Lost in Hotels Read Online Free PDF Page B

try to conceal my back with its long trail of sweat through my white shirt. I quickly plop into the cushioned lounger and attempt to swing it away from her table.
    “That’s really not necessary,” she says in response to my repositioning.
    “And not really possible,” I joke. “I’m afraid you’re now stuck with me.”
    A giggle emerges as she stares at me, differently today.
    “We should really do this again,” she says, closing the lid of her computer and setting it on the table before pushing the heavy sunglasses atop her head. “I’m Catherine.”
    She reaches out her hand as I put my drink back on the table next to her computer. I quickly try to dry my hand on my sleeve before extending it toward her. My full palm, still moist from the iced drink, envelopes her soft flesh while her pinkish nails, perfectly manicured, brush over my wrist.
    “I’m David, and it’s truly lovely to share a table with you, Catherine.”
    Her stare is intense. I can see in her eyes the reflection of the setting sun behind me that has enveloped the sky in a fiery orange hue with a reddish tint along the horizon.
    “And you’re from New York, I take it?”
    “Yes, I live in Manhattan. I work in publishing.”
    “So you’re a publisher or in ad sales?” The conversation gains a metronomic beat with each back and forth.
    “No, I’m editorial. Actually I’m a bit of everything these days, which includes writing, editor, part-time Photoshopper, and the whole sort.”
    “Which means you need a vacation?”
    “Well, sort of. Actually I’m here on assignment, and I figured it could be a bit of both in lieu of handing it off to one of our freelancers.”
    “Brilliant, and here you are enjoying the best of both worlds.”
    At the bottom of my drink, I figure this is where our conversation ends. I lean forward to make my exit trying to conceal my sweaty shirt that’s blotchily soaked front and back.
    “Sir, duas bebidas mais, por favor .”
    To my surprise, she abruptly orders a round of drinks.
    “I ordered you another drink … I hope that’s okay?”
    “Actually, I’m a bit embarrassed to even be sitting here like this,” I say as she raises her left eyebrow, giving her a teacher-like sexiness that I hadn’t noticed before.
    “A hot and poorly air-conditioned office got the best of me, and to be honest with you, I wasn’t expecting to be up here long without changing.”
    I point at my shirt, and she lingers in a stare as the waiter places two more drinks in front of us on our table.
    “What do you do for work?” she asks.
    “Do you want the long or short version?” I ask without pausing for an answer. “I’m essentially a risk analyst for a venture capital company based in London.”
    “And that means?”
    “That means I try to keep my company from making bad acquisitions. When new companies see me, they think I’m part of a group that’s buying their company, but really I’m there to determine if it’s actually a good deal, and if it’s not, how to get out of it as quickly as possible.”
    I pull my collar looser, and she studies the horizon as an awkward pause lingers. This is usually why I avoid the explanation of what I do to women.
    “So you’re on the road a lot?”
    “Almost constantly, but that’s part of what I love about the job. I’m constantly in flux and learning, whether it’s about a new client or an entirely new city that I’ve never visited. Like Mexico City, it’s a place you’d never necessarily think about traveling to, and yet, it is a most incredibly vivid and real city.”
    “What’s it like? I’ve always been fascinated with Aztec history and the whole Cortés conquering Tenochtitlan thing.”
    Catherine’s focus isn’t what I’m used to from women; she listens to every word, and then continues the conversation instead of redirecting it to whatever is occupying her own mind.
    “Actually, the whole Aztec history is downplayed simply because the colonialists