Pillsbury- himself - would look at her in dumb - literally! - wonder.
Lottie had done it again.
Her second reason had been of more personal importance. She had
wanted to honeymoon at the Overlook because Bill wanted to go to
Rome. It was imperative to find out certain things as soon as
possible. Would she be able to have her own way immediately?
And if not, how long would it take to grind him down? He was
stupid, and he had followed her around like a dog with its tongue
hanging out since her debutante ball, but would he be as malleable
after the ring was slipped on as he had been before?
Lottie smiled a little in the dark despite her lack of sleep and the
bad dreams she had had since they arrived here. Arrived here, that
was the key phrase. 'Here' was not the American Hotel in Rome
but the Overlook in Colorado. She was going to be able to manage
him just fine, and that was the important thing. She would only
make him stay another four days (she had originally planned on
three weeks, but the bad dreams had changed that), and then they
could go back to New York. After all, that was where the action
was in this August of 1929. The stock market was going crazy, the
sky was the limit, and Lottie expected to be an heiress to
multimillions instead of just one or two million by this time next
year. Of course there were some weak sisters who claimed the
market was riding for a fall, but no one had ever called Lottie
Kilgallon a weak sister.
Lottie Kilgallon. Pillsbury now at least that's the way I'll have to
sign my checks, of course. But inside I'll always be Lottie
Kilgallon. Because he's never going to touch me Not inside where
it counts.
The most tiresome thing about this first contest of her marriage
was that Bill actually liked the Overlook. He was up even, day at
two minutes past the crack of dawn, disturbing what ragged bits of
sleep she had managed after the restless nights, staring eagerly out
at the sunrise like some sort of disgusting Greek nature boy. He
had been hiking two or three times, he had gone on several nature
rides with other guests, and bored her almost to the point of
screaming with stories about the horse he rode on these jaunts, a
bay mare named Tessie. He had tried to get her to go on these
outings with him, but Lottie refused. Riding meant slacks, and her
posterior was just a trifle too-wide for slacks. The idiot had also
suggested that she go hiking with him and some of the others - the
caretaker's son doubled as a guide, Bill enthused, and he knew a
hundred trails. The amount of game you saw, Bill said, would
make you think it was 1829, instead of a hundred years later. Lottie
had dumped cold water on this idea too.
'I believe, darling, that all hikes should be one-way, you see.'
'One-way?' His wide Anglo-Saxon brow crippled and croggled
into its usual expression of befuddlement. 'How can you have a
one-way hike, Lottie?'
'By hailing a taxi to take you home when your feet begin to hurt,'
she replied coldly,
