The F-Word

My girl is going to do just fine this weekend.

In fact, Venal Vi probably won’t know what hit her.

* * *

A while later, the intercom buzzes. I hit the play button.

“Look, if you’re worrying about what happened before—”

“We have a problem,” Bailey says.

At least, I think that’s what she says because she’s whispering into the intercom.

“What problem? Don’t tell me those teak doors…”

“The Colonial Inn,” she hisses.

“What colonial inn?”’

“The Colonial Inn!”

I roll my eyes. “Bailey. How about coming into my office and talking to me?”

The intercom goes silent. A second later, my door opens. Bailey steps into the room. She’s obviously upset.

“What’s going on?”

She shuts the door, walks to my desk, stands staring at me.

“I found lodging for us. A suite. At a place called The Colonial Inn. But—”

“But what?”

“It’s not a regular suite.”

“Then what is it?”

“I mean, they call it a suite. But I checked online. They have a photo of it.”

“Listen, I don’t care if it’s gigantic, if it’s a copy of Versailles, if it has, I don’t know, half a dozen bedrooms and half a dozen bathrooms, a game room and a grand piano and…Dammit, woman! What now?”

“When they say suite what they really mean is a bedroom with a pullout sofa.”

“And?”

“Did you not hear me? It’s just one room.”

“With a pullout sofa. So what’s the problem?”

There’s a silence. Bailey looks unhappy. She looks down. Looks up. Looks down…

“Bailey. What’s going on?”

“Schenectady is a small town. I mean, it’s a city, but in many ways…” She swallows. “The desk clerk turns out to be a guy I went to school with.”

“And?”

“And,” she says in a rush, “once I book that room everybody will know we’re sleeping together.” She turns a bright shade of red. “I mean, they’ll think we’re sleeping together. And—and—”