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?This wasn’t Candy’s room; this was my room.
?I paused to try and figure out how the hell I got here.
?I thought back to the last thing I remembered. The final images that came to mind were Sheryl Homes as she looked at the floor apologizing, then I recalled Candy in her lingerie as I went into her room. Then I had a cognac Candy poured for me, and I soon found it hard to speak, and with Candy’s encouragement, I lay down on the bed.
?After that, nothing.
?I looked at myself. I only wore my boxers and socks, but nothing else.
?I poured a cup of water from the sink and greedily drank it. I used the facilities, while leaning against the wall to stabilize myself.
?In the closet, I found my good suit neatly hung on a hanger. Looking in the pockets; my wallet and cell phone were where they belonged; also my cash and credit cards; nothing was missing.
?My house keys were not in the jacket pocket. I looked over to the nearby dresser. They were there in plain sight next to the two hotel key cards I had received in my “welcome” package.
?My headache grew worse and I returned to the bed to lie down, still unable to recall how I got there.
?I rolled over to glance at the clock by my bed, which read 11:59.
?As the light poured in my window, it could only mean that it was almost noon. By my reckoning, I had been out for over twelve hours.
?The panel I was scheduled to appear at started at one.
?Groggily I rose, grabbed the phone, and called room service to bring up a pot of coffee and a continental breakfast.
?Then I gingerly moved to the bathroom, put on a shower, and got under it. When I felt dizzy, I slammed the water to cold, which was a shock to my system but cleared my head pretty effectively.
?When I got out of the shower I felt a little better.
?As fast as I was able to, I got on a shirt and pants, which made me decent enough when I heard the knock at my door and the cry of “Room Service.”
?I opened the door to the waiter, who carried a small tray into the room, then gave a dirty look at my computer bag as it took up the desk. I instructed him to put the tray on the dresser.
?“Shall I pour, sir?” he said.
?I shook my head, added a sizable tip to the slip he handed me, and he was off.
?I poured the coffee, slopped some cream into it, and drank it.
?By 12:40, after two cups of coffee, I was feeling more like myself but still cotton-headed. The only comparison I could think of was the feeling I would get the morning after I had taken a cold remedy. This left me sleepy, dopey, as well as several other whimsical dwarves.
?I successfully got completely dressed, forced down a muffin, grabbed one of the key cards, and was out the door with ten minutes to get to my panel.
?I was grateful I’d located the conference rooms the previous day, as I made my way to the second floor. The ache in my head had settled to a dull throb.
?“Hey, Watkins,” a snide voice said as I approached the door to the meeting room.
?I groaned. “I’m having a bad day, Allen. Please don’t make it worse.”
?“Whassamatter, can’t take it when someone asks you a few tough questions?” he said, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
?“Not interested,” I retorted.
?“Oh, I was just glad to be there. I have to hand it to you, you ripped off a pretty good speech from somewhere.”
?“You’re too kind,” I snarled.
?“But, man, did Sheryl Homes take you down a peg. She really proved that you don’t know squat.” We entered the room and he whispered, “I think she’ll be my new best friend.”
