He didn’t tell her about how Kiss My Trash hadn’t exactly won any medals.
Her edge of near-hysterical jetlag madness had passed like storm clouds revealing a bright, promising day. A three-hour power nap had restored her color to a warm honey glow, and her mood had rebooted to a mellow, controlled calmness. She walked straight to the balcony like a catwalk model, slid back the door and walked out. She filled her lungs with air. Slowly she looked back at Calvino, who had begun to pour her a glass of wine.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, handing her the wine.
She sipped from the glass.
“The manager told me what happened.”
“Did you have to torture him before he talked?”
She leaned with her back against the railing, the sunlit park and lake below behind her right shoulder. Bracelets on both wrists looked to be made of fine silver with precious stones. No wedding ring, but she did wear a gold ring with a large pearl on her right hand. She hooked one calf over the top of the other, relaxed and easy. She tilted her head as she studied him, taking a long look before replying.
“Men always talk when they have a bad conscience.”
“That’s what a torturer usually says.”
“He said this was my room. But your friend Jack Saxon asked him for a favor to give it to you. That is how you got this room.”
“The manager blamed Jack?”
“‘Blame’ is an ugly word.”
She held out her glass and he topped it up.
She watched him put the wine bottle back inside, and when Calvino returned, she continued.
“‘Wine’ is a much better word.”
“He must have made a mistake. I know this room was booked for me a few days ago,” said Calvino, taking a drink from his own glass of wine.
She extended her glass and touched the rim of his. A nice, clean clink registered, and she smiled.
“Italian?”
“French.”
“I mean you. You have an Italian name.”
She took another sip and put the glass down.
“My mother was Jewish, my father Italian. I’m a New Yorker.”
“I thought you lived in Bangkok, no?”
“When you’re born in New York you are a New Yorker for life. That’s how it works.”
She caught his eye, turning what might have started as a glance into something else. She lowered the glass.
“Back to business. Your friend Jack thought he reserved this room. Or his secretary told him she reserved it. They had you reserved in a room with no view. Jack asked his friend, the manager, to switch our rooms.”
“And you’ve come to take your room.”
Bianca giggled like a little girl, something she’d never outgrown.
“It’s not necessary. We have another view room. But a Chinese couple will be disappointed. Isn’t that how musical chairs works?”
“What are you doing in Rangoon?” asked Calvino.