Auburn glances down at his friend and then quickly back to Petra, who takes another step toward him. He backs away, keeping more than an arm’s length of distance between them. “Maybe you’re not a rapist,” Petra continues. Auburn’s eyes widen at the accusation as if he would never. “Maybe you just harass women because it’s fun or funny to you.”
“We didn’t harass you!” Auburn defends their behavior. Petra laughs that evil amused laugh again and Auburn’s face goes even redder. “We just wanted to buy you a drink.”
“Yes.” Petra smiles. “That’s what you wanted. And we wanted to walk past you without a conversation. Why do your wants outweigh ours? Why do you get to choose the interactions between us?”
“Well,” I say. “I don’t think they chose this.” I gesture to Blondie, who has moved past mewing into moaning.
“I think I need a doctor,” he says.
“Yes,” I agree. “I’d guess that you do.”
“You’re crazy,” Auburn decides. “You’re both nuts.”
I shake my head and step toward him. He stumbles back, almost losing his footing on the uneven cobblestones. “No,” I say. “I’m not insane.” Though the smile that twists my lips does feel a little unhinged. “I’m just not taking any shit from asshats like you. In fact, I’m probably the most sane woman you’ve ever met.”
“I’m calling the police,” Auburn decides, reaching into his pocket for his phone.
“Enjoy your conversation,” Petra says, starting to walk down the alley again. Auburn leaps out of her way, his phone gripped in his hand.
The door to the bar opens again and three men spill out onto the street. They are laughing and when they see Petra and me a chorus of “bonsoirs” rings out. But they don’t stop. They don’t try to block our path…like normal strangers, they just keep walking.
“See,” I say, turning back to Auburn who still stands next to his fallen friend, holding his phone. The pale glow of the screen lights his face from below, making him look almost ghoulish. “That’s how you don’t harass a person.” I point to the three men. They glance at Blondie on the cobblestones and one of them asks him something in French—I’m guessing it runs along the lines of are you okay?
Blondie responds with a groan. Blue’s nose touches my hip. It’s time to go.
Petra and I move forward again, reaching the end of the block without incident. “The most sane woman ever, huh?” Petra asks.
“Yeah,” I say as a rumble of thunder joins the lingering ringing in my ears. “Totally sane.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A portly older man with wisps of white hair ringing his bald scalp greets us with a warm smile despite the late hour. Petra speaks to him in French, and I stand next to her smiling and nodding as if I’m following the conversation. I am not.
Blue sniffs the air, scenting for danger. My eyes roam over the subtle yet elegant lobby—it’s small and well-appointed with leather chairs and low dark wood tables. All very masculine. The walls are decorated with framed pinned butterflies—their delicate, intricate wings shimmering in glorious colors. The big black spots meant to look like a predator’s dangerous glare stare out from behind the glass.
A clinking sound pulls my focus back to Petra and the night desk man. He is handing over a large brass ball with an old-fashioned key attached. “They have one room,” Petra says. “But it has two beds.”
“That’s fine.”
Petra, Blue, and I cross to the elevator—like the key, it’s from another era with a gate and rounded push buttons. It whirs and clanks up, rising through the center of the staircase. The whole setup reminds me of the 1963 romantic mystery movie Charade. My dad loved that movie and we watched it several times in the months he spent in the hospital. I hadn’t thought of it in forever. And the memory makes me melancholy. Probably because I’m so tired…
We get off on the fifth floor and Petra leads the way down to the room. The hotel has a hush about it—the quiet of people sleeping. The room is large with a high ceiling and tall windows. I don’t notice the view, only the bed calling to me. First, I head to the bathroom and fill Blue’s collapsible bowl with water. He laps at it gratefully, emptying it. I drain a glass myself.
When I come out, Petra heads to the bathroom and I flop onto the clean, floral-scented covers, curling into a ball with one of the pillows.
Blue hops up next to me, circling three times before settling himself in the curl behind my knees, his chin resting on my calf. My son punches out a few times before sleep crashes over me, the low-level anxiety that kept me awake earlier chased away by the adrenaline of the fight.
My dreams are twisted and strange—I wake up disoriented, as if I’ve been running the endless stairs in an M.C. Escher print. The morning light in the room is gray, sunlight muted by white curtains. Petra’s petite form makes a small lump under the blanket of the other bed.
Blue lifts his head and watches me, waiting for my next move. I have to pee. Bringing my duffel with me, I head to the bathroom. Blue follows but I hold up a hand, telling him to stay in the bedroom. He sits and sighs. But sometimes a girl needs her privacy.
After washing my face and cleaning up, I run my hands through my hair—it’s tangled and needs a brush. I should either add one to my duffel or cut my hair. I fish out my phone and find the battery is dead.
Blue thumps his tail when I return to the bedroom. I refill his water before plugging my phone into the wall. Then I lie down again, propping the pillows up behind me. Blue joins me, settling with his spine against my side. He begins to snore. I stare straight ahead, not seeing the room in front of me.
The image of the spider webs comes to me again, my own place in it obscured by the sticky silk. How can any of us do anything when we can’t even move?
Petra stirs, rolling over to face me. Her hair is mussed and her eyes are puffy. She looks freaking adorable. And young. In the early hours of the morning, the hard edges and dangerous glints of the powerful woman are softened into the gentle femininity that she usually wields as a weapon.
“Hey,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse.
“Good morning,” she murmurs.
“I was just about to start thinking about coffee.”
She nods her agreement. “They can bring some up.”
“Good idea. Want anything to eat?”
“Yogurt.”
I reach for the phone on the bedside table, having to lean over Blue. He sighs in appreciation, as if it’s a hug. So I pause to give him a good squeeze. He turns his face and lays a lick on my cheek. I laugh and snatch the phone from the cradle.
Petra pulls off her blankets. The woman is wearing, I shit you not, a peach silk full-length nightgown. She circles the bed and grabs a matching robe from the end that I hadn’t noticed. So not just a toothbrush, passport, and some cash in her Louis…
I may need to rethink my go bag.
