Page 2 of The Spy Ring

All the Best,

Tiffany

P.S. I don’t really want to give you my last name for fear you might look me up. I have a kid, and I don’t want him finding out that his mom had blackout sex with a stranger.

In the end, I figured the letter wouldn’t make anyone happy. He might have remembered me and been disappointed I didn’t.

What if he found me in the lobby of the hotel and explained what had gone down? I might not like what I heard or, even more disconcerting and probable, I could throw up on him while screaming about forsaking his vows to his wife.

Therefore, I felt the note wasn’t necessary but a shower and tooth brushing certainly were.

Once I went down two floors and made it to my room, I came inside and leaned back on the cool metal door in relief.

“Oh good, you’re back. Can I borrow a shirt? I threw up on all mine,” Evaleen said as she popped her head around the corner with a queasy smile on her face.

The lingering stench of vomit in the room had me running to the bathroom before I could answer her question.

After upchucking liquid orange and wondering what I drank last night, I sat on the cool white tiles of the bathroom.

“We’re a pair. Maybe we should take a bet and see who can make it through the plane ride back to Chicago without barfing,” Evaleen said as she stood over me in a stained blue T-shirt and sweatpants.

Her usually perfect blond chignon was disheveled with some strands of hair sticking to her face. She held out her hand to assist me and I took it. I put my other hand on the toilet seat to get up, thinking I was helping but realizing too late it only worsened the situation.

Having forgotten I lifted the seat to empty my stomach, I shrieked at the cold, clammy toilet rim. My arm flew back from shock and I smacked it on the counter.

Evaleen almost fell when I pulled too hard on her hand but managed to catch herself by twisting her foot. By the time I finally stood, both of us were out of breath. I was nursing a swollen finger and she was rubbing her pained ankle.

“I’ll take that bet and add, whoever makes it back puke free and without any broken bones, wins,” I said.

She laughed. I laughed. We sounded more like geese dying.

“I need a shower,” I said pulling at my gross dress as it stuck to me.

I hated feeling sticky.

“And I need a shirt. It seems you have something to give and I have something to give. Maybe we can work out a deal?” Evaleen smirked and tilted her head toward me.

“What do you have to give me?”

“Privacy.”

I shook my head and walked over to the shower, turning on the hot water.

“Just take a shirt from my suitcase. I always over pack just for occasions such as this,” I said as I held my hand under the warming spray.

“You prepare for a pukepocalypse?”

Once I assessed the temperature was a soothing, scalding degree, I turned to Evaleen and helped her out the door. “Of course. I’m a mother.” Then I closed the bathroom door behind her.

Peeling off my disgusting used clothes, I stepped behind the curtain and into a gorgeous hell of skin flaying water.

This must be what heaven felt like, minus the nausea.

As I worked the shampoo into my long, chestnut hair, I tried to recollect how last night happened. Morgana, Aria, and I went to the hotel bar last night. The bartender gave me a drink that a man across the bar had bought me.

But that’s it. I barely remember what the bartender looked like. Was the drink spiked?

It must have been.

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