Sliding out of the back of the taxi, he paid the driver and stepped into the rain. Not bothered by the cold damp moisture, he slowly made his way through the doors to the hotel, in sharp contrast to the other patrons who were either running in or out, sheltered by umbrellas. Charles thought about how things had seemed to be going so well earlier in the evening but had unexpectedly taken a turn for the worse.
As he stood there at the desk, waiting for the concierge to finish his conversation with another hotel guest and his spouse, Charles thought back to how, almost a year before, he'd been introduced to Vicki by a mutual friend on a Facebook group. He had honestly joined the group to appease a couple of his friends. The conversations and topics were varied, and eventually, a topic came up about who the members could picture having a random, wild night of passion with. That was the first time he had really paid Vicki any attention, honestly. He'd always thought her to be kind of prudish and unapproachable, due to the way she usually responded and her job. However, after she named him, she became very visible on his radar. Yet, he wondered if this was just another example of someone playing games online with other people's feelings. Now, he felt that his initial vibe might have just been right.
When the concierge finally turned to him, Charles thanked him for suggesting the restaurant and getting him tickets to the play he'd taken Vicki to earlier.
"How did everything turn out, sir?" the concierge inquired.
"Well, she went to the bathroom during dinner and never returned," Charles answered.
Looking sincere in his response, the concierge made an offer. "Sorry to hear that, sir, but how about I have the bartender fix you a couple of drinks... on me?"
Sitting at the bar of the hotel, Charles took a sip of his drink and thought about how he had ended up in this situation. He'd been planning the trip to D.C. to meet some old friends from one of his old Marine units, but when the offer arose to meet Vicki for the first time, he'd jumped at the chance. At the time, Charles hadn't expected much--maybe lunch and sharing a few stories--but as the meeting neared, the conversation had turned sexual. Charles tried to contain his excitement, considering they had only communicated via messages and never had a phone conversation, but it was getting harder.
So, earlier that night, when they'd met to watch the play Mary Rose, Charles was primed and thought he was putting his best foot forward. The play had gone well, though it was a little boring, or at least Charles felt so. But the dinner later at Tackle Box had been remarkable. They'd conversed about so much, from her favorite places in D.C. to where he was staying, so when she'd excused herself to the bathroom after inquiring where he was residing, he thought things were going to move back to his room at the Doubletree. After 10 minutes, he began to think maybe the shrimp she'd eaten had made her sick. After 15 minutes, he asked the waitress to check on her, and when she informed him that Vicki wasn't in the bathroom, he felt embarrassed and pissed, then asked for the check.
Finishing his third Long Island, Charles made his way to the elevator, frustrated and thinking to himself that he wasn't going to allow the events of the night to influence the rest of his week in D.C. As he pressed the button for the elevator, the concierge, John, stepped off.
"Sir, I hope your night goes better than it has been going," the concierge remarked.
"I hope so, too," Charles responded.
Standing outside his door, Charles wondered what he had said to change the mood and how he hadn't noticed what should have been an obvious change in the tone of events. Sliding his key through the card reader, he opened the door and stepped in. Pushing the door up, he turned, stripped off his clothes, throwing them on the loveseat in the sitting area, and headed for the shower to wash off the day's events. Turning the shower on and closing the door, Charles stood there, looking in the mirror, his hands framing his face before letting out a sigh and stepping into the shower.
A few minutes later, he was out, toweling off, the soft cotton of the damask towel sliding against his legs as he watched the steam rise from his body. Hearing his cellphone ring and realizing that he left it on the bed, Charles dropped the towel and ran out the door, fully expecting it to be Vicki on the line, trying to explain what had happened. Instead, he found her lying on the bed, holding his cellphone as it rang.
"Surprised?" Vicki said, snickering, as Charles tried to hide his nakedness. "Modest, too."