long is this meeting scheduled to last?

  My thumb hovered over the SEND button, but before my skin made contact, the screen went dark. The battery was totally drained. I stared at the lifeless gadget resting in my palm and felt simultaneously grateful for the disruption and panicked about what to do next. I suppose I’ll have to buy another charger now.

  A knock came at the door. Carson had returned already. In my haste to check on things back home, I’d forgotten all about the here and now, the present I’d vowed to stay planted in. I was still wrapped in a towel, I hadn’t done my hair, and on the other side of that dead-bolted door was the most gorgeous man I’d ever hooked up with. Get it together.

  I tossed my phone back in the safe, and, rushing to the entryway, I paused to check my reflection in the mirror. Shit. I desperately tried to arrange my air-dried, frizzy hair into an aesthetically pleasing arrangement, but it was useless. Another knock, this time a little louder.

  With one hand gripping the towel closed around my chest, I swallowed hard and opened the door. Carson stood in the hallway with a huge backpack perched upon his shoulders. When he saw me, he said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “You’re scowling. Am I too early? Or did you change your mind? Because if you did, it’s not a problem. I can go check back into the hostel.”

  “Oh.” I touched my fingers to the center of my brow, massaging away the frown. How had I not realized I’d been scowling? “No, come in,” I said, moving aside to invite him in before shutting the door behind him. “It’s not you. Work’s just driving me nuts.”

  “Work?” He stepped into
the foyer and placed his bag on the floor beside him. “I thought you were on vacation.”

  “My boss doesn’t really believe in vacations.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun.” His eyes traced my body from the top of my head to the tips of my pink-polished toes. “Let’s see if we can get a smile back on your face.”

  Wordlessly, he reached for my hand and loosened my grip on the towel. As it dropped to the floor, he ran his fingertips down my body, starting at my shoulders. His touch on the curve of my breasts gave me goose bumps. When he slid his hands past my hips, he said, “I think I figured out what I want to do today.”

  Just like that, our plans were made.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Three days later, it was Thursday and my phone was still locked in the hotel safe, the battery still totally dead. I never did bother to buy that charger. I’d made a halfhearted attempt to find one when we passed by a shopping mall in Central on Tuesday afternoon, but the two stores I visited didn’t have it in stock. Searching through electronics stores for a hard-to-find cable got old fast, especially when there were so many more exciting things to be doing with my time.

  Like lolling in bed, naked, beside Carson. That morning, like every other, I opened my eyes and drank in the same scenery: his muscular body stretched out on top of the fluffy duvet, his blue eyes fixated on the sketchbook in his lap, his pencil dancing across the white vellum.

  In that moment, I felt so content and comfortable. Nothing could bring me down off my high. I wasn’t even worried about the fact that I’d just slept through my meeting with Martin Chu.

  It happened accidentally. The night before, it had crossed my mind to call down to the front desk and arrange an early morning wake-up call, to make sure I arose with plenty of time to get to the 9:00 a.m. appointment in Kowloon. Before I picked up the phone, Carson suggested we take a sunset cruise across Victoria Harbour to watch the Symphony of Lights from the Tsim Sha Tsui waterfront. If we wanted to get there for the eight o’clock showtime, we had to leave immediately. So I grabbed my purse and followed him out the door without hesitation. By the time we’d returned, it was after midnight, and my head was so fuzzy from those two cocktails I drank at the Lobby Lounge after the show that the only thing I had on my mind was stripping off my clothes and tumbling into bed with him. At some point, I drifted off, without ever having called down to the front desk.

  So maybe it happened accidentally on purpose.

  I knew Elizabeth wouldn’t be happy, but somehow I’d rationalized my decision to blow it off. Technically, I wasn’t on the clock. I had earned my paid time off. Legally, she couldn’t make me work on vacation, right? Either way, I couldn’t stand the thought of wasting an entire day in Hong Kong cooped up in a stuffy office, poring over spreadsheets and talking about strategic long-term IT planning. Not when there was so much else to explore.

  Those past three days, every moment of touring Hong Kong with Carson had been a thrill. We’d smelled incense burning in tranquil temples, watched a laser light show illuminate the night sky with a swirling kaleidoscope of color, and sampled enough delectable street food at dai pai dong across the city to more than make up for my abbreviated first meal at Temple Street Night Market. We made decisions at the spur of the moment, following our feelings wherever they took us. Without an itinerary, I was able to relax and unwind for a change. And spending my days with Carson made me feel better than I ever could have planned for. When this trip was over, I intended to buy Elena a drink to say thanks for ditching me.

  For now, I lounged in bed listening to the scratch of pencil on paper and the rhythm of Carson’s even, focused breathing. Only two more days of this, I thought, then immediately shook the idea out of my head, preferring to live in the state of timeless limbo we’d created for ourselves. I’d stopped thinking about Elena, my grandmother, my five-year plan. I was living in the moment, fully immersed in the right now. As far as I was concerned, I could while away the rest of my days in the comfort of this temperature-controlled hotel room, lazing on this pillow-top mattress, inches away from the sexiest man I’d ever known.

  “What are you drawing?” I asked, my voice still rough with sleep.

  He closed his sketchbook and placed it on the bed beside him, then picked up a white paper bag blotted with translucent grease stains.

  “I got you a pineapple bun,” he said, placing the bag under my nose. The sweet smell aroused me.

  “You went out?” I plucked it from his hands and peeked inside.

  “I took a stroll down by the harbor to sketch,” he said. “There’s great light on the water in the early morning.”

  “But you’re not wearing any clothes.”

  “I took them off as soon as I got back.” He rolled onto his side, narrowing his blue eyes at me. “Clothes have no place in this room.”

  I smirked and raised the pastry to my lips, causing thick crumbs to fall onto my exposed chest. Carson leaned over and licked them off, one by one. I dropped my bun back in the bag and tossed it aside as he reached his hand beneath the sheets and slid his fingers slowly across my thigh. Waking up had never felt so good.

  After a leisurely romp, we rolled out of bed at half past ten and into a steamy shower. The water trickled over our heads and down our bodies while we soaped each other’s backs.

  “Where do you feel like going today?” My voice echoed off the tiles. This was how we made our plans: on a whim, while we washed.

  “I was thinking about Macau,” he said.

  I’d definitely dog-eared the page on Macau in my guidebook—wherever it was by now. Macau was the world’s wealthiest gambling territory, even bigger and richer than Vegas, but there was more to it than casinos. There were ruins and restaurants and a black sand beach, and I wanted to see as much as I could. But it was over an hour away by ferry, so even though it wasn’t our usual style, I figured some forethought was necessary in order to make the journey worthwhile.

  “I’d love to take a day trip there,” I said, “but I think it’s a little late by now. We probably should’ve gotten up four hours ago and caught an earlier boat. Maybe tomorrow? If we can get a TurboJET at Sheung Wan station by seven o’clock, then I bet we’d arrive with enough time for a quick spin by the Ruins of St. Paul before catching a bus over to Hac Sa Beach. I read all about a great little Portuguese restaurant on the water there. We can grab lunch and then head to—”

  “Whoa, slow down.” He smiled, perhaps a little shocked by my sudden transformation into a tour guide. “I don’t mean a day trip. I mean pack up, leave Hong Kong, and go to Macau.”

  My heart thumped and dropped to my gut. I’d envisioned saying good-bye to Carson at the airport two days from now, not spending tonight in an empty bed, waking up tomorrow without him beside me.

  “When are you going?” I asked.

  “What? No, Sophie, I want you to come with me.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. Leaving without me, I guess, was not something he’d even considered, but it was the first thing that popped into my mind. It seemed I had some abandonment issues; maybe I wouldn’t be so quick to buy Elena that drink.

  Still, checking out of the hotel early didn’t seem like a reasonable option. I had booked it through the end of the week, and the nights were nonrefundable. Not to mention, my flight home was in a little over forty-eight hours, departing from Hong Kong International. I had promised to be more spontaneous, but this was a drastic change in my agenda.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I ran through my list of excuses, which Carson swatted down like gnats.

  “We’ll get you back here in plenty of time for your flight. I’ll pay the bill for our stay in Macau. And for this one, too. I hope you didn’t think I planned on mooching off you the whole time.”

  “It was prepaid with hotel points,” I said, sliding my hand down his chest. “Besides, I think you’ve been earning your keep.”

  “So let’s go.”

  “Do
you have reservations somewhere?” I shuddered at the thought of staying in a hostel, sharing a bedroom with snoring strangers.

  “I don’t make reservations,” he said. “It’s off-season now; there are vacancies everywhere. Don’t worry; we’ll get a nice hotel. Someplace private. Okay?”

  A sojourn in Macau meant another stamp in my passport, which definitely sounded alluring. More alluring, however, was the idea of following Carson wherever he went. There were so many questions I could ask, so many reasons why I could say no, but there was no denying the pleasure and passion I’d experienced these past few days. And it had happened because I’d stopped overthinking and surrendered to impulse.

  “Okay.”

  He kissed me, shut off the faucet, and pulled back the shower curtain. I stood there for a second with the towel in my hand, water dripping from my chin, looking at my reflection through the mist on the mirror. Who was this naked woman with the sopping curls, dropping her plans to chase after some guy? I wasn’t sure I recognized her.

  We took our time getting dressed and packing up. After I slipped my phone from the safe, I jammed it way down in the bottom of my tote bag. My new motto for this trip was, Out of sight, out of mind. Before we left, I gave the room a once-over, combing the closets and dresser drawers in search of misplaced items. It was a habit I’d formed after leaving my favorite pair of shoes behind in a Munich hotel room. Carson said I was being neurotic, but when I found his sketchbook underneath the bedsheets, I felt vindicated.

  “See?” I waved the book under his nose. “You forgot this.”

  “Leave it,” he said. “I don’t have room in my backpack. The zipper on the front pouch is already busted from trying to overstuff it.”

  I thumbed the pages, glancing at the artwork within. Some scenes were unfamiliar, drawn before we met or perhaps in the very early mornings, while I was still asleep. But I recognized others, like the impressive Hong Kong skyline he’d sketched at the top of Victoria Peak.

  “You can’t just leave this here.”