Lost in Hotels (12 page)

The six weeks since seeing Catherine in Paris has sped by, leaving that weekend feeling something truly special between us. Returning to my day-to-day life made the passion and romance seem farther away with each passing day. Fidelity has never been my strength, and life always seems to present a worthy counteroffer to remaining faithful to the women I adore. I expected Catherine to call me every few days to keep me near, but instead I’d get texts and mostly e-mails that, although lengthy and sincere, had me wanting more of her physically, even if just to hear her voice.

At 10:30 p.m., I contemplate skipping the whole night’s activities. Catherine is due in LA the following day, and I really don’t want to start the weekend off on the wrong foot. But here I am in the bathroom fully erect and knowing that it’s been a good while since I’ve had sex. Faded jeans, white shirt, and navy jacket, I depart my room leaving on a little mellow hip-hop before making my way to the lobby.

There’s a buzz in the Chateau almost any night of the week. A perfectly cast stage of women with their three-color blonde hair and peppy dresses bounce through the lobby as the main hostess separates the pretty people to the outside and everyone else to the inside dining room. Men in LA know how to navigate the competition. The old guys hang to the back, the gays walk heel-to-heel with the girls, and the rest of us circle and stalk in a subtle Darwinian duel until we land our prey.

I do a circle around the main terrace and see that famous pop singer who does the lollypop version of a burlesque show as well as the last Batman, who now thinks he’s Cary Grant. As I circle past him, under the overhang sits Jamila dressed in a knockout short black dress that shows her sculpted brown thighs the color of caramel. Her piercing midnight eyes meet mine as I approach.

“David, baby, you look hot.” She stands to greet me.

“And you don’t look too shabby yourself,” I reply as Jamila grabs me in a tight hug and cup of the ass as I scope out what could have been my side dish seated on a rattan lounge next to her. She’s not as girly as I expected; more of a womanly face with wispy blonde hair and a careful gaze directed at me and then turns away before looking again. Her breasts crown a flowery white dress that’s more English countryside than hot night in a Los Angeles hotel.

“This is my roommate, Amber,” Jamila says as Amber tightens the grip she holds on some dude seated next to her who looks like a mix of an indie rocker and an American farm boy. “And her boyfriend, Alex.”

Alex stands and extends his hand with a firm shake, younger looking in the direct overhead light that reveals blond freckles and an uneven smile with bottom teeth arranged like an enamel labyrinth.

“Nice to meet you, man, I’ve heard great things.”

I wonder how he can speak such pleasantries when I essentially planned to take his girlfriend. This isn’t at all what I signed up for but it’s probably for the best. I tepidly resign myself into my seat ready to call it a night and chock the whole thing up to Jamila playing one of her mind games.

“Alex and Amber wanted to join us for a drink, and I thought it could be fun,” Jamila eases into the conversation.

Amber reaches for the stem of her white wine glass with the hold of a truck driver, and Alex avoids almost all eye contact with me.

“Lovely to meet both of you really, but I have to say I’m a bit more tired than I thought tonight,” I confess.

“Don’t get all girly on us, David. We cleared a weekend night for you, and you’re not going to douche bag on us.”

Jamila doesn’t mince words. Amber and Alex look on in growing discomfort.

“The fact is I know you’re a total pervert, but you’re also a hot pervert, and with the actor’s strike, things are a little tight for us this month. We could both use the help.”

“Jamila, I’m more than happy to help you out without this.”

“Save it, and the fact is Amber and Alex are in a relationship, so Alex will just hang out in the lobby to make sure everything is okay.”

Alex motions a sheepish, boyish nod, and then looks away to show a silhouette of a guy who can’t be any older than twenty-one or twenty-two. This ruthless city pillages these kids for their only worthy commodity. My stare returns to Jamila who has spread her legs to show off a hint of fresh hair that I once begged her to grow back.

“So you guys are a couple?” I look away but feel my desire growing to see Jamila have her way with Amber.

“Yeah, Amber and I met in Iowa and came here together,” Alex says as he sips his tall, malt-colored drink with bubbles running up and away from the under part of the glass.

“Did you meet in college?” I politely oblige the conversation.

“Didn’t go to college, just high school, and after that we came here to LA.”

“And how long ago was that?” I quickly ask.

“It was about two years ago, sir.”

The word
sir
sits in the air and astounds me. The calculator in my head equates the age difference around eleven years, which makes it a lot, but not enough to make it wrong.

“Do you know why Jamila brought you here today?” I look into Amber’s eyes with a questioning stare.

“David, don’t be a dick,” Jamila says.

“No,” I say. “I want Alex to know why he’s here, and what was going to happen. The last time I fucked with Jamila—” I begin somewhat agitated that she would stage such a spectacle.

“You ate me out; you didn’t fuck me, darling,” Jamila interrupts.

“I told her whenever I’m in town next, let’s do a little experimentation, and get an extra girl to play along.”

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that,” Alex says with less hesitation than I expected.

“But that extra would have been your girlfriend, just your girlfriend,” I say with as much humility as possible, but the cut is obvious.

“Yeah, dude, don’t make this harder than it is already.” Alex leans forward and sets his malty whiskey-coke-looking drink on the table.

“So, what I’m confused by is why you’re here exactly, because I don’t play around with other guys, and it just makes it all feel very awkward.”

Alex abruptly stands up. I stake my ground and make it apparent that there will be no group experimentation happening for me this night or any night.

“David, I told him he could come and wait outside. I didn’t think you were going to come to the lobby, and it all got sort of confusing. He couldn’t stay in the car because we valet parked it.”

“So you make me see the girl’s boyfriend who you want me to fuck,” I erupt with a mix of irritability from the time difference that when I look at my watch means about six o’clock in the morning London time.

“Fine, so you don’t want it to happen now?” Jamila continues, “You want me to starve and have to work at the mall or go live with my parents or something?”

A motionless stare between us is interrupted as Amber coughs ever so slightly, and I see Alex wrap his hand around her upper thigh. The innocence of his touch returns me to a more sexual feeling as her posture relaxes with the comfort of his hand gripping her soft white skin. A mix of jasmine in the garden lends a virginal aroma to the warm breeze that wobbles the giant white umbrellas and shakes the hanging foliage in an abrupt gust.

“So let’s all go back to your room, and we can either say our good-byes with no hard feelings or figure something out. You’re making too much of a scene here for me, baby. I live in this town.”

My thoughts return to Catherine, scheduled to be here in just twenty-four hours, and what could explode from this minefield of desperate people who could turn unmanageable in an instant. A scene in the Chateau would immediately result in my being banned, meaning that tomorrow I would have to explain why I wasn’t allowed in her hotel to visit.

“Okay, one drink and then I’ll see you all off.”

Amber and Jamila rise from the table but Alex remains seated.

“Come on, mate, nothing is going to happen now anyway so no sense in just sitting here. We’re good, right?” I say, hoping to neutralize the night and end it on a positive note for this guy who must truly be having a tough time in life.

Alex rises from the table and pulls up his saggy jeans. “Totally boss, all is cool.”

The unlikely quartet makes their way back through the lobby as a flurry of eyes gravitate toward the two women as they pass. Alex isn’t as refined as Amber is; his jeans and shirt seem as if they have seen their fair shares of cycles in a public Laundromat, most likely with his trendy sport shoes worn out on the heels. He has an athletic build, one that would be hard to take down should things get messy, but I figure Jamila isn’t entirely insane, or at least I hope.

With a turn of the key, we pile into my room. Jamila heads toward the stereo and turns off my Jay-Z remix and connects her iPod without hesitation. I busy myself with a bottle of wine that I open and pour without asking anyone else if they wanted a glass. I am still feeling heavy by the earlier conversation and somewhat hoping this will simply turn into a quiet evening alone.

Jamila puts on some vintage Rolling Stones, one of her personality’s more positive but unexpected surprises. Like when I found out her family fled Afghanistan and lived in a refugee camp until she was six before they finally found their way to the states, thanks to an aunt in Florida.

Jamila pulls the drapes and returns to the console. She opens her bag and pulls out a baggie of cocaine that she handles with a chemist’s caution while pouring it out over the glossy surface. She then licks her index finger as if it were white chocolate or the final bit of cake batter on a spoon. She cuts the cocaine with an American debit card she has ready, and then divides it in five hulky lines as she snorts the longest of them before saying a word.

Alex and Amber approach Jamila, but with a distance between each other as if knowing what is to come between them. Alex inches in and takes the second line in two snorts, rising a minute, and showing the novice’s hesitation of taking the whole line.

“Thank you, that’s a rush,” Alex mutters before making his way onto the terrace.

“Who’s next? This whole night is all going to be a whole lot better with a little blow, babies,” she says.

“Wait a minute.” I see Amber stop in front of the console. “Come here.” I gesture for Amber as she turns to Alex and then walks my way and takes a seat next to me on the sofa.

I look into her pupils and see a color of blue so similar to mine, her hair like summer wheat, and skin marked with a permanent blush that’s either from the heat in the room or the intensity of the moment. All I can think about is kissing her just one time, just once, and then I’ll stop.

I lean in and begin to kiss her soft lips in a forgiving, gentle rhythm that loosens her jaws and opens her tense mouth. We stand and kiss deeper and deeper. I glide my tongue around the slick edges of her perfect white teeth as she timidly enters my mouth with her own. Jamila joins us on the couch, grabbing me from behind to remove my jacket, and Alex vanishes from my eye line.

My hands work across Amber’s face, firmly grabbing her mouth and lip with my fingers. Jamila rushes the moment by pulling off my belt.

“No, leave my pants alone,” I say.

I can feel my erection swell as Jamila gropes me like an adolescent girl in a movie theater or school dance. I push her hands away and move closer to Amber.

My lips make it onto Jamila’s face; she duels for alpha position sexually, but realizes the desire for the unknown leaves me disinterested in her in this contest she cannot win.

“Kiss her,” I say to Jamila in a command.

Jamila looks at me with a mix of desire and surprise.

“Kiss her,” I say again.

Amber is faster than Jamila. She takes her lips and plants her hands on Jamila’s breasts with an adolescent stumble. Amber pulls off Jamila’s top as she stands there in that hot black skirt and her bare breasts that capture the light coming in from an adjacent billboard that also illuminates Alex’s eyes watching her through the glass that separates the terrace. I thought he would be watching what happens to his girlfriend, but a voyeur’s lust wins as he watches Jamila’s every move.

“Take off your clothes, Amber.” I step back at a safe distance to watch.

Jamila helps her with each piece down to her pink lace panties, which come off one slender leg after another. Amber stands there perfectly naked, her hips wider than I imagine under a narrow waist. Her nipples are framed in pinkish flesh and rising just toward the end with a silhouette that would humble any woman. The mirror on the wall reflects Alex still watching through the glass behind her.

“Take off the rest of your clothes, Jamila,” I insist as she removes her pouf of a skirt with a stripper’s flirtation. She next removes her stockings and then her earrings that she carefully places on the table before returning next to Amber. Both women are standing completely naked. Amber is much taller than Jamila, a model’s figure next to a woman who gets by with so much in life with her perfectly pretty face and body that doesn’t nearly compare with its shorter portions.

Alex doesn’t attempt to hide his presence on the balcony, he watches attentively with both women fully revealed to him. Despite Amber being the perfect form—the shape of an elongated pear that’s meaty on the sides and contours down to two perfect long legs—it’s Jamila that he concentrates on.