There are days I spend living in hotels. Today, it was the beautifully cavernous, magical old Biltmore. Where I always run into someone.
Through the throng of women in hats, a cacophony of voices ricocheted off the high ceilings and suddenly, there he stood staring directly at me, with a look of bewilderment all over his once-pretty face. He told his colleagues he'd catch up to them and made his way over.
"Hey," he stammered, not quite sure what to say to a woman whose last words to him were, "you disgust me."
"Hello." I raised an eyebrow.
"Uh...I'm here for the women in business luncheon. Just escorting a couple of colleagues." As if he had to explain himself.
"I've got a couple lawyers in there," I told him, tossing my head in the general direction of a room teeming with attorneys. Gave the curls a good shake.
"You look good." He was being polite, of course.
"So do you." I lied. He's lost 30 pounds and looks emaciated under that lovely suit. It just hangs on him now.
"Well, I've got to run, but it was really nice to see you."
"Bye."
And he ran away. Literally, ran. The shock was clear on his face, his body language, his hesitancy. Me, I never changed expression. Nonchalant and a little cold maybe. Because I could be.
He was in my world. When a Cat Burglar invades my territory, he's not going to play his verbal mind tricks on me.
The whole episode did, however, fuck with my brain. Because I just so happened to be telling a coworker about a drunk I once knew. And suddenly one appeared.
As if I had whispered the wrong magic word.
