by Tia Lewis
I started to pace, completely in panic mode. I had no idea what to do anymore.
Where in the world could I have left it? The hotel! I half-run, half-walk out of the room. I didn't know where I got the speed or strength from, but I made it to the hotel in no time and fortunately the receptionist was the same one from last night.
"Good morning!" I greeted him with a smile that was too eager.
"Good morning, sir. How may I help?" the young man said.
"I don't know if you remember me, but I got a room here last night. Room 303? I left something very important in the room last night. Actually, I think the phrase is 'forgot it', and I really need it back. I was wondering if you could help out somehow."
"I would love to sir, but I doubt that there was anything in the room. See, the room has already been cleaned, and nothing was brought back here. What exactly is this thing you are looking for?"
"Something of great value written on a piece of paper."
"A piece of paper?" the receptionist said with a scoff. "Seriously, dude. I doubt that you'd find anything."
"But we could still try to check the room out, right?"
"If you insist, but I honestly doubt that you'd find anything." He said and reached out for the keys to the room. He tossed them to me, which surprised me because I was expecting him to follow me into the room. He didn't. I searched the room, and to my chagrin, I couldn't find the note. I left the key at the reception desk without as much as a word. I left the room, not bothering to straighten the mess I created.
As I left the hotel, I tried my hardest to remember our conversation from the night before, but there was only so much one could remember when alcohol was involved. Nothing significant popped up. Maybe if I drank a little, I would remember something—anything. I raced the thought out of my mind immediately. This was how alcoholism started.
Right at that moment, I remembered her saying something about mountains. Why this was bugging me, I didn't know, but I have a feeling it was something important if not I wouldn't remember. Then it struck me that I had been thinking in the wrong direction! We had been talking about something, and one thing led to another, and we broached the topic of mountains. And that was when she said she stays somewhere in Mountain View. My good luck was back! I hailed a taxi immediately. I didn't care if I had to search every single apartment in Mountain View. I would find this girl no matter the cost.
An hour later, I was exhausted from trying to find the girl. When I thought of driving here to find Alexa, I had no idea how utterly terrible that idea was. For a moment there I had just been plain stupid; there was no other explanation for it. How it didn't cross my mind that there were streets, unending buildings, and the very high likelihood that she probably has gone for classes beat me.
I decided to start by asking for the likely hostel residences for students here. This was going to be a really long day. Longer than I could ever imagine.
9
Alexa
Patrice picked up the last empty can off of the floor and tossed it into the garbage bag. The room looked almost presentable now, a far contrast from what it was when I woke up. I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and got to the task of cleaning up the little mess that was left. The moment I started the vacuum cleaner, a sense of calm descended on me. Vacuuming was actually a therapeutic process for me.
As I vacuumed, Patrice wiped the surfaces with a napkin. I was grateful for her presence here. Without her, I probably would have continued to wallow in my misery.
Together, we finished cleaning up about an hour after I woke up. By the time we were done, not only had I successfully worked the booze out of my system, we had worked hunger in, too. I was beyond famished.
"Thank you so much, Patrice. I really appreciate the help. But right now I am famished."
"So am I," Patrice said sinking into the chair.
"I'm just going to take my bath, and we'll go find something to eat."
"Isn't there anything we can cook here?"
"No, Patrice. I seriously doubt that. And even if there was, I really don't feel up to cooking."
"I'll cook, then."
"Not after all the work we just did. Besides, I feel like eating out. And that's what we're going to do. If you attempt cooking, I'm just going to leave you here and let your food go to waste."
"That's your loss. It's your supplies that go to waste and not mine."
"Touché," I said as I walked toward the bathroom.
As I pulled off the oversized T-shirt I pulled on as we started cleaning, I heard Patrice turning on the television. I was almost sure she would go straight to the news channel. I stopped momentarily to confirm my theory. Patrice surprised me, and instead, I heard what sounded like a movie. I pulled my towel off the towel hanger and ran back to her.
"This is a rude shock!" I said to her, teasing.
"What?" she asked with genuine surprise.
"You chose movies over the news. That has never happened before."
"You're just so melodramatic, Alexa. I watch movies."
"When you don't have much of a choice. Is someone making you watch movies? Have you met someone and I don't know about it?"
"Alexa, go take your bath and stop bugging me."
"But seriously. I just need you to answer. Yes or no."
"You people are so hard to please. You complain about my over seriousness, and when I decide to loosen up a little, you question me. I'm watching movies because I've come to like them. Period. Now go, before I lose my temper."
I laughed and padded back toward the bathroom. I turned on the water to the highest temperature I could withstand; hot enough it almost scalded me yet it didn't do that much damage. I stood under the shower head and scrubbed myself pink like it was going to wash away my past. When I was satisfied with the scrubbing, I stepped out and blotted off the water with the towel.
Dressing up didn't take long. Pulling on a pair of jeans, a tank top, and a denim jacket, I was ready to hit the streets. I didn't bother with make-up. I just toweled my hair dry, leaving whatever moisture was left to be air dried, brushed the hair, and let it fall over my shoulders. As I stared at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed some things about me that I didn't until this morning.
There were bags under my eyes; nothing a slice of cucumber wouldn't fix, though. I needed to go back to the salon to get my hair dyed, again. That's what happened when a blonde decided she wanted to be redhead; constant maintenance. Unfortunately, I didn't have that kind of money to throw around anymore. That was a time when I could decide to go to the salon and do whatever I liked without a care in the world. I would go on shopping sprees and to clubs without batting an eyelid. I didn't dare anymore. Now, every single cent counted. Even the one I would have normally spent splurging on a mani-pedi.
"Patrice, I'm ready," I said and grabbed my purse off of the dressing table.
"Now that is what I call a surprise. You're out here so quickly I can't believe it."
"Whatever," I retorted and opened my purse to search for my house keys. As I rummaged through the purse, I found a piece of paper with my number and name written on it. "Oh shoot!" I said out loud.
"What is it?"
"Oh, I said that out loud?"
"Yup. You did. Now, what's the matter?"
"The journalist guy from yesterday? I wrote my number down on a piece of paper, and I thought I gave it to him. I apparently didn't. Because it's right here in my purse."
"Do you at least have his number?" Patrice asked.
"I have no idea what his number is. I know nothing about him. Not his last name, not his phone number, not even what newspaper he works for!"
"Wow! Quick question, how exactly were you guys planning on working together if you know nothing about him?"
"I didn't know I was going to actually look forward to it. How in the world did the paper even end up in my purse?!"
"In your drunken moments, you probably slipped it into your purse thinking it was his wallet. Which goes to
say you both were probably quite wasted last night. Well, I know for sure you were wasted. I don't know about him. What are you going to do now?"
"I have absolutely no idea. What am I going to do?!"
"That is exactly what I just asked. He didn't by any chance mention something that could link us to his workplace, did he?"
"Even if he did, there is absolutely no way in the world I would remember. I was wasted."
"Now that is quite a tough one."
"I was really looking forward to this."
"Keep calm. We'll find him, eventually. I'm sure he will also be trying his hardest to locate you since you say his career hinges on this. Look, I'd advise we eat first. When we have refueled, we will be able to think straight and come to a reasonable conclusion."
I picked up my scarf, wrapped it around my neck, and walked toward the door without another word. This was probably fate's way of telling me this was a terrible idea. Who knew, if I did this, I might end up running into the exact thing I was running away from. Patrice understood what I was going through and she squeezed my shoulder lightly. We walked out of the building holding hands.
"So, where do you want to go?" she asked.
"I feel like a lot of sugar. So that's what I am going to have. Let's do pancakes."
Patrice rolled her eyes. "This is not about you feeling like sugar. This is about you loving a particular place so much; you'd rather go there all your life than trying something new."
Deep down, I knew what Patrice said was true. The café we were about to go to was my favorite around here. I loved their coffee and their pancakes. Other than the fact they made really nice pancakes, their food reminded me of home. I didn't know how they did it, but their pancakes tasted so much like my mom's. So the nostalgia kept drawing me back there. I said none of this to Patrice. I wanted to argue with her instead.
"That is not the reason we are going to B & D. Yes, I admit I love their pancakes, but right now all I want is a little sugar to ease my depression. That's not too much to ask for, is it? And that has nothing to do with the fact that they're the best out there."
"You're just looking to start an argument. I won't indulge you. Let's go."
"Spoil sport," I said and punched her playfully.
As I turned back, I saw someone that seems familiar from the corner of my eye.
I recognized the tall gait, the calm strides—those biceps. It couldn't be! Could fate have decided to work in my favor? The young man walking around looking lost was wearing a pair of sunglasses, but I was almost sure it was him. Even though it was late when I saw him, I think I should still be able to recognize him when I saw him. He looked taller than he did last night, a lot more handsome, too. This one looked like your typical heartbreaker.
"Patrice, you won't believe who I think I just saw."
"Trey Songs?"
"Get serious, Patrice. It's Dylan! Or I think it is!"
"No way!" she exclaimed and spun around to face where I was looking. "That handsome young man? He's a hottie. You forgot to mention that."
"I did? I'll be right back. Let me go confirm if it is him," I said and turned toward where the man was headed. "Hello," I said when I finally got to him. He looked at me with what I took as sheer joy and relief.
"Boy, am I glad I ran into you! Oh my God! I thought I lost you."
"It's nice meeting you as well."
"I just finished my meeting with my boss when…"
"Can we go sit somewhere? My friend and I were going to get something to eat when I saw you, and I don't think I will be able to understand a word you say if I don't eat something."
"Yeah sure!" he replied. "Thank goodness for small mercies," he said as we walked toward Patrice.
"Meet my friend, Patrice. Patrice, meet Dylan, the journalist I told you about," I said as we strolled toward the café.
"Hi, Dylan," Patrice said. "You did quite a number on my friend yesterday."
"Hi. In my defense, I tried to get her to go home the minute I realized how far gone she was."
"Not soon enough or both of you would have realized she hadn't given you her number yet."
"Oh, that's what happened! Now that part I cannot explain. I could have sworn I collected the paper from her last night. You should have seen the look on my face when I couldn't find it. I thought I had lost it for good. I have been to the hot…." He stopped short as I saw him struggling to decide what he would say next. Who wouldn't struggle? He had no idea what I had told Patrice or how much she knew about all that happened the night before.
"Hotel," I said as a way of telling him Patrice knew everything, and he had nothing to hide.
"Oh yeah. The hotel. I went there because I went back there, alone that is, to spend the night because that much money can't go to waste."
"You don't have to explain yourself to us, Dylan," I interrupt. "We don't care what you do with your private life. That's exactly what it is—private. So it doesn't really matter if you took another girl there."
"I didn't. And I wasn't trying to explain myself; I was just saying."
"We're here," I said as we rounded the corner that the café was located.
We chose a table and Patrice went to place our orders. The café was not as crowded as it usually got around this hour. I was glad I didn't have to wait in line before I got attended to. I was too hungry for that. In the café, we were enveloped by the sweet aroma of dough, coffee, some spiciness I couldn't pinpoint and a lot of sweetness. Patrice and I always argued when we got here about how in the world I claimed to smell sweetness, but this time I decided to let it slide and not say anything about how this place smelled. We shouldn't argue in front of this almost stranger. My stomach growled moderately, and I was glad it was not as loud as it got when the hunger had refused to listen to any voice of reasoning.
"As I was saying," Dylan continued when Patrice got back, "I had to go back to the hotel to see if the paper was there and when I didn't find it…"
"Let me guess," Patrice interrupted, "You thought to come all the way to Mountain View to see if you could find her?" Dylan nodded, and both Patrice and I burst into laughter.
"I know…I know…" he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, "It was quite a stupid thing to do, but I wasn't thinking. I panicked. How in the world was I supposed to find you?"
"Definitely not like that," I said.
"I realized that only after I got here. I was close to giving up when you saw me. I already decided if I don't find you today, I'd go to the bar over and over until you showed up one day?"
"Even if it takes years for that to happen?" I asked.
"You make it sound like a lover's promise to wait for his love forever." He joked, and all three of us laughed.
"I have to admit," Patrice said, "I like this one."
Our food arrived just at that moment. Patrice and I got our pancakes; mine with maple syrup and hers with honey while Dylan got his black coffee and three sugars. I wanted to ask him why so much sugar but I bit back the question. None of my business. The food made my hunger even fiercer. My stomach started to growl loudly as I perceived the aroma of the pancakes. This time, the hunger didn't want to be pacified by anything that was not food.
"Are you sure you don't want some of these?" I asked. "They're quite nice."
"I can imagine they are. They smell so good, but I'd rather not. I had something to eat already." Dylan declined.
"Okay. So how was the talk with your boss? Did he, or is that a she, like it?"
"She. She loved it. She wants us to start immediately."
"For real?"
"Absolutely."
"That is great!" Patrice said. "That's really good news. Alexa has been looking forward to this since last night."
"Paula, that's my editor, thinks that this would be a magnificent piece and she even says it might be a good enough for a cover story. That means we get to grab everyone's attention with this."
"Wow!" I said in disbelief. "A cover story!"
&
nbsp; "We would be working with the angle we started with when I approached you, but I have to let you know that at some point, new perspectives might come in. My editor is kind of a perfectionist. But whatever we do, you still get to be the star of this whole thing."
"I don't care about the fame. No one would even know it's me. All I want to do is have my story told to inspire others. When do we start?"
"We start right away."
10
Dylan
"Like right now?" she asked, her fork momentarily suspended in the air. Patrice is staring at the two of us like we were from another planet.
"You sound surprised," I said. "I told you how eager I am to start work immediately and since my editor has approved of it, I don't see any reason to stall."
"It's just….well…"
"Are you having second thoughts about this? Because, while I am really desperate for this story, I would understand if you are having second thoughts. It's one thing for some people to know this is what you do, but it's a totally different thing for the whole world to read about you and what you do in the magazines."
"No, no. It's not that. Well not completely," she said and placed her fork back on the plate.
She and Patrice exchanged a look that I couldn't decipher its meaning, but I didn't take it too much to heart. All that was important now was that I tried to make sure I didn't lose her. Around us, the café was starting to get filled up gradually. The staff and most of those trooping in seemed to have a sort of warm relationship, like they knew one another. I guessed they were the regulars. There were some of them who didn't have that kind of almost personal relationship with the staff. I was sure they, like me, were just floaters, not regulars. I turned back to Alexa.
"Then what is it?"
"It's just, I've been thinking about this all day, and I was, or rather am, really looking forward to this, but now that it's actually happening, it's just so overwhelming. It feels so sudden, is all."
"We'll take it slow if you want. I just want us to be able to cover all the grounds so we can meet up with the next edition without having to rush. We have to get it right. My boss is quite the perfectionist. And when it comes to my write-ups, I can be a little bit of one, too."
