The Summer Wind

By the time his arms were wrapped around me, I realized he'd gone in for a hug. He pressed his body against mine, and I caught the aroma of strawberries bathing under a warm sun. A perfume?

"Gentle Tiger," he whispered in my ear. "If you break it, you buy it."

As I was jolted back into reality, I was shocked to discover that my hands were wrapped tightly around his thin waste. I pulled away, my heart prying at my ribs, searching for a way to escape.

"I'm sorry ... I ..."

"It's alright," he whispered and placed his hands on my chest. "You've had a rough couple of days. You know what? You're too hard on yourself, has anyone ever told you that?"

I looked down at him. I'd almost forgotten, placed back to back, I was actually taller than him. In my mind he was larger than life, towering over me, a mere mortal staring up at a star.

I was mesmerized, my eyes caught in a sticky web, unable to look away. I stared at his soft lips, the lipstick glistening like a fresh coat of paint. I thought I saw the reflection of a thousand flash bulbs, the media, like a squirming wall, all clambering for his attention. But here, in this derelict hallway, several floors up in a concrete box, he was all mine.

I was pulled forward, hooked by a strange lure, following an impulse I couldn't explain. I closed my eyes, and ...

"Easy there tiger. If you topple over and flatten me, the press will have a field day with it tomorrow."

"Oh, sorry," I said, and stumbled back. "I think ... I think I ate to much raw wasabi."

He laughed, leaned in and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

"Sleep it off, you'll feel better in the morning, doctors orders," he said, smiled and turned.

I stood there and watched him go, my eyes glued to every subtle curve. How had he done it? Sorcery? New advances in medical science? Nonsense. It was just a clever use of elastics and engineering, the rest likely padding. Right?

He floated down the hallway, his hips swinging like a bell, the chime ringing in my feverish brain.

... and then he was gone.

I closed the door, locked it, flopped back down on the couch and stared at the TV. It was as entertaining as watching dish water settle. I oozed off of the couch, rolled down the hallway, and crawled into my bed. I tried every trick in the book to fall asleep; calming shores, a blank slate, white noise, nothing seemed to work. I stared up at the ceiling. The thick plaster was brittle and hostile like the lunar surface. I tried to empty my mind and failed. My thoughts were on an endless loop, replaying every detail of the day, the drive-thru at the Burger Bear, sitting in the parking lot peeling the tin foil off the burger like a big greasy fat orange, and that dress ... oh that dress. The floral pattern was etched into my mind. The thin spaghetti straps, the fabric as light as air.

... think of something else.

I had the entire bed to myself, I was free to roam where ever I wanted, sleep in any position I wanted, yet I couldn't find one that was comfortable. I tossed, and turned, my gaze rotating between all four walls and the ceiling, nothing seemed to work.

In the red ember light, I could feel the mechanical eye of the alarm clock staring at me, gleefully counting down the seconds till dawn.

... think of something else.

I thought about Sarah, and the thousand or so odd memories we shared in this small apartment. She was soaked into every surface, running deep like a stubborn stain. I swear I could still hear the faint echo of her voice haunting me from the dark corners of the room.

... think of ...

Screw it, I thought, clawed through the clutter on my nightstand and grabbed my phone. I jumped into the main directory, found the right number and dialed it. The call would go to voice mail, I was certain of it, there was no way they'd be up at this hou ...

"I knew you'd call."

I laughed. "Am I that predictable?" I asked.

"Like a broken clock. Why are you up so late, it's like ..."

"Wait, don't tell me," I whispered. "I prefer not to know."

"Your loss, so tell me, what changed your mind?"

I paused, unable, or unwilling to answer.

"You know what, it's not important. Pick me up tomorrow around eight. I'll be in the lobby tiger," Dean said, and hung up.

I lay there, the dial tone buzzing in my ear. I felt oddly calm, my thoughts on mute. I laid back, and slipped into a comfortable sleep, my dreams stitched together from fragments of the day, the common thread ... that dress, that floral dress.

"Gentle tiger," Dean whispered in my ear. "Save something for the weekend."

Chapter Three

My alarm clock fired like a relay pistol signaling the start of a new day. Several seconds later I was up and in the shower. I fumbled through my morning ritual, my body on autopilot, my mind consumed by a host of unanswered questions.

I was almost out the door before I realized I'd forgotten to pack. I spun around and quickly threw together the bare essentials. When I finally left, I may or may not have locked up the apartment. I didn't bother to turn around and find out. I jumped into my car and hit the road. I counted every traffic light, both hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, and stayed well below the speed limit until I was at the hotel. I didn't want any unwanted attention or surprises. I arrived early, circled several times, my eyes glued to the front entrance. Nothing ... nothing, and then ...

... and there he was, standing in the center of the lobby. He was wearing a sundress, skimpier than the one he'd worn the night before. It was bright like a ripe strawberry with white polka dots. The spaghetti straps were wire thin. The hem of the skirt hung just above his thighs, his long toned legs on full display.

I swung my head around just as I was about to plow into a parked car and slammed on the breaks. The wheels squealed, the cheap rubber smearing across the asphalt before the car came to a sudden halt. I looked back, every eye in the lobby was locked on me. Behind his thick bubble sunglasses, I could see Dean smiling devilishly.

Two large suitcases flanked him like security guards. Even in his clever disguise, he still had the aura of a celebrity. It was as if he had been plucked up from a glamorous premier. He waved at me and headed in my direction.

As he rolled his suitcases through the lobby, I popped the trunk. I fought with the car door, the rusted hinges refusing to budge as I threw my weight against it. It burst open and I almost spilled out onto the driveway.

"First day on the job?" he teased as he approached me.

"Hilarious," I said, found my balance and reached for his suitcases.

"I'd tip you ... but," he said and gestured at his sun dress. "No pockets. You don't know how much you'll miss them till they're gone."

I grunted as I lifted his suitcase. "Did you leave anything in the room?" I asked as I hoisted it up and into the trunk.

"Almost. Always assume the weathers going to change on a dime and pack accordingly."

I looked down at his second suitcase. Was he expecting a hailstorm? As I stared at it, I glanced over at him. He'd been poured into the dress; every curve was like poison on the tip of a blade, one touch deadly. How had he done it, shapeware? And the breasts ... that didn't explain the breasts. Foam, plastic?

"Careful, or your eyes might roll out of their sockets."

"What?" I asked, as I slipped out of my feverish dream. "Sorry, I'm still a bit groggy. Coffee?"

"Sure, there's plenty in the lobby, free even, but it tastes like they mixed it with dish soap, so I'd recommend we grab some on the way."

I nodded in approval, slammed the trunk shut and got back behind the wheel.

"So no one's going to panic if you mysteriously vanish for two days?" I asked as he slipped into the passenger seat.

He flipped the sun visor down. A small light should have popped on, but it had burned out long before I'd bought the car. He pulled a slim metal tube of lipstick out of his purse, puckered his lips, and stared up into the mirror.

"I left my agent a vague message this morning," he said as he applied the lipstick. "She won't be surprised. Every now and again I unplug and go off the grid. It drives the insurance companies crazy, but she's come to expect it."

He turned to face me, his lips glistening like a ripe cherry.

"How do I look?" he asked, pressing them together.

"Ahhhh," I mumbled as I blindly searched for the cars ignition.

He laughed. "Do you need directions? I can look them up on my phone."

"I think I can manage," I said.

I started the car. The engine growled like a hungry stray before shifting into gear.

We stopped for coffee at a small local bistro tucked away in an industrial park. I scribbled his order down on an old faded receipt, certain I'd forget one of the crucial steps, and went in solo. The line moved at a brisk pace, each patron delivering their order in a clear voice, then stepped aside. When it was my turn, I approached the barista. He was riddled like a punch card, his piercings like the emptied contents of a junk drawer. His hair appeared to be unable to settle on a specific colour, so it chose several. Personally, I had no tattoos, but if I was planning to get one, there were dozens peeking out from the hem of his button up shirt to choose from. Still, behind the rough veneer, his smile was genuine, sweet.

"What can I get cha?" he asked.

I ordered the dullest thing on the menu, then pulled out the receipt. The ink was smeared across the thin glossy paper.

"Ah, well, I think a ..."

Whap!

An alarm went off in my brain, the source: an impact to my shoulder. I stumbled, recovered and spun around. The first thing I saw was the scaly skin of a reptile fashioned into the shape of a suit, the colour like dried charcoal.

"Idiot," the man sneered, his eyes like daggers piercing the barista. "I said oat, not soya. Are you deaf?"

He slammed the paper tray down on the counter. the two cups almost burst open. His other hand was raised, holding a cellphone close to his ear. His hair was slicked back, the gel hardened into razor sharp quills. His artificial tan was like a grease stain. He reminded me of an oily wolf in a cheap suit.

The Barista looked at me, then quickly at him.

"Sorry about that, let me fix that for you right away." he said, picked up the tray and vanished amongst the coffee machines.

I remained still, my eyes fixed on the menu written on the chalkboards hung above the cash register. I could feel him hovering near me, volatile, like a lit stick of dynamite. As I peeked from the corner of my eye, I could see the other patrons simmering, close to a boil.

"What? no, I wasn't talking to you," he hissed into his phone. "Yea ... Yea. No, no one you'd know. What? I don't know a couple of months. How? It doesn't matter. Her X was a total loser ... Look, just have it done by Monday. I won't be in till then. What? I don't know, that's not my fucking problem. I ... "

"And here we are, two medium coffees with oat milk," the Barista said and set them down.

"I'll call you back," the Oily Wolf said, hung up and pocketed his phone. He eyed them suspiciously, then picked one up, brought it to his lips and took a sip.

The Barista didn't blink, his smile set in concrete.

The Oily Wolf took another sip, grunted, and grabbed the other coffee. He spun around and headed towards the door. I watched him as he slipped into a sleek sports car shaped like a dung beetle. Its windows were tinted, its colour like wet moss. Next to my rusted wreck, it still looked like the better deal.

"Sorry about that," the Barista said. "All the rats tend to flee the city on the weekend in their trashy sports cars. Those lucky enough not to wrap them around a tree, return home safe and sound. The funny thing is, I told him three times we were out of oat milk, which he would have heard had he not been glued to his phone."

I laughed. "So that was ..."

The Barista pulled out a small carton of soya milk hidden behind the coffee machine.

I snorted.

"So what can I get cha?" the Barista asked, smiling.

I looked down at the receipt again. The words had turned to jelly.

"Ah, well ..." I said, as I stared at it.

"Do you mind?" He asked. "I'm well versed in chicken scratch."

I handed him the receipt. He took one glance at it and went to work.

I turned back to look at the parking lot. The Oily Wolf's sports car had left a thick greasy stain on the asphalt. Dean was still seated in the passenger seat, gazing up into the clear blue sky.

"Any big plans for the weekend?" The barista asked as he followed my gaze.

"What? Oh right, nothing out of the ordinary, just taking it easy. How much do I owe you?" I asked.

He smiled again and looked back at me. "It's on the house, enjoy your weekend."

I thanked him and returned to the car. Dean had pushed the car seat back. He was stretched out, heels resting on the dash, his long legs bathing in the sun. My eyes followed the subtle curves of his body. The warm summer light soaked through his thin summer dress. I saw the faint hint of what he was wearing underneath, panties?

"Did you almost start a fight in there?" he asked as he took his coffee. "The guy next to us was foaming at the mouth."

"What?" I said, prying my eyes off of him. "Oh that, yea, that was nothing, just a mix up."

"Uh huh," he said and took a sip.

I started the engine, put the car in reverse and followed the GPS. I stuck to the main artery of the highway, cruising at a comfortable speed.

The tightly packed concrete buildings eventually receded, replaced by lush green trees. I'd almost forgotten what the sky looked like when it wasn't clogged with telephone poles and power lines. I rolled the window down and listened as the cars wheels coasted across the black asphalt like a needle over a vinyl record.

My mind felt clearer, unclogged. Out here, there were fewer frequencies for it to pick up.

"Next exit on your right," Dean said, sipping his coffee. "The directions get a little fuzzy after that, but we should be able to find it."

I took the off ramp, turned left and crossed over the highway. The road narrowed and wove up and into the low rolling hills. I counted the numbers on the small rural mail boxes, we were close.

"It should be the next one on your right."

I looked, there was a small gap in the trees marked by an elegant looking sign that read ...

"The Summer Wind Spa and Resort!" Dean said, gleefully. "I can practically taste the complimentary champagne."

I signaled, and turned onto a small gravel road. I looked up through the windshield. The trees towered above us, piercing the sky.

"This definitely beats my last trip into the woods," he said as he watched the tall pines pass by.

"Oh?" I asked as I fought with the steering wheel, the car unaccustomed to the rough terrain.

"Yea, it was a real nasty shoot. We were down in a swamp for five days. One of the fattest pay checks I ever got, but one of my worst experiences."

"For a movie?" I asked.

"No, a commercial for a knock off vodka. It went belly up before it even launched. Rumor was they were mixing in some unsavory ingredients."

"Did you try it?"

"I wish. They gathered every crate, loaded them all up in a truck and dumped it in the swamp. Who knows, maybe that's the key to making great vodka."

I laughed.

The road wove through several turns before opening up into a large open space. Had I hit a dead end? As I looked closer, I started to pull out specific details that seemed out of place; a reflective glass surface, flat rectangular brick walls and small cast iron lanterns marking several small paths.

"I love the nature vibe. I can already feel the stress seeping out of every pore. Park there, over by the Sporenzi."

I followed his line of sight to a row of tightly packed cars.

"Take your time. I don't want to know what it costs to repair one of these if you bounce off it like a pinball."

I eased the car into an empty spot and turned off the engine. Dean undid his belt and opened the passenger side door.

"Need any help with the bags?" he asked.

"I think I can manage," I said as I fought with my car door.

"I'll meet you at reception," he said and started to walk up the winding path. I watched him go, his hips swinging with each stride. Practice? When? It was so natural. Or was it Acting? Was he that good?

A second later, he was gone.

I popped the door open and stepped out. The gravel shifted under my sneakers. I could smell the sap seeping through the thick bark of the pine trees. When was the last time I'd been in a forest? I was too close to the heart of the city to hike, and what passed as trees in the small patch of dirt they called a city park looked like shriveled up dead weeds.

Was that why Sarah had left me? No ... no, that couldn't be it.

Could it?

Our relationship had been on stable ground. We rarely fought, rarely argued. Sure, one week bled into another, but we had the weekends. I'd never complained. I was content to just lounge on the couch and binge watch TV. Then, rinse and repeat and do it all again the following week.

Was that not enough?

My mind spun in circles replaying all the little arguments I'd managed to extinguish before they'd turned into full blown fights. Had the signs been there all along? Was our relationship destined to fail from the start? Was I doomed to repeat the same mistakes?

The debate raged on in my head as I walked around to the trunk, fought with the latch and started to unload the luggage.

I packed everything up into a neat pile. I should have been impressed, but I was unable to focus. Had I been able too, I might have noticed the grease stain slowly forming underneath the car shaped like a dung beetle parked beside us.

Chapter Four

"Really?" Dean asked, grinning at me like a ghoul.

I stared at the door, confused. There was no lock, no keycard reader, no handle. It was just a flat rectangular slab of unfinished steel with the room number engraved into it.

"Want a hint?" he asked.

I looked down again at the pamphlet the front desk clerk had handed me. There was a daily itinerary, several brochures for local attractions ... and no key card.

"Have you tried asking it nicely?"

"Are you serious?" I asked, and looked over at him. He was savoring every second. He burst out laughing, stepped forward and waved the thin rubber bracelet the front desk had given us both in front of it. The door beeped and slid into the wall.

"Everything is automated. You just have to flash your wrist band at it and it'll respond. That applies to the mini fridge and pretty much everything else in the room. I'm surprised that tripped you up, it's pretty common now."

"Yes, well ..." I said, as my cheeks went flush. Wrist band, right ... of course, got it."

I'd thought nothing of it and pocketed mine. It had been the least of my worries. My goal had been to get through check-in as quickly as possible, with as few questions as were necessary. Dean, in classic Dean fashion had made a show of it.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" the front desk clerk had asked us, with a warm friendly smile.

I'd kept my head down, eyes lowered, like I'd just been pulled over for speeding.

"Are the pools stocked with towels, or is streaking frowned upon?" Dean giggled, while he hung off my arm.

"Towels are there if you need them."

"And are the bars open twenty four hours, or is it like, self serve after three am?"

"Our pool lounge is staffed twenty four hours."

"And do you carry all the amenities ... I mean like ... all of them."

"Well, that depends on what you're ..."

"I think that answers all of our questions," I blurted out.

"Well, if you have any more, just dial 0 and we'd be happy to help," the front desk clerk said through her concrete smile.