what I’m going to do tomorrow, or what I’m going to do when I get back to La Jolla, or …do you want me to go on?” Kat asked, still tilting her head, not smiling.
“That’s ok, I get the picture. I—hey, La Jolla, wow! Pretty nice living. You could take me back there with you, surprise the relatives.”
“I didn’t say I had relatives there.”
“Friends maybe.”
“I could just tell them about you, which would probably be better. I know just what to say.”
Isobelle returned from serving the two women who had caught Rex’s attention at the other end of the bar. She really wanted to hear more about Grant, but the other women were making things difficult. She looked around, hoping that he had returned, but was disappointed when she saw that he had not.
“How is everyone doing down here?”
“Get my friends here another drink. Watch this one, she’s on her second water,” Rex pointed at Annie.
“And how about you?” Isobelle asked.
“I was hoping you would ask. Yes, I think another drink would be lovely,” Rex bowed.
“How about your friend, the one that left. Is he coming back?” Isobelle looked somewhat concerned.
“We never know, but we think so, so bring him another drink also. He doesn’t show, I get it,” Rex said, looking around Isobelle to the other end of the bar.
“Rex!” Annie said.
“You’re right, where are my manners? Annie, he doesn’t show, you drink it.”
“I’m fine right now,” Annie replied.
“Ok, I just want to be hospitable.” Rex said, matter-of-factly.
“You know, I thought that hula hoop I sent you was a stretch. Now after meeting Sigmund Freud here, I think I get it.” Rex looked away from the other end of the bar, and back to Kat.
Kat just grinned, not showing her teeth in her smile.
“Thought so,” Rex said.
“Good, drinks for most, water for one,” Isobelle said.
“Maybe you could spike the—” Rex began, but Annie cut him off.
“Don’t even think about it.”
A man and a woman entered the bar, getting a table off to the side. They were dressed very conservatively, rather like they did not belong here. They both had sunglasses on, which they left on when they came in. Rex noticed them immediately.
“Are those people looking over here at me?” Rex got a serious look on his face.
CHAPTER 6
As Grant walked back to his room, he noticed the interior surroundings more than when he had walked through to the bar earlier. Maybe the pain medicine was wearing off. He was still rather numb, and he was not sure if it was because of the accident, seeing Annie, or meeting Isobelle. Though they were in the desert, Grant thought the hotel opulent. It was certainly no normal desert motif. The wood was dark and ornate, and he liked the plush carpets cushioning his heavy gait.
He stopped to talk to some of the hotel staff on his way back to the room. Talking with the hotel staff and hearing (if not participating in) actual conversation with his friends made it brutally obvious that he had spent far too much time alone. He was lonely. He hadn’t had this many people to talk to in a long time, and he somehow felt he had lost the ability to converse easily with strangers—and friends. The walk back to his room took longer than it should have. The sight of the interior of the hotel made him realize that up until now, he had been on a pretty bland social diet.
More like a prison diet, he thought.
He entered his room as quickly as possible, suddenly feeling nauseated. He ran into the bathroom, where he immediately threw up.
“Great. Should have gone fishing.”
As Grant leaned on the counter in the elegant, stately bathroom, he was surprised by how much better throwing up made him feel. He went out to the sleeping area of the room, noticing the refinements there, the embellishment that seemed to decorate every square foot. The fabric on the furniture, the pillows that seemed to be everywhere and that matched everything perfectly, the lamps that looked like they had been brought in from China that morning, with fresh new shades on all of them. He didn’t have that many pillows in his whole house. All the art on the walls was perfectly coordinated with every color in the entire space. went back into the bathroom, hoping for and finding items housekeeping had placed on the counter. He was in luck, as mouthwash was part of the sundry line-up. He busted open the tiny, sealed bottle, took a few swigs, and swished it around in his mouth. The minty taste refreshed him. Who would have thought that the recipe for a clear head involved vomiting and a miniature bottle of mouthwash? He turned the faucet on, letting the water run until it was as cold as it was going to get, then filled his cupped hands and splashed the water on his face.
“Pretty good start,” he muttered to his reflection in the mirror. “Puking … talking to everyone but Annie. Yeah, the puking was a real nice touch.”
Grant left his room and made his way back towards the bar, admiring the antique furniture that seemed to be everywhere. He stopped in front of one of the hallway pieces and looked it over. He pulled out one of the drawers part-way, and bent down to look underneath it. He pushed and pulled on the drawer until he finally pulled it completely out of the piece. He looked at the sides and muttered something about it being “good dovetail.” A hotel employee startled him, asking him, if you please, sir, what are you doing to this armoire?
A brief exchange ensued, regarding the craftsmanship and quality of the work done on the piece. Grant reflected aloud on the irony of the fact that he couldn’t get his life in order, but he did know about working with wood.
“Could you direct me back to the bar?” Grant said.
The man was now placing the drawer back into the hole in the piece. “I can take you there, sir,” the man replied.
“No need. You can just tell me. Not quite sure how I got turned around. Well, I am, but….”
“I’m going that way anyway, sir, and it would be my pleasure.”
“Thanks. Course, you might just be looking after the furniture.”
“Sir?”
“Nothing. What’s your name?”
“Fausto. My name is Fausto,” the man answered. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Grant.”
“Welcome, Señor Grant.”
“Thanks. This is quite a place. I don’t get to places like this much. Or ever, for that matter. Guess I’m not supposed to take the furniture apart, am I?”
“I am sorry, sir. We recently had some students from the universities here and they were not the best of guests. I should not have been so disrespectful of you. Please forgive me,” the man said, now embarrassed.
“Hey, no need to apologize. Did you say universities? College kids stay at the Ritz? Hell, I used to sleep in my car, or on the ground … which is still a possibility for this weekend, actually,” Grant said, looking out the window.
They made their way back to the bar, passing more pieces of wooden furniture in the lobby, and dining areas. Grant paused to look at almost every piece of furniture along the way.
“I never know so many things about the furnitures. You know so much,” Fausto said, admiringly.
“Love working with wood. May be the only thing I’m good at,” Grant said, scratching his head.
“Could I help you with anything else?”
“Not unless