Hiding Out by Tina Alexis Allen

Author:Tina Alexis Allen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2018-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

14

Coronation

“FUCK!” I shout, discovering that the digital bedside clock reads 10 a.m.

My alcohol-soaked brain struggles to solve a normally easy calculation. If it’s 10 a.m., what speed do I have to drive in order to get to Dulles Airport for a 10:30 a.m. arrival from Rome?

I’m missing an important part of the equation: Where am I?

My father’s voice reverberates in my head: “I’ll be arriving early Sunday, so let’s plan on heading straight to brunch, and then onto tea dance at the Lost and Found.”

I dry-heave at the thought of a drink. My temples throb. Lying on my numb shoulder, Violet doesn’t budge. Her nakedness is spread out on the queen-size bed like a Playboy photo shoot, a cream satin sheet covering just below her knees. I assume this is her four-poster bed, but how did we get here? I’m too embarrassed to wake her up and ask. I roll away from her dead weight—135 pounds, I’d guess, of voluptuousness.

Standing brings on another rush of nausea and chills, so I sit naked on the edge of the bed, trying to find a clue amid the expensive antique furniture. The hardwood floor looks like a natural disaster, with tossed lingerie, high heels, a tequila bottle, and one fingerless glove. The rest of our clothes form a trail from the doorway. This is no time to be hungover, or horny, or late.

Sir John is waiting.

The silk curtains aren’t doing much to keep out the bright morning sun as I scan the residential street below for my father’s red convertible. A Cadillac, Mercedes, and other expensive cars are parked outside the crisp Washingtonian townhomes on this unrecognizable street. Where did she tell me that she lived? I vaguely recall leaning up against the wall at a bar, watching a drag queen sing. The rest is a blur. One story below, there’s no sign of my father’s car. I slip on my underpants, feeling tight and sore between my legs, as if the sex went on all night.

I check the clock again, feeling lost and massively confused, the way I did in Sister Mary Claire’s chemistry class. Too many mysterious elements; a missing nucleus. Fuck, what am I going to do? What would Jesus do? Or Ted Kennedy? I finish dressing and rush into an upstairs hallway. A flight of wooden steps with an antique runner down the middle looks vaguely familiar. Down the floral-wallpapered hall is a narrow table with a red lacquer Princess phone. I walk quietly toward it. On the hallway table, calla lilies fill a cylindrical glass vase. I pray no one else lives here. Across the way is a powder blue bathroom with a claw-foot tub and a large sink with spotless silver hardware. I grab the phone and dial.

“May I have the number for Alitalia airlines?” My voice—huskier than normal—startles me. A vision of sharing a pack of cigarettes with Violet on a couch must be real, and would account for my Lauren Bacall register today. I jot down the number and dial.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.