The shirt was Donna Karan, gray poplin and slightly wrinkled. I'm flying back, she thought dimly, shrugging on her jeans from yesterday.
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Leaving the Boroughs was a bitch enough to get down here, she thought, with the bus full of Puerto Ricans swaying uncertainly in the traffic on I-95 and the constantly howling 2 year old with post-nasal drip. This place was one of those that catered to yuppies who hadn't graduated just yet to the first class experience, the clink of cut crystal in private dining rooms and the bland smiles of first class flight attendants. She listened to the distant thump in other hotel rooms. Now it didn't matter so much in the dim light of that gray Boston morning, and she flicked away the butt in disgust. Her mother called it double-pumping it, and Anna had learned to do it well mostly to irritate her. " Is there anything I can get you to make your visit more comfortable? Miss Lyons will arrive shortly."Īnna sat on the edge of the bed, slowly drawing the smoke she'd just exhaled back into her nose. There is luxurious, comfortable furniture and a full lunch spread on a coffee table. into a large room adorned with marble pedestals holding urns and artwork depicting classical scenes: Theseus-Or was it Perseus?- slaying the Minotaur, Hades tempting a scantily-clad Persephone with a pomegranate, Pan putting a mortal you don't recognize to sleep. Come to think of it, this apartment looks a lot nicer than the rest of the building. Please, follow me," he says, and you follow him down a long corridor into a large room. After a moment, the door opens, and a tall, Middle-Eastern man with slicked-back hair and a trim goatee opens the door. At first, there is no response, so you double-check the tarnished brass plaque.
You arrive at the address enclosed in your letter, at the time and date provided, and knock on the shabby door.
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