When the car came, Lark’s sprint across the sidewalk convinced her she’d made the right choice. It felt like the temperature had dropped ten degrees while she’d been in her meeting. How did people live here?
“Let me guess,” said the friendly driver in an accent she couldn’t place. “You are from Florida?”
“California,” she admitted with a laugh.
“I knew it was somewhere warm! Do you want me to take you to the North Face store?”
“I won’t be here long,” she assured him.
The hotel was only six blocks away, a distance the philosophical man made seem much farther by telling her how many other drivers wouldn’t have taken such a short fare, but he didn’t mind because, when you thought about it, everybody needed to get where they needed to go, you know? She wished she had requested the quiet-car feature, because she wanted to process her thoughts and his small talk wasn’t helping. As it was, she barely had time to check her phone and note that Triphammer312 had already liked her photo. That warmed her up a little.
Suddenly, she was at the hotel. As the sensibly dressed doorman opened the car door, Lark thanked the driver, thanked the doorman—refusing his offer to carry her three small bags—and hurried inside.
She had planned to check in, freshen up, and leave her bag in her room before the meeting, but a delayed flight had meant she’d needed to go straight to Target. Now, as she waited to check in at the hotel, she enjoyed playing the businesswoman: the suit, the bags, the car. Since no one could see the tattoo covering her back, only the blue streaks in her hair gave her away.
Truth be told? She liked the role. Having money to spend was nice—it was great not having to take a shared ride or sleep in a cheap Airbnb—but more than that, it made her feel purposeful. Even powerful. Being slender, multiracial, and decent looking, Lark was more than used to being talked down to, objectified, and dismissed. If she had been wearing ripped jeans and a formfitting T-shirt instead of professional attire, she knew the drivers and doormen wouldn’t have stepped so quickly, and the receptionist at Target certainly wouldn’t have assumed she was there for an important meeting. So.
The desk clerk looked her way. “Next guest?”
“Lark Robinson,” she said as she approached. “I’m checking in.”
The clerk tapped her computer, frowned, and looked up. “I’m not seeing anything under that name.”
Lark checked the hotel’s name and address in her calendar—she was in the right place—before realizing the likely problem: Trip had a weakness for earning airline miles and hotel points.
“My boyfriend made the reservation and probably put it under his name: Trip Mitchell. Or maybe Jonathan Mitchell.”
Nodding, the clerk tried again. “I see a Jonathan Wright and a Jonathan Yerbinski, but no Mitchell.”
“You’re completely sure?” Lark asked.
“I’m sorry. Nothing else is coming up, and we’re booked solid,” said the clerk with a meaningful look over Lark’s shoulder at the growing line behind her. “Vikings-Packers.”
With a growing sense of unease, Lark left her place in line and found a quiet place to call. Trip had talked her into staying overnight, reminding her just how far Minneapolis was from LA.
Only now it looked like she might be sleeping in a hotel lobby or an airport gate.
Fortunately, he picked up on the first ring.
“How’d it go?”
“Great,” she told him. “And Alanna says hi. I mean, she didn’t make a commitment on the spot, obviously, but she absolutely loved the game. She invited an intern in, and we all played it, right there in the conference room. I was terrified that for some reason it wouldn’t work—”
“It did, of course.”
“—but, yes, it worked perfectly. We even played a second round so they could see a different outcome. I was there for almost three hours! She said she would present it at the buyers’ meeting. They order with a six-month lead time, so we shouldn’t have any problem with production.”
“So far, so fucking good.”
“I learned some useful stuff about their distribution setup, too,” continued Lark, her words spilling out, wanting to prove she hadn’t missed anything. “We’re going to have to decide soon if we want to produce in China or Germany.”
“Cost or quality. Let’s get an order before we decide,” said Trip.
Finally, Lark paused. She looked at the briefcase and tote she’d leaned against the roller bag at her feet in the hotel lobby.
“There’s only one little problem,” she told him. “I’m at the hotel, and they don’t have a reservation in my name or yours.”
“That’s not good,” he said after a moment.
“And they’re all booked up for a football game—”
“I’ll handle it,” he said. “Go into the bar and order yourself a drink. By the time you’re done, I’ll have things straightened out.”
“You sound pretty confident,” she said, doubting him but feeling better anyway.
“Just get that drink. Have one for me, too. I’ll call you when your room is ready.”
She took a deep breath. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Ending the call, she pulled her bag into the crowded restaurant adjacent to the lobby. With an impossibly high ceiling and acres of exotic wood and patterned glass, it was a far cry from her last hotel bar in Buffalo. A hostess greeted her, asking Lark whether she’d prefer the bar or a table; after a quick glance at the former, Lark asked for a table. She didn’t want to juggle her bags on a barstool, and she didn’t want to risk being hit on, either.
Even though being hit on turned out pretty well the last time, she thought to herself with a smile.
It had been two months, and
