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I did karate to protect myself; I didn’t need it to win competitions.
The dojo smelled of pine, disinfectant, and sweat. The parchment wooden floor was highly polished, and the mirrors that lined the full length of the side wall made the room look twice as crowded. I’d been coming here for three years, and each time, there was always a mix of familiar faces and complete strangers.
Lolita and I were the only females.
I went through the motions—warm-up, stretching, pairing up for blocks, punches, strikes, kicks, and stances. My heart wasn’t in it today, which was unusual, but it was still a decent distraction. With every kick and punch, I imagined it was another piece of my mother’s bullshit being pummeled to death.
The hour was over in a flash, and after the session, Lolly squeezed me to her perky boobs. “Feel better, babe?”
“Yes.” And I did. Much better.
“Good. Now I’ve gotta put the kids to bed and then fuck my husband’s brains out. See you at the gym on Tuesday.”
I laughed as she walked away. Lolita was one of a kind.
During my tram ride back to the Florida Gardens Station, I dwelled on the fact that I didn’t have a man at home waiting for me to have sex with.
Even just a hug would be nice.
At my station, I hopped off the tram and inhaled the salty sea air as I made my way to the Hot Horizon Hotel. Sunset was around six-thirty, and as most of the high-rises blocked the western sun, the beach always slipped into darkness quickly. Lights lit the way along the aggregate path that ran parallel to the beach, ensuring it continued to be used frequently.
Tonight was no exception—people were everywhere. The therapeutic sounds of waves crashing into the shore released the final tentacles of tension from my body, and I felt relaxed by the time I entered the hotel.
I waved at Marjorie, the afternoon manager, as I walked through the lobby toward the elevator. Marjorie was a woman in her forties, divorced, with two kids. Her smile said, ‘I’m coping.’ She was known to cry when I least expected it and she always seemed to have other things on her mind, but she did a good job, which made my job easier.
Whenever I rocked up for my shift at nine-thirty, I could count on Marjorie to have everything perfect and ready for me to takeover.
I showered, washed my hair, did a face scrub, and then cleansed and moisturized. I even took the time to remove my peeling clear nail polish on my fingernails and redo it. I never painted color on my fingernails because I could guarantee that within twenty-four hours, it would look like shit. My toenails, however, were rarely natural, and today I painted them a deep red, like pomegranate.
At my small kitchen, I prepared a healthy dish of Tasmanian salmon that I’d fried until the skin was crisp and served it with a crunchy salad that came in a packet mix from Coles. Not bad for a five-minute meal.
I was in the lobby ten minutes before my start time, and Marjorie filled me in more on what her kids were up to than what was happening in the hotel. Nothing unusual there.
After she left, I tried to busy myself with roster duties and admin duties and adding more toilet rolls to the lobby bathroom. I tidied the top drawer and cleaned out my handbag, and just when I thought it was in for another long, boring night, my next potential passion partner came through the lobby doors at eleven o’clock.
Marco Ricardo had a bone structure that was both handsome and perfectly symmetrical. He had a strong chiseled jaw, pale pink lips, and eyes as black as onyx. His hair was thick, straight but tussled, maybe from the ocean breeze, and some of his bangs fell across his brow. He looked to be about my age, although, with his gorgeous skin, it was deceptively hard to judge.
As we went through the process of checking him in, it was obvious English was his second language.
Maybe that was what attracted me to him.
He had a backpack slung over his shoulder but no suitcases. “Do you have luggage, Mr. Ricardo?”
“Just this.” He held up a backpack.
“Okay then.”
We completed the necessary forms, and as I checked him into room one, I examined his passport. Marco was Italian and thirty-four years old. Older than I’d initially thought. He wore no wedding ring, and he checked in alone, and in a few hours, Marco would be the man for me.
I was relieved when the sun cast long golden shades across the lobby floor, as it meant my shift would soon be over. An unexpected influx of departing guests meant my last hour whizzed by.
I did a double-take when Needledick actually arrived on time. That ultimatum I’d given my shithead boss must’ve worked, as each day since then, he’d arrived slightly earlier, and today he actually arrived at the start of his shift.
I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
It felt damn good knowing that he’d taken my threat seriously. We were civil to each other as I did the shift handover, but I still felt his dagger eyes as I strode across the lobby to the lift that took me to my room.
I undressed, showered, and redressed, and within thirty minutes, I was no longer Plain Jane. I was Madam Memphis and ready to meet my man, Marco.
