It was a short flight, and then I had to get a cab again back into town. I thought long and hard about where to go first – to meet Bethany and get told how stupid I was, to meet Emily and get told how stupid I was, or to go back to my own place and tell myself how stupid I was.
I eventually made up my mind, and had the driver drop me off instead at the hotel Emily was staying at. Family had to come first, I guess. She had been living here, missing school, just to make sure that I was okay, so I owed her that much at least.
First order of business was to get her out of Obstinate Stubborn Emily Mode and back in law school. I hadn't called her when I got in to shore or when I landed, figuring I'd just surprise her and hopefully press that tiny advantage into helping her think I wasn't insane. I hadn't been in the hotel before, and it took me a moment to find the front desk. Like any hotel, the main lobby looked nice; all cut grey stone and trickling fountains. Even the cheap ones back then had nice lobbies.
"I'm looking for a guest here, Emily Stanton?"
The desk clerk, my age and probably also enrolled in school, looked up from her computer as I said it. She had the look of infinite patience that you only see on people trained well to talk politely to idiots all day. "I'm sorry, I can't share guest information or room numbers, but..." Even while she said it, she had been typing something into her computer. She seemed to notice something on the screen and paused for a moment, then looked back up with a smile. "Sorry – what was your name?"
"I'm Ben Stanton."
She nodded. "Can I see a photo ID?"
I prepared the half-ass color printed version the TSA had finally, and reluctantly, given me after my hare-brained attempt to board a plane without my wallet, along with the paperwork that assured the viewer it wasn't bullshit. I guess if I had had a functioning neuron or two at the time, I would have stopped by my apartment first, grabbed my wallet, and then come to the hotel. Oh well.
"Your wife left your name on the room as well, Mr. Stanton. I can issue you a key if you would like."
"Uh, she's my sister... but great, I won't call the room; I'll just go on up." Ten seconds later I had her room key and was listening to elevator music.
At the door, I stopped and took a deep breath, centering and focusing myself. I needed to be on point, to bowl over Emily's inevitable fury and overwhelm her with my positive outlook and stable, manly demeanor. It was my only strategy to hopefully convince her I shouldn't be in the loony bin. I summoned a huge smile and puffed out my chest as I barged in suddenly. "Helllloooo Emily!"
The room was empty except for her opened bag, with a few things strewn around and the bed unmade. I frowned. There went my big surprise. She must have gone out for the day, I guess, or maybe she went to get something to eat. It was five in the afternoon. I let myself collapse onto the bed. I had slept on the plane some, and I wasn't ready to sleep at all... then I remembered.
The boat's shower hadn't been quite so great, more of a glorified faucet near the ceiling – and there had been no real washing machine for my handful of outfits on the boat either. I'd only even brought one change of clothes with me, which I was wearing. Anyone who got too close might think I was a bum; in hindsight, it was a wonder I didn't get tossed out of the hotel.
I could go down the street back to my place and get changed and dressed, but I didn't feel like doing all that work right then. I stripped down and put my clothes in the laundry bag, and called down to have the hotel pick it up and clean them. I jumped in the shower and finally felt real, hot water, for the first time in weeks - not the lukewarm stuff the boat could produce, despite its countless other amenities. It was refreshing, particularly on my overstressed muscles that I'd been working out constantly on the boat.
I toweled off and took a look at myself in the mirror. In many ways, I was just another modern, middle-low class American guy you'd see on the street; blackish wavy hair, brown eyes, dark-ish skin from my impossibly over-mixed background. Weeks on the boat had tanned me a shade or two darker, yet somehow I hadn't burned; I had to probably credit the Experimenter, yet another 'enhancement' on the endless list of minor upgrades she'd made to me. To us. After a few days on the boat I'd taken to going around with no shirt, or occasionally I would lie in the sun naked. I hated tan lines.
Of course, part of going about in the buff was also to satisfy my new ego – back then, I still couldn't get over having a bigger tool. It hung down low between my legs, a pleasantly meaty, masculine weight... what an idiot I was sometimes. I looked like a true surfer now, and I could tell I'd filled out my muscles some – not much, but the rest was still to come. My hair was short, mainly due to the low maintenance involved, and I'd managed to stay clean-shaven on the yacht, but right then I considered whether I should grow my hair out into dreadlocks. I had the body and look to make it work now, I thought.
I was about five foot nine at the time, and while I never considered myself handsome, I'll let the girls judge that. I wrapped the towel around my waist, feeling pretty satisfied with the new Benedict Stanton at that moment. Maybe I would order room service. I'd go back downstairs later and cover Emily's room bill, I figured; I owed her that much. I opened the bathroom door, stepping back out into the room and thinking I would maybe watch some TV until my clothes were back.
Emily was right there, leaning against the opposite wall with her arms folded. She was glowering at me. I hadn't heard her come in, but she might have heard me showering outside and kept quiet. I froze for a time, probably looking like a terrified animal caught in the headlights; all the great one-liners I'd been trying to think up to greet Emily with suddenly fled. I said nothing for a few seconds.
My sister had always been pretty; like me, she had straight brown hair and eyes, but her skin was a shade darker than mine. Her hair was down just below her shoulders, and tied back into a ponytail at the moment. She was about five feet and three inches, kept herself in good shape, and had delicate yet sharp features that had attracted a whole army of men in her life.
At that moment, she was wearing just some jeans and a light, orange-colored blouse. She'd had many boyfriends through high school and early college, then something happened in her junior year of undergrad that I'd never gotten her to talk about. There'd not been a single one since then, so far as I knew.
"The desk girl said you showed up when I went by. You didn't call me."
