Room 702 (27 page)

“Okay.”

“Isn’t there a spa on site?
 
Maybe you two could get facials?”

“Maybe, but I wish you were here.”

“I’ll be there soon and I’m looking for a special surprise for you.”

Joan takes another minute to pout, then says, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

 
“Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Joan hangs up the phone with a smile on her face.

Unable to stop herself, Caroline asks, “So, you’re not going to tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“What we talked about last night?”

“What did we talk about last night?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“In the bathroom?”

“What were we both doing in there?
 
I know we’re close, but that seems a little extreme.”

Caroline can’t tell if her friend is lying.
 
Trying to read Joan, she says slowly, “I washed your hair.”

Joan pats her blonde fluff and comments, “That does explain why it’s extra gynormous this morning.”

Caroline ignores the comment and asks, “You don’t remember a single thing we spoke about?”

Joan breaks eye contact with her friend and eats a piece of bacon.
 
Finally she answers, “No.
 
The last thing I remember was going under for surgery.
 
I know we checked in and everything, but it’s all very hazy.
 
Why, did I say something silly?”

“Not exactly.”

“Come on – you should’ve filmed me.
 
We could’ve been YouTube famous,” Joan answers in an obviously fake voice.

The moment – and whatever potential future it could have been – had passed and Caroline realizes she can never go back to the honesty of the Winchester bathroom.
 
Upon this realization, Caroline decides it’s best if she gets some space and fresh air to clear her head.
 
After all, there is no room in Joan’s life for her – no amount of wishing or hoping will change how her friend sees her.
 

Taking a deep breath, Caroline says, “Do you mind if I head down to the gym for a bit?”

“Not at all.”

“I might also step out for a quick stroll around the street.
 
Will you be okay?”

“If you can just help me get comfortable on the bed, I think all that food made me sleepy.”

Caroline helps her friend into place, then places Joan’s mobile device within reach and tucks the covers around her.
 
Allowing herself one last glance at the blonde tumbled curls, Caroline closes the curtains and the door to the lounge behind her, then she grabs her bag, packs up her toiletries and, in a haze of tears, walks out the door.

Tonight, the junior suite hosts another bridal couple, this time in the form of Tom and Clint.
 
Although their marriage is not recognized by every state in the union, it is at least known in this one.
 
The ceremony was very simple, and the party downstairs highly memorable.

“It was really nice to see your brother,” Tom comments, unlacing his shiny dress shoes.

“I know.”

“Where’s he been hiding this whole time?”

Untying his bow tie, Clint answers, “You know, it’s the strangest thing.
 
He pretty much fell off the face of the planet until a few months ago.”

“Might have something to do with that girl he’s dating – what a spitfire.”

“Do you think she would make a good sister-in-law?”

“Well, she has to live up to me, the best brother-in-law in the world.
 
Where did they meet anyway?
 
No offense to your brother, but I think you got most of the handsome genes in the family.”

 
“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.
 
Actually, it’s funny, they met back in high school.
 
They broke up during college, but he didn’t date much after her.
 
I’m pretty sure he’d still be single if she hadn’t come back in the picture.”
Tom stretches and says, “I have a silly question.”
 
“Shoot.”
 
“What’s your favorite thing about me?”
 
“You didn’t get that from my vows?” Clint answers, referring to their emotional exchange earlier in the day.

“I just like hearing you say it.”
 
“Fine – I love how you work tirelessly for others.
 
I like your shoulders.
 
I like that I’m taller than you.
 
I love that you have a strange fascination with obscure comics.
 
I love that you cook that best banana pancakes I’ve ever tasted.
 
I love that, in your own way, you make me want to be a better man.
 
I meant what I said earlier – when I look at you, I know I’ve found the person I’m meant to spend the rest of my life with.”

 
Tom kisses his cheek and says, “You really are perfect.”
 
“I also love how worried you get about our dog.”
 
“You think he’ll be okay while we’re honeymooning?
 
You know Eddie is very specific.”
 
Eddie is their Cavalier King Charles Spaniel and their pride and joy.
 
The pet was a Christmas present from Clint to Tom their first holiday season together.
 
Clint answers, “Jennifer comes highly recommended.”
 
Tom answers, “You know what?”
 
“What’s that?”
 
“Enough talking.”
 
Tom kisses his new husband’s face gently, and taking his hand, leads him to the bedroom.
 
“Let’s consummate this marriage.”

Australian Max Fisher is in limbo.
 
The Qantas flight from Sydney arrived on time, and, earlier in the day, he made it to the Winchester with no issues.
 
Most unfortunately, his internal clock is severely out of rhythm.
 
He’s tried his best to do everything to get himself ready for not only the time difference, but the seasonal difference combined with the three glasses of wine he decided to have en route, he hasn’t been lucky so far.

It’s a mind fuck to cross the international date line, to land before you’ve taken off back home.
 
Or, in this case, flying west, to have an incredibly long, surreal day in June.

Rubbing his eyes, he yawns and stares at the light fixture above him and begins to wonder who installed it or if it would look good in his own home – which room would it look best in?
 
He looks back to the clock to see only two minutes have passed.
 
Later this morning, barely six hours from now, he’ll need to be downstairs and in the car and heading back towards the airport.
 
Given he is a last minute replacement for the President, who had a major family emergency, routing through LAX on his way to SFO was the best they could do.
 
His colleague, Kylie McKay, the PR director for the vineyard had flown in directly to SFO the day before.
 
He envies her.

Max knows the rules say to stay awake as long as possible – who makes those anyway – so he tries his best.
 
He made it until roughly 4 P.M. and then fell into a fitful sleep.
 
Now, it’s almost 3 A.M. and he’s wide awake.
 
After five more minutes of staring at the ceiling, he decides trying to go back to sleep will be impossible.
 
Hauling himself to an upright position, he turns the lights on, blinks rapidly, then pulls out a paperback from his bag, the newest bestseller from one of his favorite authors, Aditi Banerjee.
 
Trying to focus on the third chapter, he loses concentration easily.
 
Usually her entertaining plot lines keep him engrossed, but his mind keeps trying to remind him that where he’s from it would be almost 9 A.M. the following day.
 

Should he eat?

Max looks at the snacks on the tray next to him and can’t find the motivation to open any of the fancy packaging.

He flips on the mounted television and finds nothing worth more than a few seconds.
 
The idea of ordering porn is of slight interest, but would require effort, and given this stay is on the company record, he doesn’t think it would be such a great idea.
 
Furthermore, he can just open his laptop if he is truly desperate to get off.

The bar will be closed.

Should he call his family at home?

Maybe he should call into work.

Does his phone work here?

How much would it cost to call?

Where is the satellite that will connect his call?

How long has it been in space?

Who launched it?

He swings his legs around and places his feet on the floor.

 
He walks into the lounge.

 
He walks out on the terrace.

He walks back inside.

He can’t remember why he walked back inside and returns outside.

After staring at the street for a moment, Max remembers he wanted to bring his phone out and listen to music.
 

He goes inside and looks in his bag, but is distracted by the television, which he has left on.
 
There is an ad for a truly amazing device.
 
He wonders if they deliver to Australia.
 
He wonders if they could make an express delivery to the hotel in San Francisco. He finally decides there probably isn’t room in his bag and has a momentary sense of loss for the product he will never have.

 
He looks over at the door to the terrace and wonders why it’s open.

He looks at the clock.

Six minutes have passed.

He thinks to go on a loop of his previous actions, but is distracted by the bathroom.
 

Walking in, Max wonders if he should take some of the sleep medicine he brought with him.

Instead, he decides it will be best if he takes a bath.
 
Perhaps the hot water and a soak will make him sleepy.
 
Getting the water to the right temperature, he adds in some of the bath products and removes his clothes.

Sitting in the tub, he feels comforted by the hot water.
 
Settling in, his head nods and he slips into a quick sleep, only coming awake when the temperature has dipped into lukewarm.

Yawning, he stretches and pulls a robe around him.
 
Finding the slippers, he slides his feet into their soft surface and looks around the lounge.
 
Feeling somewhat energized by the bath, he goes back into the bedroom and makes a cup of coffee, determined to go over what’s brought him here.
 
He owes the company that much, at least.
 
Max is the official representative of Baldwin Estate Vineyards, invited to the San Francisco International Wine Festival.
 
A relative newcomer to the scene in Hunter Valley, Baldwin has been working hard for years to arrive on the international stage.
 
While they’ve tried for the past three years to even be accepted, it wasn’t until now that they heard they had received an award.
 
The entire estate had been delighted and the president and CEO, Darren Carrington, had made arrangements to get to the States.
 

 
He wonders if they’ll win.

He wonders if he can fake his way through an acceptance speech on such little sleep.

 
Why did they send him?
 
Wouldn’t Owen, the viticultural manager have been a better choice?

Then again, what if they don’t win anything?

What sort of networking will be going on?

Will he have time to visit Napa Valley?

What if someone offers him a job?

Would he take it?

Could he leave Baldwin Estate?

If the money was better, he would certainly consider a move.
 
With his mind still in overdrive, Max wanders back to the bed and sinks in to the soft mattress.

Chaz Stoll rolls the toothpick in his mouth and, from behind the heavy curtains, looks out the window.
 
He knows he’s being paranoid, but can’t stop himself.
 
He then turns his head and looks back into his room – at the closet where the safe is, which holds close to thirty thousand dollars in cash, mostly with Benjamin Franklins.
 
He won the money in a highly illegal high stakes poker game that he had no business being at.
 
He knows the men who lost this money weren’t planning to see it leave their sight, in fact, they had gone so far as to ensure they wouldn’t lose.

And yet…

 
Against all odds the river had turned in his favor.
 
A full house – queens and deuces – had suddenly appeared.
 
All in, and the last of two at the table, Lady Luck had obviously taken a shine to him that evening.
 
Chaz had quickly cashed out and practically run out of the building – dashing into his beat up blue Corolla and getting the hell out of whatever dodgy neighborhood he had been in.

 
Driving with abandon through an unfamiliar city, he drove towards what he perceived to be the coast.
 
Ending up on Sunset, somehow entering Beverly Hills, he decided he would take some of his earnings and lay low for awhile.
 
The front desk staff had been more than accommodating (it didn’t hurt he had picked up work occasionally as a part time model) and, after he had casually slid one of the hundred dollar bills towards the pretty receptionist, had hooked him up with the suite.
 
Trying to be casual, he had walked through the lobby with the busted duffel bag that held the money.