Killing Ways

56

Joe opened the door of the hotel room, slid the key card into the wall slot. Ren followed him in.

‘Drink?’ said Joe.

‘Yes, please.’ Go home now.

Joe crouched down and opened the mini-bar. ‘What do you like?’

‘Champagne. It’s love more than like.’ But champagne’s not very appropriate, is it? Jesus, relax. It’s a drink. What’s the worst that can happen? Ben finds a cork in my bag. That’s not the worst. You know that. Stop. Leave now. This is dangerous. Don’t be ridiculous. You’d never cheat on Ben. Again. That doesn’t count. What does count? You’d kill Ben if he did this. I would. Go. No. It’s just a drink.

Joe had already popped the cork. ‘Champagne it is!’ he said. He poured them both a glass. They raised them, clinked them.

‘It’s a beautiful room,’ said Ren.

‘Well, let’s just say I have a very wealthy father who insisted, because of the shitshow that is my life, on giving me a huge chunk of my inheritance so I wouldn’t have to be “hanging around, waiting for him to die”. That’s his sense of humor. I fought against his money for years, and then, I just gave in. More for Grace than me. I make sure she appreciates every bit of it, that’s for sure.’

‘And just so we’re clear, I’m appreciating this room a lot. And I think I used your father’s approach on Dainty Farraday...’

She sat against the dressing table, then slid up on top of it. Joe was sitting on the table opposite her, a little to the right. The bed was a vast, ignored space, ahead of her.

They finished the bottle, swapping war stories, laughing. Joe went to the mini-bar and pulled out two vodkas and tonics.

Don’t come near me.

He walked over to her, stood in front of her, but instead of handing her the drink, he didn’t move. His thighs were touching against her legs. He looked into her eyes. She could barely focus on them.

You are a sexy man’s man. I am weakened by sexy men’s men. Man’s men? Men. All men.

Joe put the drinks onto the dressing table. With his right hand, he reached out, sliding it behind her neck, lifting up her hair, leaning down to kiss her neck all the way up to her mouth.

Neck first, nice move. Very nice. I want you. But I may not mean it.

Joe pulled her toward him.

‘OK... wait,’ said Ren. ‘This... isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this.’

‘Come on,’ said Joe, ‘Why not?’

Where do I start? ‘I have a boyfriend. I—’

Joe looked at her.

Ren laughed. ‘You need a better reason, obviously.’ How about: I remind you of your dead wife?

Joe retreated, sat on the bed. ‘Well, I guess telling you that you reminded me of Anna wasn’t a smooth move.’

‘I’m guessing at that point neither of us thought we’d wind up back here.’ She sat down beside him.

‘True,’ said Joe.

‘So let’s just keep drinking,’ said Ren. She raised her glass, and stood back up again.

FUCK, my head is spinning.

Five hours later, Ren woke up on her back, her jaw tight, her fists clenched. The room was in darkness. A crack of sunlight shone through the curtains, slicing down across the floor.

Where the effin’ crap...

She raised her head. Oh dear God, never do that again. Never be part of such a miserable cliché.

I am topless.

Who the fuck is beside me now?

It was Ben the last time. Let it be Ben.

I am only naked on top. Which tells me nothing. What did I do?

Topless equals already a cheater.

It’s surfacing. The night is surfacing. Noooooo! You loser. HOW can you do this? AGAIN! Jesus Christ. You need help.

Beside her, Joe Lucchesi slept soundly.

What the fuck happened to his mouth?

His hands on my... his mouth. Did I bite him? Jesus.

Oh, oh. No. She reached her fingers to her head. Ouch. Shit.

I need water. I need to check my wound. How come I have a wound? Run. Run for the bathroom. Warning: you will meet your own shabby face. And blood.

She checked her face in the mirror. You are frightening.

The cut was small, but quite deep, crescent-shaped, above her right eyebrow.

Errant tweezers it is...

She went to the toilet like she was playing the silence game. She washed her hands, dipped a facecloth in water and dabbed at the mascara under her eyes, then rubbed, then just abandoned the whole ridiculous enterprise.

She was about to walk out of the bathroom, when she heard the buzz of Joe’s phone on the nightstand.

He’s awake. Great. Go out, have a conversation: you, him, nothing to stand between you but your tits.

She walked out. ‘Hey.’

‘Morning,’ said Joe. He smiled wide. ‘Ow.’ He touched his fingers to his mouth.

Ren smiled back. Does any man give a shit if a woman has a boyfriend? Do they all just go for it at all times?

I remember! We didn’t have sex! We didn’t even kiss! I am not a cheater! Woo-hoo!

‘Can I ask,’ said Ren, ‘what the fuck happened to your lip and my head?’

Joe laughed, then held his mouth again. ‘Ow. It was my fault. We were fooling about, I threw you down on the bed, I was getting down there beside you, but you’re so light, you bounced back up and your forehead caught me in the mouth.’

They both burst out laughing. ‘How old are we exactly?’ said Ren.

Oh, God. More is coming back. I told him I loved my boyfriend. To be filed under: Things You Say To Widowed Colleagues While You Are Near-Naked. Widowered?

‘Sorry about last night,’ said Ren, bending down to pick her bra up off the floor, putting it on as Joe kindly looked the other way. ‘Staying in your room and everything. I should have gone home.’

‘I’m the one who should apologize,’ he said.

‘No reason to.’ Let’s end this conversation. Ren went around the room, picking up her clothes, getting dressed.

For ONCE can I just discard my clothing in one tidy, less demeaning pile? Or maybe I could stay CLOTHED.