The 4 A.M. alarm knocked me out of a dream. I was at a party at a large beach house, except the interior looked more like a hunting lodge, wooden and dark. In the dream, the house belonged to Ed, my old editor. I didn't see him, but some of my ex-colleagues were there. They asked me about a new assignment that I was working, but I couldn't remember what it was. I wanted to ask Manny, but he had stepped away.
Véronique was on the other side of the room, talking to someone and holding a drink in her hand. I was trying to make eye contact with her when the alarm went off.
I let myself snooze for another fifteen minutes. I was not ready to get up.
It was chilly when I walked down to the parking lot, chilly and dark and breezy. The steering wheel was cold. I backed out carefully and drove to Tatiana's apartment building. Pemberton's car was still there. There was little doubt now about the nature of their relationship.
I took one more photo of the car and then drove back to the motel. I seemed to be moving in slow motion. The car was starting to warm up, and it felt pleasant, but my body felt heavy. I needed more sleep.
It's an odd feeling to lie down in a bed just as the sun begins to rise, a feeling that I know all too well. I set the alarm for 7:15 and woke up suddenly at 7:10.
I showered, collected my bags, and checked out. There was a liquor store down the road. I found myself thanking the alcoholics who encourage places like this to open up promotly at 8 in the morning. I wasn't in the mood to wait around.
I picked up a bottle of Purity vodka and asked to have it gift wrapped. Pemberton's staff had indicated that this was his drink of choice. I took their word for it, but I had to roll my eyes at the irony.
Pemberton's car was no longer in the lot at the apartment building. He must have gone in to one of his businesses. I put on a baseball cap and carried the bottle up to the doorman.
"Delivery for Mr. Pemberton," I said.
"We don't have a Mr. Pemberton here." The doorman was smug and humorless.
I pulled put a piece of paper and pretended to look at it. "Yeah, they said it's a rush. I'm supposed to deliver this by nine."
"That's 4-F," the second doorman called from the back of the lobby. The first guy looked annoyed.
"I'll have to call up," he said.
"Can I just leave it with you?" I asked impatiently. "I've got other deliveries."
"Yeah, sure. We'll send it up to her."
Yeah, eat shit, asshole. I don't care if you fucking take a bath in it. Just wipe that smug look off of your face.
I went into a flower shop along the main drag and asked the clerk for a rush delivery: One dozen multi-colored roses for Tatiana, Apt. 4-F, 1 Shepherd's Glen Court.
I decided to add a card for a personal touch:
The usual place - 1 pm. Bring your papers. Important! Lost phone. Don't call.
The clerk promised to have the flowers there by 11. I gave her a big tip even though she tried to refuse it. I wanted my order to be delivered on time.
No comments:
Post a Comment