Page 14 of February

When they landed on the runway, she was helped off the small plane and led straight out into a humidity she’d only ever experienced in two places. One was Orlando, where she had gone for a conference. She’d stayed only as long as she had to and had left immediately after, unable to wait for her hair to return to its usually shiny, soft self instead of the frizzy mess it had turned into. The other time was on her honeymoon to Bora Bora, which had been Lily’s idea and not at all the honeymoon Monica had wanted. When she’d dreamed of a honeymoon, it had been somewhere they could mix romance and relaxation with a little history and culture. It wasn’t that Bora Bora didn’t have those things. It was that Lily only wanted to lie on the beach and spend time in their resort room making love. While there was nothing wrong with either of those activities, it wasn’t ideal forher, but back then, Monica had been so in love and so in lust with her older and more experienced wife that she’d just given in. She’d still enjoyed her honeymoon, with the exception of her frizzy hair and how everything felt like it was sticking to her body, which always felt clammy.

“God, it’s humid,” she remarked out loud to no one.

“You should try coming here in the summer,” the flight attendant said as she climbed off the plane.

“It gets worse than this?” Monica joked.

“Much,” the woman replied.

“It’s only a few weeks. It’s only a few weeks,” Monica recited.

It was her new mantra, and she said it a few more times to herself as she picked up her phone.

“Yes, Miss Arnette?”

“Can you please look up and find some kind of anti-frizz hair product and have it sent to the hotel?”

“Anti-frizz?” her assistant asked.

“Yes. The humidity here is awful.”

“Oh,” the woman replied. “Of course. Anything else you need?”

“A pocket fan,” she joked.

“You want me–”

“No, I was kidding. That’s all for now, but I’ll email you a list when I get to the hotel.”

“Okay. I’ll have something dropped off for you.”

“Thank you,” Monica replied and hung up the phone.

A car was waiting for her on the runway. She climbed inside while others placed her luggage into the trunk. Grateful for the air conditioning, she took a minute to rest her head back and let the cool air hit her. She wasn’t sure how she’d deal with three weeks of this. New York got humid, too, but mainly in the summer, not all year round. Then again, it was nice that there was no snow on the ground, and it wasn’t the thirty degrees she’d left at home. That was something good. Monica decided to try to focus on that, the good, as she was driven from the airfield and into the city.

She had been told that the offices were in the Central Business District, so she’d booked the nicest hotel that was close by, which happened to be the Four Seasons. She’d seen the photos, and it was right on the water, with a ground-floor pool that overlooked the river. She had managed to book a deluxe king suite with a river view at the last minute, which gave her something to look forward to. Their spa also gave her something to look forward to, and she planned to book many, many treatments and massages to help her occupy her time when she wasn’t working.

Upon arrival, she was greeted as a VIP and escorted to her room, which, she had to admit, was beautiful. Everything in the room was white and looked brand-new. The valet dropped her bags off for her as she looked out the window and took in the river. There was something about water that calmed Monica, butat the same time, she was a New Yorker; she’d seen rivers before and wished for a view of clear ocean water as far as the eye could see instead.

“Can I book a spa service with you? I forgot to ask when I was checking in,” she said to the valet.

“Of course, Miss Arnette,” he replied.

Monica took cash out of her purse and handed it to him.

“Can I get a massage booked for tonight, a facial for tomorrow night, and a wrap of some kind for the day after? Anything after seven is fine. I assume you’re open late?”

“The spa normally closes at eight, but yes, we’d be able to get you those appointments,” he replied, taking the tip. “I’ll have maid service leave you a card with the appointment times on the desk if you’d like.”

“That would be fine,” she said.

“Very well. Thank you, Ma’am,” he said and turned to go.

“Ma’am,” she muttered under her breath.

When she was in her twenties, no one had even thought about calling her ‘ma’am.’ In her thirties, it had depended, but ever since she’d turned forty, she’d been getting it a lot more frequently. Then again, shewasin the South now. Most people used ‘ma’am’ and ‘sir’ down here, so she decided that the valet had just been polite and respectful and hadn’t called her ‘ma’am’ because she was older now. For whatever reason, that had her thinking about Lily’s girlfriend. Did anyone ever callher‘ma’am?’ Probably not for another decade, at least. Monica sighed and sat down on the bed.

There were still a few hours left in the workday, and she was expected at the office to meet the family who owned the place. She knew she should freshen up and head that way, but something had her needing to relax just for a moment. In New York, she was always on the go, but as she sat on the end of the crisp, clean bed, she thought about how it felt good to justbe still. Across from the bed was the desk, where she saw three bottles of water and the minibar under them. It was too early for her to start drinking, but she could use some water to rehydrate after the flight. She downed half the bottle before she, once again, moved to the window overlooking the water. It wasn’t so bad, being here, she thought as she finished the water.

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