Just Surrender...

“I bet you use meds for sleep,” she muttered, because she didn’t like being a failure at anything. It was a trait inherited from her father—one of the very few that she admitted.

“No meds. You have to be smart about your life. Control stress, eat healthy, exercise.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s your funeral,” he answered.

“Hey, I’m not the one sleeping alone tonight,” she shot back. Perhaps it was a petty taunt, but it wasn’t like his ego couldn’t take it.

“Barnaby?” He sounded shocked. Disapproving.

Delicious.

“Nah,” she answered smoothly. “I’ll go out trolling after I drop you off. Premeditation takes all the spontaneity out of it. It’s like walking around with a lightning rod over your head and pretending to be surprised when the storm hits. What fun is that?”

And he completely bought it. “You’re going to go hook up with some stranger?”

“Oh, sure,” she gushed, finally discovering which buttons to push. “It’s a lot more exciting that way.”

“It’s unsafe.”

“Not if you’re smart.”

“What if he’s a criminal?”

He sounded genuinely concerned. It was sweet, but unnecessary since Edie didn’t believe in one-night stands. Sex was part of the biological symbiosis that wove through the earth. You had to follow the strands of karmic DNA that were laid out in front of you, and picking up strange men in clubs was forging a connection that didn’t exist.

She noticed his worried frown, and should have eased up on the man. But not yet. “You can tell a killer by the eyes, cold and flat, missing the soul.”

“By that definition, I’m a serial killer.”

She smiled. “No, you’re not. I can read your eyes.”

“Right,” he shot back. Cocky, but clueless. Typical. “What do my eyes say?” he asked, possibly because of her dismissing snort. “You really want to know?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, you know you want to.”

And once again, he sighed. “Go ahead.”

She considered fibbing, but Mr. Trench Coat needed something to perk him up. “You’re cold and flat, but you still possess the soul. However, you belong in the Hilton, not the Belvedere.”

“Flattering.”

“Yet, true,” she dared him to deny it.

“Why is Manhattan that way?” he finally asked, his hand pointing to the west. “Shouldn’t we be headed in that direction?”

“I thought you’d like to see more of the outer boroughs. Most people don’t appreciate the architectural diversity of the city. It’s very picturesque.”

“I’m not going to pay extra because you got lost.”

Lost? Edie? Ha. “Flat rate from the airport to the city. It’s the rules.”

“Now you’re law-abiding?”

“You’re just fun to joke with, and you look like you needed cheering up.”

“It’s late. I’m tired. I want to get to the hotel.”

“Are you always this crabby when you’re tired?”

“No.”

“Don’t you want to see Underground New York, the part that tourists always overlook?”

“No.”

“At some point, you’ll have to get out and see the sights. You can’t let rejection get you down. She’s not worth it.”

“She’s not getting me down.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Believe what you want. Tonight, when you’re alone in bed staring at that mirror on the ceiling, you’ll see those empty eyes. And before I know it, you’ll be the front page, having jumped naked from the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“A mirror on the ceiling?” he repeated, picking out the least inflammatory bit of her sentence. It said so much about his sexual psyche.

“Of course. You should check out the theater.”

“What theater?”

“At the hotel. It’s live. The guests can reserve a time slot, and ahem…perform for whoever wants to watch. I heard the seats fill up fast.”

“Please, no.”

Edie grinned at him in the mirror. “I’m kidding.”

“I thought so,” he told her, so obviously a lie.

“I’m kidding about the reservations. It’s first-come, first-serve.”

“I don’t believe you,” he answered stiffly, but she noticed him pulling at the knot at his throat.

Certainly, some of the Belvedere tales were urban legends, and then some were nothing but Page Six gossip, although Edie firmly believed that where there was smoke, there was usually an arsonist with a can of kerosene and a match that didn’t want to light. Frankly, a viewing room sounded fun—as long as the man was sexy, and the woman didn’t have leg hair. Edie always shaved. A woman needed some standards.

“Suit yourself.”

“Can you just take me to the hotel?” he asked, impatience finally starting to show. Sadly Edie realized that her joyride, such as it was, was over. She’d have to go back to the apartment. Have to listen to her upstairs neighbor and his girlfriend getting hot and sweaty between the sheets. She’d have to stare at bad TV, and listen to the clock ticking in the dark. All of which she hated with a passion.