Room 702 (15 page)

The food arrives and with it some latest update to conflicts abroad, taking his concentration away from Lily and what she’s doing.
 
After finishing everything on his plate, Dylan luxuriates in the bath and attempts to meditate.
 
With his thoughts going somewhere else entirely, he succumbs to physical stimulation instead.
 
Getting out of the tub, he looks at himself in the mirror.
 
For 31, he’s older than many of those who have ‘made it’ for the first time, but through fortunate genetics, he’s been blessed with a still youthful face.
 
Although he smoked from ages 21-26, with a few short relapses for the past five years, he’s been clean.
 
His vices now stray towards high-end tequila and some promiscuity (he’s not always as careful as he should with his partners in bed).
 
He looks at his reflection again.
 
He’ll never be muscular, but his lean physique isn’t too terrible to look at.
 
All in all, not too bad from a kid from Kentucky.

 
It’s nearing 4AM, and he’s finally starting to wind down.
 
Knowing he has a late check out, and having instructed the front desk not to bother him for any reason, he flips his phone onto silent and slides under the duvet.
 
Setting the temperature very low, almost arctic, he sighs contentedly.
 

Chuckling to himself, Dylan says to the empty room, “Breaking news, rock star checks in and goes to sleep – news at 11.”

After tossing and turning for a few minutes, Dylan grabs his iPhone and scrolls again through his contacts.
 
Although most people would be perhaps pissed off at being contacted this early, he distinctly remembers Lily saying her day started at 4:30AM.
 
Figuring he has nothing to lose, not really, he drafts up what he feels is a witty text:

>> Good morning beautiful.

 
Not figuring on getting an answer, he rolls over with the intent of getting actual sleep, but his phone vibrates and a text comes back almost immediately:

>> Good morning to you too.

Dylan is confused by the message.
 
Does Lily know it’s him?
 
Is she responding because she thinks his text is from someone else?
 
Did he text her earlier and not remember doing so?
 
Sitting up, Dylan wonders how to continue.
 
He racks his brain for some identifying joke they shared, and remembers he made a recommendation about a particular tequila.
 
Lily had reciprocated by telling him about a hole in the wall cantina that made wonderful margaritas off Pico.
 
As he was into her, Dylan had replied he would love to take her out for drinks the next time he was in town.
 
He’d meant what he’d said, but life on the road sometimes stood in the way of romance.

>>Are you going to Coachella?

>>Was planning to.

 
Deciding it is time to determine whether or not Lily really knows who’s on the other side of the phone, he types:

 
>>Can we meet up sometime in the next few days?
 
I believe I owe you a shot of some nice tequila.

 
>>Yes, Kingston, you do.

He smiles at the small glowing screen.

 
>>Will you be there all weekend?

He waits awhile for a response, and has begun dosing off, when his phone finally buzzes:

 
>>Yes.

“Come on, come on.”

Hope Darville paces around the room, willing her uterus to expunge itself and the group of dividing cells that has very recently taken up residence there.

“How did I get here, Chico?” she asks the small Chihuahua she smuggled into the suite, glad for her furry friend’s presence.

 
Having only realized she was pregnant a few days previously, the lawyer acted quickly.
 
Knowing she did not have time to carry a child, the reliable Ms. Darville, Esq, made an appointment to confirm her condition and was frustrated to learn she was, in fact, with child.
 
Not interested in being a mother any time in the next five years, and even with her current life plan, she isn’t sure if she ever wants to bring a child into this increasingly difficult world.
 
While it’s nice to know her reproductive system is in working order, Hope curses its efficiency.
 

Even after talking to the counsellor at the clinic, she knows this choice isn’t something she will regret.
 
She will not lie awake at night and think about the unborn son or daughter she never had.
 
The only people who need to know about her predicament are herself, the doctor who prescribed the prescription, the pharmacist who filled the order, and Chico, who won’t tell anyone.
 
There is no need to call her parents, her older sister, or any of her friends in town.
 
She is not upset, just angry and frustrated with herself.
 
She didn’t spend three years in law school and spend tens of thousands of dollars not to achieve her goals.
 
Furthermore, the sperm donor is not one she feels particularly inclined towards settling down and building a future with.

After a discreet visit to Planned Parenthood, she then went to the pharmacy and picked up the prescription of RU-486.
 
She is well aware of what will physically happen to her body and has spent the past few hours reading everything online she could get her hands on.
 
All that’s left now is for her body to pass the group of cells.
 
Cut off from progesterone, the fetus will not survive for long.

For reasons unknown and that she does not want to dwell on, Hope feels it necessary to have her miscarriage somewhere other than her newly redecorated condo in Santa Monica.
 
Not wanting to face what she’s done in the same bathroom everyday, she books the Winchester.
 
Packing a small overnight bag, at the last minute, she decides on smuggling her dog, Chico, into the room with her.
 
The dog currently sits on the leather chair and looks inquisitively at her owner.

“I know, you would tell me that condoms are not the most reliable form of birth control, but how was I to know that someone would actually want to have sex with me?
 
That I would have time to even fuck another human being?”

Hope knows exactly who the father is.
 
He is another lawyer, and they met at some in town conference.
 
The event (and following assignation that led to her current predicament) had taken place at this very hotel (albeit a different room on another floor), which is partially one of the reasons she had picked the location.
 

“Conception to termination in just a few short weeks.”

Hope thinks his name was Mark, and knows he practices at a better firm than her own.
 
As much as she knows on some sort of deep ethical level she should at least inform him of his paternity, she also firmly believes it is her uterus and therefore, fundamentally her decision.

Maybe she’ll tell her future husband about what happened on a warm day in April.
 
Maybe he’ll judge her, or maybe he’ll cuddle her close and tell her she did the right thing.
 
Hope has no way to know.
 
Maybe thirty years from now, when she’s menopausal she’ll wonder why she passed up this opportunity.
 

“Why wasn’t I on birth control?” she asks Chico.

Of course, she knows the answer.
 
She has yet to find a hormonal birth control that does not make her crazy.
 
Furthermore, with her last long term relationship having ended nearly two years ago, she sees no need to be a slave to taking something every day.

“As soon as this is over,” she comments to the small canine, “I’m getting an IUD.”

Agitated, Hope stands up and walks around, wondering how long the whole process will take.
 
She’s brought some work with her to the room, but has yet to open her briefcase.

“You’re only a bunch of cells!” she yells at her abdomen.

And if by some outside force, the cramps finally start.
 
Armed with Midol and a heating pad, she settles into bed.
 
Chico jumps up to join her and she lays cuddled next to her canine friend, listening to the radio and letting her mind wander.
 
Wrapped under the heavy and soft duvet around her, everything takes on a surreal quality.
 

It isn’t until Hope makes her first trip to the bathroom to exchange sanitary pads that the reality of the situation hits her.

Seeing the red drip into the clear water, she realizes what’s happening.

Whether she is genuinely sad for her decision or it is the hormones raging through her body, Hope begins to weep quietly.
 
She knows she’s made the right choice, she knows there is no pain for the fetus.
 
Pulling herself out of what is going on, Hope focuses her attention on the rest of the bathroom.
 
She counts tiles on the floor, looks at each item in the room and wonders who was the person to choose them, and who cleans up this room day after day.
 
She wonders if she should be thinking about something more important than scanning through the e-mails on her Blackberry.
 
Unable to control her mind, Hope flushes the toilet and exits the bathroom.
 

 
Having been raised in a lapsed Methodist home, once upon a time, there had been religion in her life.
 
She remembers going to youth group and services on Sunday.
 
After entering undergrad, she hadn’t made time to worship and with law school following, studying for the bar exam, and practicing eighty hours a week, hadn’t left room for any sort of worship other than law.

Perhaps her reaction was the pain medication or the sleepless night she’d had the night before, but on autopilot she moves to the desk and pulls open the bottom drawer.
 
She does not know what passage she’s looking for, or what comfort she’ll take from a bunch of words on paper, but feels better having the familiar weight of the Bible in her hands.
 

Placing a hand on the book and the other on her abdomen, she says, “Hi God.
 
It’s been awhile, and there’s a lot we haven’t talked about.
 
I know what I’m going through is because of a silly decision on my part.
 
I realize You have no control over when I ovulate, or whether or not I choose to use protection when I am having sex.”

Chico walks over and sits by her, lying his head on her foot.
 
She pets the dog’s head and continues, “While some who believe in You might think what I’m doing is wrong, I don’t think You judge me.
 
I think You can see into someone and know when they are acting selfishly or otherwise.
 
I did want to tell You I’m sorry.
 
I feel as though I’ve let You down in some way.”

Her hands flutter over the cover and she finishes her prayer, “Anyway, hopefully the next time we talk I won’t be so fucked up.
 
Amen.”

Hope opens her eyes and look at the book.
 
Not feeling any better about herself or her situation, she moves to put it away, when a piece of paper falls out.
 
Curious, she unfolds the note and reads the message.

Smiling to herself, she thinks, just for a moment, the world makes sense – that there’s something bigger than her.
 
Scooping up her dog, she dances with him around the room and says, “And that’s all that matters.”

Rick Fabrizio enters the room.
 
After reviewing the space and putting some of his things away, he relaxes on the couch, flips on the television, lowers the volume and surfs through the channels, settling on the news.
 
Removing his suit jacket, he loosens his tie with vague disinterest and pulls out his laptop, and settling on the couch opens the computer and scrolls through his e-mails.
 
As a consultant, there are any number of events to catch up on, fires to put out, and projects to get ahead on.
 

Rick denies all requests for calls and other than a few text messages, the room remains quiet and still with only the gentle murmur of bland American accents and various crawls across the television screen.
 
In a world full of constant sound, Rick revels in the luxury of silence.
 
Familiar sounds, the typing of the keyboard, the ding of the distant elevator bell, and barely heard street sounds are the only thing to interrupt the peace.
 

He sighs to himself, marveling at how few places there are in the world to get a moment of peace.
 
Not wanting to disturb the space, when he needs to call his partner, he walks out to the terrace, pulling the door closed behind him.
 
When he’s finished work for the day he decides to go downstairs to dine and leaves the sanctity of the silent room behind him.

“You know why we’re here, correct?”

Oscar hangs his head and not looking his therapist in the eye, answers, “Yes.”

“Why did you do it?
 
I thought we were making progress in our sessions.”

“I don’t know.”

“Does it have anything to do with the recent losing streak?”

“No,” he answers immediately.
 
“Anyway, we’re still in first place in the division.”