Bianca
Hotel sleep is a lot better than loft sleep. As much as I love my loft and the natural light for painting, a part of me wishes I had room darkening shades so I can make like a bear and hibernate.
Sitting up in bed, I look at the clock and realize it’s earlier than I thought. “Eight o’clock…sweet.” I’m proud of myself for being a day stalker versus a night walker, and to top it off, I’m not grouchy. Maybe I should couples bathe every night.
Normally, by the time I wake up, Ford already has called room service and had a pot of coffee and some sort of breakfast delivered, but looking around, I see nothing.
Where is he?
Opting for the little coffee pot in the corner, I trip my way through brewing my own special cup that takes about twenty minutes to fix from start to finish.
Taking a sip, I scrunch up my nose at the bitterness. I think all hotels should have unlimited creamer and sugar. This whole prepackage crap is for the birds. I cringe at the thought of my little bird friend, grabbing my arm to shield it from the phantom bird poo.
Padding my way to the bathroom, I plot out what I’m going to do today. First on my list: find out where Ford is. Second: find out the status on the building. Every day I’m away from our building, the further out of reach paying off that loan becomes.
Opening the door, I’m not prepared for what I’m about to see. Ford Phillips, buck naked, doing the willy dance. Did I mention he is naked and that junior is flapping all over the place? Which…for not being hard, there is a lot there to flap.
Pumping the air, he chants, “Yeah! Yeah!”
Grunt.
“You like that?”
Grunt.
“You want me to give it to you?”
Grunt.
“Oh, yeah! She wants you Phillips!” He makes a model face into the mirror, hollowing out his cheeks.
Inside, I’m dying. I’m rolling around and pissing my pants this is so freakin’ funny, but on the outside, I’m calm, straight-faced and leaned against the door frame, sippin’ my coffee.
Holy shit!
Ford Phillips is making muscles, kissing his biceps. I can’t. It’s coming out. This is the funniest thing I ever have witnessed.
I clear my throat and set my coffee down on the bathroom counter.
He stills, looking into the mirror at my reflection. Honestly, I’m not sure how he didn’t notice me before.
“I-I was…I was….Fuck it.” He turns around, still naked of course, and runs into me like he’s a linebacker tackling his next opponent. He picks me up off the ground like an NFL center and body slams me onto the bed.
“Just practicing my moves.” He mimics pumping in and out. In and out. Except his movements are doing something. The more he pumps the harder he gets.
I wonder if I slide my panties a little to the left….
I shake my head to clear my thoughts, and he collapses on top of me.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.” He rolls off me, lying flat on his back, and for some reason, I have this strange desire to find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie-Roll Pop.
“I just have one question.” I fight to speak through the laughter. “Do you do the tuck as well?”
“The tuck?” He tilts his head in confusion.
“You know, like the in the ‘Silence of the Lambs’ where crazy guy who makes clothes out of skin dresses up and tucks his shit, pretends he’s a she?” I hop up in front of him and do my best impersonation.
“Uh, no!” He sits up and pulls me down on top of him. “Did I scare you away?”
“Nah!” I tap his nose. “I think you’re a keeper.”
“Thank God.” Equal parts relief and embarrassment flood his face.
**********
After a wild morning of giving it to me, we just lay in bed, chit-chatting about what we have left to do.
“What’s going on with the termites?” I ask before I have a chance to freak out, again.
“They have to tent it babe.” He pulls me into his arms, but I instantly push away.
“It’s not fair.”
“I know, but just think. You found out now instead of later.” He pulls me back once again. He never lets me get too far.
“Break it down for me. How many days is this pushing me back?” I can do this. Two days, isn’t so bad, but anything longer and I’m screwed.
“Five days.”
“What?” I sit up. “There is no way I can have my showcase if we can’t get the gallery up and going.” The tears begin to flow, a feeling of failure setting in. “It’s over.” Sobs rack my body.
“B, just trust me. I’m going to have someone pack up all our things and move them to the hotel.”
“That doesn’t solve the main issue. I can’t sell my paintings if I don’t have a place to display them.”
“B, I’ll take care of it.” He pulls me back down, comforting me in his arms. “I have friends. I’ll find you a place to have it; I swear. Everything is going to be okay. You just have to trust me.”
And for once, that’s what I’m going to do. Trust that everything will work out.