Page 23 of The Woman in 3B
She tucked her lower lip into her mouth in a look of uncertainty. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m completely sure,” I insisted. I wanted to run away from the situation, but all I had was the bathroom for my exit. “Why don’t you pour those drinks you were talking about?” I proposed, inching my way closer to the bathroom. “I’m just going to freshen up in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
I didn’t give her the opportunity to protest further or try to return my shirt and shorts. I shut the bathroom door behind me, leaned against the back of the door, and sighed.
The bathroom was small, no larger than the toilet, pedestal sink, and a stand-up shower. The overhead light buzzed, but at least there were no visible dead insects trapped within the dome lighting. I didn’t have pajamas to change into anymore, but I tried to get more comfortable by removing my navy blazer and the silk scarf that still smelled like Lara’s perfume.
The light, lingering scent made me think again about her offer to share a room. I didn’t know if I was making the right choice in ignoring her or at least in avoiding intimate opportunities with her. I was healthy, young, and unattached. Why shouldn’t I let myself have some fun? If only impersonal trysts actually sounded appealing to me.
I rolled up the sleeves of my button-up blouse and splashed some cool water against my face. I inspected myself in the mirror above the sink. My mascara and eyeliner had all but smudged off, but at least I didn’t look like an exhausted racoon. I pulled my hair free from the elastic band that had held it back in a low ponytail. Releasing my hair from its prison relieved some of the tension that had been pulling at my temples, but I could still feel the phantom beginnings of a headache. I needed to go to sleep or at least shut off my brain.
I exited the bathroom to find Anissa making herself at home. In my short absence, she had started to tear the comforter off one of the double beds, stripping it down to the white sheets beneath.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Anissa didn’t pause to consider my question. She continued to tear the bed apart, undeterred. “Have you ever used a blacklight in a hotel room?”
I wrinkled my nose, knowing exactly to what she was referring. “No, thanks. I prefer to be ignorant about the amount of body fluids in the places I stay.”
I noticed the outfit she’d been wearing earlier had been folded into a neat pile and sat on the bureau upon which the television also rested. My throat tightened when I spotted a flash of pale yellow lace that belonged to either her bra or underwear. I blamed my brain’s obsession with her undergarments on my exhaustion from the long day.
“Are you a bourbon drinker?” she asked. She’d completed her dismantling of my bed and transitioned next to the drinks I had been promised. She turned over two clear glasses that sat on a serving tray by the complimentary ice bucket. Her back was to me, but I could hear the sound of liquid filling glass.
“Not really,” I admitted. “Hard liquor isn’t my first choice.”
She turned back toward me with a short, clear glass filled about halfway. “It is tonight,” she grinned with a playful wink. She offered me the glass and I felt like I had no other option but to accept it.
She poured herself a drink as well, her glass filled a little more than the one she’d given me.
“What should we toast to?” she asked. She raised her glass in the air.
I shrugged in indecision; I wasn’t feeling particularly clever.
“How about—to the kindness of strangers?” she suggested. Her nose crinkled when she smiled; actually, her smile reached her whole face. Deep dimples in either cheek. Elevated cheekbones. Squinted eyes. Even her eyebrows seemed to get in on the action.
I was too caught up in admiring her beautiful features to notice her traveling glass. Our drinks lightly collided, but I clenched my fingers around my glass just in time to avoid it slipping from my hand. I couldn’t imagine the kind of klutz she’d think of me if I had managed to spill another drink.
Anissa lifted her glass to her mouth. Her lipstick was gone, but her lips remained a pleasant dusky rose color. I watched her lips part ever slightly and the tip of her tongue press against the edge of the heavy glass. The muscles in her throat undulated as she took an aggressive first sip.
I continued to regard the woman in my hotel room while I took a more tentative sip. The alcohol burned nearly the moment it passed my lips and hit my tongue. I at least was able to suppress a choking cough, however, so I didn’t appear to be a total amateur.
Anissa topped off her drink before taking residency in the bed she had so recently stripped. Her braless breasts gently moved beneath her borrowed t-shirt as she positioned herself at the head of the bed. She sat with her legs folded, which caused the cotton sleep shorts to ride up her tan thighs.
She patted at the empty space beside her. “Take a load off, Alice,” she coaxed. “You’re not on the clock anymore.”
Technically I was still in my uniform and still representing my airline until I returned to Detroit. But there was no harm in having one drink, I reasoned, even if it was with a Business Class passenger, and even if she was wearing my pajamas. Too bad there wasn’t a bingo card square for that.
She’d offered the space beside her, but this wasn’t a sleepover party—or at least I didn’t think it was supposed to be. I didn’t want to appear too eager to sit close to her, but I also didn’t want to make it weird by not sitting next to her, like I thought she had cooties. I was going to be awkward in my tight pencil skirt no matter where I sat, so I took up the place beside her.
The glass tumbler, filled halfway with its amber liquid, looked at home in Anissa’s curved hand. She balanced the glass on her bare knee while the light touch of her fingers kept it from tipping over. There was something super enticing about a woman who drank bourbon—like she’d forced her way into the Old Boy’s Club of booze, cigars, and impulsive purchases. I was more into wine or beer myself.
“Does this kind of stuff happen regularly?” she asked.
I knew she meant the canceled flight and hotel detour, but I was tempted to tell her that no, gorgeous women whom I’d only recently met had never borrowed my pajamas before or drank bourbon on my hotel bed.
Instead, I shook my head and took another burning sip from my glass. The alcohol warmed me from the inside like a cozy blanket.
“For as long as I’ve been doing this,” I said, “I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve gotten stuck because of canceled flights.”
