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There were two television sets, one in each room, and he counted five telephones: two in each room and one in the bathroom. “Now, that’s class,” he said aloud when he saw the one in the bathroom, easily reachable from the toilet.
He was taking a shower, his hair full of jasmine-avocado shampoo, when the phone rang. No problem. He opened the shower door and reached for the phone.
“Hello.”
“You’re here! Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m just getting cleaned up.”
“Well, hurry. I’ve been waiting all day! God, I can’t believe you’re really here. I can’t wait to see you. I’m going out of my mind!”
“Me too.”
“Call me as soon as you’re ready. I’m in room 2122. My name’s Lisa Simpson.”
He rinsed the soap out of his hair, brushed his teeth, and used the complimentary mouthwash to get rid of the cheese taste. He put on long pants for the first time in nearly two months, then called Lisa Simpson, who said she’d meet him in the lobby.
He was on his way to the elevator when Kaira’s business manager stopped him. “Welcome, you must be Theodore.”
“Yes, sir.”
Armpit had seen him twice before: first at the concert, then in the lobby of the Four Seasons.
“Jerome Paisley, Kaira’s father.” He extended his hand.
Armpit remembered Kaira saying something about him being married to her mother, but she never referred to him as her father. He shook the man’s hand.
“Your flight okay?”
“Yeah, it was great,” Armpit said. “Thanks. I really appreciate you bringing me out here and everything.”
The man smiled. “Happy to do it. If there’s anything you need, you just let me know.”
“I’m fine. Everything’s really great. Thanks.”
“You like baseball?”
The question caught Armpit by surprise. “I guess.”
“C’mon, I want to show you something.”
Armpit had no choice then but to go with Kaira’s manager. He didn’t want to be rude.
Jerome Paisley opened the door to his hotel room. “I’ll just open the door. You walk right in,” he said.
It was a strange thing to say, and he said it in a strange way, but Armpit went inside.
The suite was identical to Armpit’s. Kaira’s stepfather slid open a closet door and pulled out a baseball bat, holding it by fat end. “Take a look at this baby!”
Armpit took the bat. “Cool.” He didn’t know
what else to say.
“See the initials, B.B.?”
The letters were above the label.
“Barry Bonds,” said Kaira’s father. “Go on, take a few swings.”
