She rolled her eyes and bitingly said, “Whatever.”
“I’m not leaving. So just hop on into that bed and go to sleep, kiddo.”
“Argh.” She literally shook with anger. “Why are all the men in my life so darn patronizing? I am not a child.”
I snapped back, “Believe me, I know that.”
She was angry. So angry. And she did the darndest thing. With mad eyes and her nostrils flared, she seethed, “Okay, fine,” and started taking off her clothes. She whipped her shirt over her head and stood there in her bra, unbuttoning her jeans.
I’d like to say that I snapped my eyes shut, but I didn’t, not immediately. For a second, I gawked, my eyes doing the work that my tongue wanted. And then I came to my senses and snapped my eyes shut and turned so my back was to her. “Jesus, Sarah. What are you doing?”
“Going to bed,” she said snarkily. “Do you sleep in your clothes?”
Nope. No, I didn’t. I slept in the buff, unless I was on the bus, then I slept in my skivvies.
She didn’t wait for me to answer. She just said, “Neither do I.” I heard the sheets rustle, and then she commanded, “If you’re still staying, do us a favor and turn off the lights.”
I crossed the room, still keeping my eyes averted, and flicked the switch. Then I returned to the chair and tried to think of anything other than the heave of Sarah’s tits in her lacy little black bra. After a few minutes, I heard the same sweet rhythmic breathing I'd heard in the Uber earlier, and I knew she was sleeping.
I stayed until just before sunup, just to be sure she was okay, and then I snuck out before anyone had a chance to gossip about the surly production manager spending the night with the young, sweet, devilishly sexy new talent.
* * *
Stewand I were outside standing on the pavement in front of the hotel. Two of the three buses were locked and loaded. Stew counted and we were all set, except my bus was short by one—Sarah. It was ten thirty and our call for departure was ten. When I’d left her at five thirty a.m., she was sawing logs. I mean, really snoring up a storm, and even then, I wanted to curl into bed next to her. Worried she hadn’t set an alarm, I’d used her phone to call the front desk and request a wakeup call for nine a.m. So her absence had me feeling unsettled, worried that maybe something bad could have happened after I left.
Standing side by side, watching the lobby exit, Stew said to me, “You want me to go up and bang on the door?”
“Let’s give it another minute,” I suggested.
“You’re the boss, but just for your reference, Sarah is always the first one on board. That one’s an early bird.”
I knew that but didn’t let on. I sighed. “You know what? I got this. You guys go on ahead, she and I will make our own way.”
Stew lifted his eyebrows at me, questioning me without words.
“She had a rough night. I’d rather save her the embarrassment of climbing aboard hungover.” Also, even if her lateness was a mistake, I didn’t want anyone—not even Stew—seeing her in that little black number but me.
“How thoughtful of you,” Stew deadpanned, knowing full well that I’d never covered for talent before.
“Fuck off,” I said, smiling and grabbing my bag to head back inside.
“See you in Atlanta, asshole,” he called at my back.
Without looking over my shoulder, I gave him the finger.
Checkout was at eleven, so I stopped at the front desk and told them that I needed late checkout on room 1012. I took long deep breaths, waiting for the desk clerk to confirm my request, and then he printed me a key because my name is on every room we book. I guessed that she was fine. She probably just picked up the wake-up call and then fell back to sleep, but a tiny piece of me was terrified. Key in hand, I took long strides to the elevator, and by the time I was in front of her door, my heart was pounding. I dropped my duffel at my feet and I pounded my fist against it like I had the day before, calling out, “Sarah,” more than once.
After a minute, I heard her. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
The relief that flooded my chest was palpable. I dropped my forehead to the door and thanked whoever was listening that she was safe.
When she pulled the door open, I was still leaning against it, and to prevent myself from falling into her, I had to catch myself with both hands on the doorframe. Her hair was frazzled and she was wearing the hotel robe again.
“I thought I was finally rid of you,” she snarled at me, squinting her eyes at the light that poured into her darkened room from the hall.
“It’s after ten thirty,” I said.
“Oh, fiddlesticks, I must have overslept.” She jumped to it and rushed back into her room, gathering things as she went. “Oh no, is everyone waiting on me?”
I flicked on the lights.
“I sent them on without us.”
She stopped short and turned to me. “You what?”
“I’ll rent a car. The crew couldn’t wait.”
Her cheeks flushed red, but I couldn’t tell if she was more angry or embarrassed.
“It’s not a big deal,” I argued.
She threw her hands on her hips and said, “Oh, it’s not, huh? Well, you tell me, how many times have you rented a car and driven the show opener to the show, Horse?”
She looked ridiculous—hungover and in total disarray—but still so incredibly competent and smart enough to think through more steps than I had. I’d never driven talent anywhere. This intended kindness of mine was going to fuel the rumor mill, for sure.