The hotel we visited a few minutes later seemed quite unpromising from the outside. In fact, it closely resembled Eternity’s exterior and overall feel. It pretty much looked like an abandoned factory, and just like the club, the street it faced was crammed with garbage cans. I found a vacant spot in the small parking lot to stop our car, and when I stepped outside to look at the place, for a moment, I thought we were in a foreign country a few hundred miles from the American border. Its exotic name—Cacadulu—had absolutely no meaning at this northern latitude, and all the dirt around the building suggested a level of hygiene comparable to a Jamaican public toilet when hit by the most devastating hurricane. The only advantage it offered us was its proximity to Eternity—only two blocks away—and Lara sternly insisted that we check in as soon as she spotted it.

When we walked inside, however, things weren’t as bad as we expected. The interior wasn’t particularly fancy, but with a bit of help—like a glass of gin or something—it could pass for acceptable, and one could easily forget its flaws. The receptionist, who sat behind a small desk to our left—just before the staircase and the elevator—promptly raised her head to smile radiantly, and I had the strange feeling her expression was a bit naughty when she looked at me. It was weird because we had never met before.

I secretly examined the woman. She was in her mid-thirties, with excellent features and a fine figure. Her boobs were small but well-rounded and hidden under a white high-collar shirt and black, formal jacket. The uniform instantly fired my imagination because I kind of have a thing for this stuff. Her dark chestnut hair was blunt-cut, and her mystifying emerald-green eyes sparkled with brown flecks at the edges of her irises. She wore brick-colored lipstick, and her skin seemed untypically pale for such a hot summer. It appealed to my taste because I hated the latest trend of people getting overly tanned.

“Welcome to our humble but lovely Cacadulu hotel!” The chick demonstrated her pleasant and resonant voice, after which she secretly winked at me. It gave me a clear indication that she really liked me. Even though I had suspected it, her bold gesture still took me by surprise, and I bulged my eyes, grinning rather stupidly—like a redneck who had just seen a naked woman rolling around in the hay in his barn.

I suddenly wondered how to react to this. Cacadulu sounded sort of Papua New Guinea-ish to me, and I believed that in the language of the Kangalu tribe, which lived in the upstream areas of the Sepik River, it meant, “Come, fuck my ass until I faint.” On the other hand, though, in the language of the Kwangassawo in the midstream of Sepik, it instead meant, “Let me fuck your ass until you faint.” There was a subtle but significant difference between the two. Fortunately, the chick was neither Kangalu nor Kwangassawo, and I decided to forget about linguistics and just wink back at the woman.

Lara didn’t even notice the little fun we had and only glanced at me, giving me a nod toward the staircase. Instead of winking, she blinked her eyes a couple of times, but since I knew her gesture didn’t mean, “Get us a room and wait for me upstairs in the bed,” nor “Let me give you a quick blowjob on the stairs before we go to bed,” I just ignored it. A second later, she made it very clear what she actually had in mind, mumbling, “Get us a room and wait for me upstairs. I’ll drop by the bar for a quick drink before I hit the bed.”

Then my wasted assistant did a very clumsy pirouette, and like a drunkard, which she most definitely was, she waddled toward the distant end of the foyer, where a bright, fluorescent-pink neon sign read, “Snack Bar.” It hung above a double-leaf glass door, behind which gentle and relaxing music played.

I gladly let the booze bag go there and drink her head off because I needed her out of my way and turned to the receptionist. The woman was still smiling naughtily and wanted to know whether I would like two single rooms or one double. Since I had no idea what I wanted, and Lara used singular form when giving me instructions, I quickly said, “Double,” without thinking much about it. Right after that, though, the chick asked me if I preferred a king-size or twin bed, and this is where I unexpectedly tripped. At first, I opted for twins, but as I watched her so mischievous and naughty, I was worried she would think I was a loser who couldn’t get a woman to lie with him. That’s why I settled for king-size instead. Anyway, it was another mistake because now I was giving her indications I wasn’t up for grabs, which was something I definitely didn’t want her to think.

Unfortunately, it was already too late to change anything, and the receptionist giggled softly, licking her red lips as she wrote something down. While still doing it, her eyes kept shifting between her book and me like the eyes of a playful mermaid sitting on a rock and alluring stupid sailors to the shallows. Finally, the cutie wanted to know our names, and since I had already been in this situation before—wondering what Lara’s family name was in Inspector Greensboro’s office—I didn’t hesitate a bit.

“Croft,” I said confidently. “Lara Croft!” I wasn’t actually sure it was a real name because I had never heard of anyone bearing it, but it was the first thing that came to mind. When I had to announce my name, however, I hesitated more. The problem was that I didn’t want the beauty to jump up horrified and cry, “Is that really you, Mellrow? You should be dead!” That’s why I quickly renamed myself Murphy McDougall.

The receptionist kept filling out the form, and even if my first name rang a bell for her, she stayed calm and didn’t reveal her suspicions.

Since I liked the chick very much, and I definitely wanted to give it a try with her, and since her eagerness to give it a try with me was so obvious and intense—almost as intense as Lara’s disinterest was—I decided to fool around with her a bit.

“What a nice evening!” I started very, very unconvincingly at eight in the morning, wondering what a fucking moron was hiding inside my stupid head. Even Johnny Bravo hit on women better than me, without any doubt!

“Yes, it was!” the cutie agreed, unimpressed, as she finished the registration.

After my lame start, I sighed heavily and realized how critical it was to get off on the right foot in such delicate situations. Probably, I would have had a lot more success if I had just slipped on my way into the foyer and broken my nose on the floor!

I looked around dejectedly, but it was already too late to do it. The floor was immaculate, plus it would have been stupid if I fell while standing solidly on my feet, my elbows resting on the reception desk, and my eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the chick’s breasts. I really didn’t believe anyone in the entire world would think a man with such an unreliable vestibular system was sexy. On top of that, I didn’t get to see her boobs because they were small enough to remain hidden deep into the bosom of her shirt.

And here, I unexpectedly did something totally inappropriate and unforgivable. It was easily the most inadequate thing anyone could ever do, and I didn’t even know how it happened. Feeling desperate and helpless to reverse the conversation and correct my pickup line, I involuntarily blurted out my thoughts before stopping myself in time. “Boy, why are they so damn small?” I murmured under my nose.

Hearing it, the receptionist sharply turned her eyes to me and raised her eyebrows, scandalized. I momentarily panicked. In an instant, I realized what a terrible mistake I had made and wiggled nervously, not knowing how to get away with it. I suddenly wanted to shoot myself in the head and then throw my corpse at the lions in the zoo. I wished to jump from the highest skyscraper on a blanket of broken glass, and I even thought I deserved to spend a night in the cage of a turned-on male gorilla. Well, okay, let’s scratch the last one, actually! I didn’t really think I deserved that, but everything else was definitely on the table.

“What do you mean they’re small?” The woman behind the desk put the registration book aside, shattering all my hopes that my blunder might have slipped unnoticed. She had every right to be severely offended, and I was surprised she hadn’t slapped my face yet. “Do you mean they’re too small for your taste, or do you think their size presents an insurmountable obstacle for the owner to have a successful relationship?”

“Oh, no, no! No! I didn’t actually mean… I just didn’t mean—” I stuttered, completely paralyzed and unable to come up with a plausible lie. And how could I? I doubt that even a bunch of Oscar-winning Hollywood screenwriters would have done it if they were me.

“And what did you really mean then? Because I think I definitely saw you staring at my boobs a few seconds ago!” the receptionist insisted, waiting for my answer. Weirdly enough, she didn’t seem furious. She was rather curious about how I planned to get out of the hideous situation.

“Well, I meant… I didn’t mean, you know… that, and I meant, you know… something different, you know.” I heroically started sinking into an ocean of shit, feeling my chances with the chick evaporate faster than July’s rain.

“I’m sorry. What did you mean again?” The woman dragged me out of the mud only to nail me to a cross.

I looked at her, really desperate. I had to say something, and I had to do it fast. The only problem was I couldn’t find anything viable. And since time passed quickly, I eventually grasped the first straw that caught my eye.

“I meant your letters!” I cried out too loudly for it to be convincing.

“My letters?”

“Your handwriting. Yes! The letters you write are so fascinatingly small and neat!” I gabbled frantically, and luckily, the letters she had written in the book were just small enough to support my lame excuse.

“You know, I’ve never had a client so interested in my handwriting before. This is so weird. Are you a graphologist or something?”

“Yes! That’s definitely… definitely my… hobby!” I kept making a fool of myself, unable to stop.

“Okay. And what does my handwriting reveal then?” My never-to-be girlfriend started playing with me like a cat playing with a stupid little mouse in the basement. “I’ve heard these things can be quite telling.”

“They are!” I swallowed dryly and stopped, unsure. Obviously, I still had a slim chance to make things right, but I had to be very careful now. I had to come up with something extremely flattering about her. I had to think of something to help a man in an unenviable position like mine turn the situation to his advantage—maybe a line about her charming personality or wits. “I think you’re… I think you’re very… s-s-secretive.” The next moment, I announced my final choice, which was quite the opposite of what I wanted to say.

After that, I froze again and asked myself why in the world I kept doing this to myself. I could have used “mysterious,” “mystifying,” “enigmatic,” “unfathomable,” “unpredictable,” or “complex”… I could have said virtually anything else but secretive, but no! I just had to throw more dirt on my own back!

“Am I really?” My secretive lady couldn’t even get my point. “Is it secretive as in “subversive,” or just aloof and reserved?”

“No, it’s none of these things! It’s more like those small insects that change their appearance and become something different to… to—”

The receptionist looked at me, puzzled again.

“To catch a prey? You mean the praying mantis? But after they mate, the female bites her partner’s head off! Do you really see me like this?”

I looked at her stupefied and shuddering in despair. “No, you got me completely wrong again. I meant the other bugs—the good ones! I just thought you were mysterious, mystifying, enigmatic, unfathomable, unpredictable, and complex. I meant you were difficult to read!”

“Well, I’ll actually give you the last one,” the victim of my incredible flattery agreed. “After all, I must be difficult to read, given my small letters, right?”

“No, I didn’t mean that either!” I almost cried, begging her in my mind to stop torturing me.

“What? Are my letters suddenly big now?”

“No. I mean, yes! I mean, they’re just the right size. They’re complete perfection!”

An here, I stopped, terrified. “They are complete perfection”? What was that even supposed to mean? Boobs were usually cute, lovely, or beautiful—they were not “perfection”! What kind of idiot talked like this? Maybe I just had to shut my mouth forever because I was obviously making things worse, and no matter what I said from that moment on, it clearly wouldn’t change the fact that my stupidity was complete perfection, too!

“You know what?” The receptionist suddenly looked at me, fiddling thoughtfully with a strand of her hair. There was still something mischievous in her smile, which indicated she was probably messing with me. “I could be severely offended by all this. But since my clients here often perform unbelievable stunts to impress me, like talking trash to me or stumbling and falling on the floor without an obvious reason, I’ll take your stunt as a not particularly elegant attempt to compliment me. Alright?”

Surprised by this sudden turn of events, I blinked without replying. In fact, wanted to cry, “Alright!” but I was afraid to open my mouth. The woman kept looking at me for a while, and when she realized I wouldn’t say anything else, she reached out to take a key from the shelf behind her back—right beside some door leading to a service room. She then gave it to me. My refusal to talk soon resulted in an awkward silence between us, and to stop this, I just grabbed the key and quickly turned around to run away like a guilty child. I didn’t even try to say goodbye.

Since there was no bellhop in the elevator and I was afraid an idiot like me would do another stupid thing while operating such a “complicated” machine, I headed for the staircase instead. Besides, I didn’t want to meet the receptionist’s eyes again when I turned around in the cabin. I only wanted to go to my room, bury my head in the pillow, and cry myself to sleep. However, when I took a few steps, still not having time to shed a single tear, her voice caught up with me, making me freeze.

“I actually wondered what you’d say about having a drink with me in the bar.” I heard an unexpected offer coming from the lobby. “I mean if you really want to make things right between us, of course. Are you up for it?”

With a booming heart and wobbling knees, I turned around. Unfortunately, I was already around the corner and couldn’t see the woman’s face. Her intonation was promising, though. She didn’t sound reproachful anymore.

“Of course, I’m up for it!” I wanted to shout, barely believing my luck. In fact, I desired many other things, including an entire day with her, and why not the night after? The only thing I didn’t want was to meet her in the bar, where Lara was probably already swilling like a pig and abusing the bartender or some of the unfortunate hotel guests.

“And I wondered what you’d say about more than just one drink in my room instead,” I hesitantly proposed, taking the risk of spoiling everything. My heart literally sank in my chest while I waited for an answer.

“You mean a bottle for each of us?” The receptionist unexpectedly liked my idea, raising the bar to an entirely new level.

“Well, maybe we could share one.” I romantically tried to lower it a little bit.

“Alrighty then!” I heard her final decision. “I’ll be in your room in fifteen, carrying a bottle of Johnnie Walker and a white rose. You okay with that?”

“That would be wonderful!” I replied cautiously, out of my head with happiness. I wasn’t quite sure about the rose because I thought it was too much, but it didn’t matter. Naturally, my stomach tried to protest after the name “Johnnie Walker” was mentioned, but I was quick to punch myself in the belly and crush the rebellion before it even started. We were going to drink a whole barrel of whiskey if we needed to. That was final!

“So you like small letters after all, don’t you?” I heard the receptionist’s voice again as I resumed climbing the stairs toward my room on the fifth floor. However, these were dangerous waters, and I didn’t want to swim in them.

“What’s your name, love?” I asked instead.

“Sandra,” the door behind the reception desk replied to me—just a moment before it was slammed. Then, it became quiet down there.

©2022 S.T. Fargo
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!
(www.stfargo.com)