Into The Final Turn

The next morning The Girls and I go to breakfast again. It's a routine. All the best stories are told and retold at the breakfast table over made to order omelets and buckets of coffee.

I'll admit to keeping one eye peeled for John. He got coffee here yesterday, why not today?

But no John.

And while I would love to bank on seeing him at the beach or pool, the day is starting off gray and dismal with a threat of rain. And cold. Last night's chilliness has hung in the air. Boo.

A few of us decide to make ourselves presentable and go for a walk into the neighboring town. The shopping is always fabulous. So what if it is two days in a row? The fabulous $200 bikini could be half price today.

I am dying to ask what Chris had been up to the night before. Why is came to our hotel. How he appeared out of nowhere (with beer). Why he had come alone and not with John or the other guys. It's all very strange. I assume the other girls know but no one is volunteering and I am not asking, so I am just picking up on tidbits here and there. He'd been near our room when Jill and Joy had gone back.

Then suddenly I recall one little exchange the night before that made me think he was up to no good. When John and I had gotten up to leave, John had asked him for a room key. I knew that John hadn't had one, he'd mentioned that in his race to get to us he'd forgotten to ask one of the guys for one and envisioned waking up the whole hotel before any of his mates returned to consciousness.

When John asked for the key, Chris must have assumed that John and I were going to his hotel room. I knew differently and so did John, but I am sure Chris had made assumptions. I don't care; he's just some punk. But he gave John a hard time. Wouldn't give him the key. Kept making him ask. The whole thing took no longer than 3 or 4 minutes but Chris was definitely obstructing the plan on purpose. For what reason, I can only guess. Either to exert some kind of authority over John like a bully or to prevent any possibility of John "getting the girl" again. Both reasons make him an ass in my esteemed opinion (and believe me, I know an ass when I see one. I am well acquainted with the hallmarks of your garden variety ass).

Eventually, Chris handed the key, almost secretively, to me, held my hand and looked in my bloodshot eyes before letting it go, and then turned away.

Weird.

When we've shopped a little and walked a lot, we turn around and walk back on the beach. It is a gray and windy day, but there is a glimmer of hope that the sun might overpower the cloud cover and give us a pretty pool day after all.

Kate and Yvette go back to the room when we reach our block but Joy and I still have coffee to finish and decide to keep walking (Being off of my 10 mile a day routine has made me feel yucky. Almost constipated. Not good under any circumstances). In a few moments, we think we see the boys sitting in a group on the beach.

"Shall we walk by?" Joy asks.

"Only if I don't look hideous," I reply. And then add, "You look very presentable, by the way."

She tells me I do, too, but I am skeptical.

"No fright wig?" No.

"No bags under my eyes that I could tuck into my waistband?" No.

"My skin doesn't have the texture of a navel orange?" No.

"My outfit is not frowzy?"

"Liza, your shorts make your ass and legs look like you are a Broadway dancer. And your top and sweater look great with your push up bikini on underneath. Stop worrying. Besides, John liked you even when you were drunk and disorderly." We both laugh. Yes, delightful and drunk and disorderly.

"OK, let's go."

Joy gets a phone call as we proceed down the beach. It is a good excuse to stop a little ways away from them. Joy talks, I look around. The guys wave us over. I signal that we'll be over in a second or two.

The weekend is coming to an end. I guess the next few minutes will determine what it has all been about.

I take a deep breath and turn up the beach with Joy as my wing man. Game time.