The knock on my door comes sooner than I expected and I give the room-service guy a five-dollar tip. The aroma wafting from the tray makes my mouth water. This is going to be the best night ever.
Sitting at the small table in front of my window that provides a spectacular view of the slopes, I take the lid off the penne all’arrabbiata and draw in a deep breath through my nose. It smells as good as it looks. I have no idea what it will taste like, but the photo on the menu convinced me to give it a try. One bite and I realize the picture didn’t do it justice. Oh my gosh, it’s so good!
While eating, I text Mom.
Maddie:Check out the slopes.
I send her the pics I took downstairs.
Mom:It’s beautiful.
I take a photo of my meal and send it.
Maddie:It’s called penne all’arrabbiata. The food here is amazing.
Mom:It looks delicious. Did you have fun today?
I consider telling her about Riggs, but she’ll have a million questions, and there’s no point since I’m never going to see him again.
Maddie:I did. How are you doing?
Mom:It was a good day. I made a Tuna fish sandwich then later I had a grilled-cheese sandwich. And before you ask, I took my meds.
She has “good days” and “bad days.” Good days are simply less bad than bad days, but I’m still grateful for them.
Maddie:I’m so glad. You’ll let me know if you need anything, right? You can text me anytime.
Mom:I know, sweetheart. If anything happens, I’ll let you know. I love you.
Maddie:I love you too.
I eat only half of what’s on my plate.The portions must be intended for someone like Riggs. I put everything else back on the tray and set it outside my door. I love how easy it is. No dishes. No cooking. No anything! I think I’d sell a kidney to stay here another month.
I grab the bottle of wine that’s still mostly full and head to the bathroom and dim the lights. I set my cell phone on the bathroom counter and push play on my favorite playlist and slip into the hot water. If you had told me that I’d be able to soak in a bubble bath without a care in the world for as long as I wanted, I would have insisted you’re out of your mind. Me? I never get to do things like this.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. The only thing that could make this better is if I had a vibrator. One of these days, I’m going to get one. But for tonight, it’ll just have to be my fingers and thoughts of Riggs, shirtless wearing tight jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat.
Maybe just boots and a hat.
***
Light filtering through an inconvenient opening between the curtains wakes me. I arch my back with a stretch that feels almost as good as the orgasm I had in the bath last night. I still can’t believe I had two on the same day. That’s never happened before. I have a feeling Riggs is going to be the gift that keeps on giving.
Rolling out of bed, my whole body comes alive, which is such a contrast to the perpetual zombie state I usually find myself in. I wish I could sleep in like this once a month even. It makes such a difference.
Aglance at my phone tells me it’s 11:52. I’m relieved to see there aren’t any texts from Mom. That’s always good, but I’m a little surprised that there’s nothing from Rhonda. I resist the urge to text her to see what happened last night. She might still be asleep. I’ll text her later if I don’t see her downstairs.
I pull the curtains open then stand back and just marvel at the view. A girl could really get used to this.
I love sleeping in, taking bubble baths in giant tubs, and my favorite, ordering room service. Speaking of which, I use the phone on the nightstand to order a bagel with cream cheese and some orange juice. It may be noon, but I’m calling it a late breakfast. I can get ready while waiting for it to arrive.
On my way to the bathroom, I can’t help noticing my unmade bed. Instinctively, I’m tempted to make it but decide to let it be. For once, I’m giving myself permission to do nothing. Besides, when I’m not here it’s like the mice in Cinderella show up and do all my housework. What I’d give to have singing rodents like that back home, and the kind that make dresses too.
After trying on a few outfits, I settle on a pleated black skater skirt with a white short-sleeve scoop-neck crop top that reveals a hint of midriff and a matching pair of white sandals.
I take a last look in the mirror after doing my makeup. I’m not thrilled with my hair, but I can live with it. It’s been a while since I could afford to get my hair done in a real salon. Ms. Southerby isn’t a stingy boss, but she’s not able to pay us much. Living on tight budgets, Rhonda and I learned how to cut each other’s hair by trial and error. And the errors were brutal in the beginning. I still rememberthe first time we wielded scissors. “How hard could it be?” Rhonda said as she went to town on my head.
We were in her kitchen, with no mirrors, and she wouldn’t let me see it until after I did her hair. I should have stopped and asked why, but I didn’t. In a roundabout way, her plan worked. I couldn’t be mad at her after I totally butchered her hair, and I mean completely destroyed it. We were sixteen and we both refused to go to school the next day.
