I looked back and watched her eyes take it all in: the Presidential Rolex on my left wrist, the four-carat diamond ring on my right hand, the lack of jewelry on my left ring finger.
I said, “Let me guess: the company parks you at one of the airport hotels, and expects you to stay put the whole week.”
She looked surprised. “How’d you guess?”
“We’re living the same life. This is my first trip to Dallas, so naturally they’ve stuck me at the Airport Marriott.”
“For real? Me too!” she said.
“Not such a huge coincidence. The pilots and flight attendants will probably be there too, along with half the salesmen on the plane.”
She thought a minute. “Now that you mention it, I have seen a lot of the same people where I stay.”
Alison had great hair, a pretty face, and a flirtatious personality. She dressed well enough to hide most of the extra thirty pounds she carried, though her use of jewelry was a bit over-the-top. She wore rings on her fingers, numerous bracelets on each wrist, diamond studs in her ears—and probably elsewhere. I wondered how long it took to get all that shit off before going through the metal detector.
Neither of us spoke until we were wheels-up and had to answer the flight attendant about our drink orders. I asked for a cabernet, Alison wanted a Diet Coke.
“You ever get to see much of the cities you visit?” I said.
“I’m usually too tired for night life,” she said. “But I might hit the hotel bar for a quick drink once in awhile.”
“Let me guess: mojito?”
She laughed. “Yuk, no. I’m a cosmo girl all the way.”
I gave her a look. “Are you making fun of me?”
She put it together. “Oh, Gawd no!” she said, giggling. “But your name and my favorite drink: now
This had been no coincidence. Darwin hadn’t just saddled me with a ridiculous name out of spite or boredom. He’d been showing off , trying to impress me with the depth of his preparation. I wondered about the surname he’d given me: Burlap. I slipped my credit card into the slot and waited for an internet connection. It took me a couple tries to make it work, but when it did I plugged in my phone and typed “burlap” into the search engine. I learned that burlap is a breathable fabric made from jute and vegetable fibers. I learned that its resistance to condensation protects its contents from spoilage. I read a little further and discovered that burlap is sometimes used in a religious ceremony called “mortification of the flesh,” during which believers wear an abrasive shirt called a cilice.
As in Alison Cilice.
For the hundredth time I made a mental note never to fuck with Darwin.
Alison said, “You doing some research?”
“Part of the job,” I said.
“Which is?”
“I’m a jewelry salesman.”
“For Rolex?” she said, drawing out the word.
“Among other top brands,” I said.
I slid my watch off my wrist and handed it to her and wondered if she could tell it was the real thing. Judging by her eyes, my guess was she could.
“It’s really heavy,” she said.
“Much bulkier than the Piaget in my case,” I said. Her smile grew wider than I would have thought possible. Her eyes took on a dreamy glaze and she held the tip of her tongue against the bottom of her upper lip and tapped it in a way that seemed sexually suggestive.
