3.17 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Don’t let him bite you, ma’am,” the golf man pleaded. “He’s going to kill you. His kind suck the blood out of your body and leave you lying in a dry heap of skin.” I had just taken a sip of coffee. With golf guy’s words, I almost spit it out. Timothy slid in beside me on the chair next to mine, no longer hovering above the stranger with the potentially hot missile of food. Instead, Timothy planted his plate on the table and draped his arm over my shoulder. “You okay?” he asked me. We were in a semi-busy restaurant with a family that included three little children only a few yards away. Couples were mooning over each other at the tables to our right and left, and a young waiter was scurrying over with a full coffee pot, ready to do refills. Although I should have been nervous about the crazy who’d joined us, the dog growls of our two guards, and the strangely cold voice of Timothy as he’d subtly warned the guy away, I was actually feeling remarkably safe. I picked up the dull-edged knife from my place setting, just to be sure, then wondered if a fork was a better weapon. “There will be no need for that,” Timothy said, removing the implement from my hand. “Mr. Peters was just leaving.” “Wait a minute,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee, then indicating to the server that I was ready for a fill-up. The waiter poured, and I paused my inquisition. Our valiant waiter filled all the cups and asked Mr. Peters if he would like a cup of coffee. “No. He’s not staying,” Timothy said, practically barking at the poor young man. “In fact, Carl,” Timothy said, reading the server’s name tag, “If this man isn’t out of here in one minute, I want the security staff to haul him out. His presence is offensive.”
3.16 The Abyss
Chapter Twelve In the morning, after Terry and Bob informed us that they hadn’t spotted the golfing jerk since the night before, the four of us headed down for breakfast in the hotel’s fancy restaurant. There, a long table was spread with every kind of breakfast food imaginable. The fruit bar looked especially appealing, purely from an artistic perspective, but I wasn’t feeling like eating a huge breakfast. I’d already eaten a shiny apple and munched on a red-waxed cheese (plus a couple of gingerbread cookies.) So, I asked for coffee and an English muffin. The offerings in the center of our table showed packages of honey. That was my favorite topping. Terry and Bob did the banquet thing and came back with mounded plates. I hated when food puddled together, but I guess that didn’t bother them. I sipped my coffee as they dug in, and then Timothy set off to fix himself a plate full of goodies. I had just received my English muffin and was in the process of decorating each half with sweet goodness, when Golf Jerk pulled over a chair and sat down at our table. I guess Terry and Bob had been too fixated on their breakfasts to notice the guy’s approach, and I’d been preparing my twin muffin slices for that first delicious bite. “What are you doing here?” I asked the stranger, slightly preoccupied with licking a honeyed finger. Bob or Terry, one of them, growled. It was a sound that sent chills down my spine, at least for me. My honey-iced English muffin halves suddenly lost their appeal. “I promise I’ll leave, if you just give me a moment to speak with the young lady. I need to warn her,” the guy said. “Warn her about what?” Timothy asked, coming up behind us and speaking with a voice that reminded me of a movie where the cold-blooded assassin made light conversation with his victim. Same tonal quality. Timothy was towering over the seated stranger. If I’d been golf man, I’d have worried about the hot plate of food hovering over my head. And then there was the ominous assassin voice of my . . . well, boyfriend, lover, and maybe fiancé.
3.15 The Abyss of WonderLand
I continued walking around, checking out our riches. Timothy sat and watched me with a huge smile, his back pressed against the leather couch, his legs crossed loosely in a relaxed mode. He acted like someone without a care, yet downstairs, wasn’t that strange man probably still lurking about on the prowl? “Don’t you want to investigate our suite?” I asked him, but Timothy only shook his head and smiled more broadly. A marvelously giant bed with a cool green bedspread took up a good portion of the bedroom. As I’d said it could fit a family of five. I sat down and tried out the mattress. Feeling like Goldilocks, I pronounced, “The mattress feels just right – not too soft or too hard.” Timothy, still in the other room, now unseen, gave a big laugh, not an evil one, not one of mockery either. It was more as if I’d just said the final line of a good joke. The bathroom had a lovely tub bigger than my kitchen. I heard Timothy stand up, then his hard-heeled shoes padded on the velvety carpet. A moment later, he entered the bathroom and swept in behind me. “The bathtub is a whirlpool,” he said, wrapping his arms around my body. “And it will be fun to share it with you.” I ignored the innuendo. I was still having too much fun touring the suite. I wiggled free and examined the freebies on the tub rack. Five bottles of bubbles had been placed near the jacuzzi tub: lavender-chamomile, eucalyptus-spearmint with essential oils, citrus detox, sweet almond- vanilla, and peach with sea mineral salts. I took a whiff of each of them and decided that if I had time, I’d try every one of them. Big green towels filled a second rack on the wall. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, hand cream, and a selection of other goodies were stacked neatly along the gorgeous counter and sink. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I told Timothy. “That comes next,” he said, placing his arms around my body as he whispered into my ear. His arms twirled me about and then his lips joined mine. One of my pocketed apples hit the bathroom tile and rolled across the floor. Neither of us bothered to stop what we were doing to pick it up. Oh, and Timothy was right about heaven. It was found underneath that minty green bedspread on the mattress that was just right.
3.14 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy pretended to ignore him, threw his arm around my shoulder, and indicated that we were heading for the elevator. We got there just before the strange man did. His face darkened with rage as the door closed in his face. Timothy held his finger on the closed button, keeping it from opening at the man’s summons. Moments later, the four of us stepped off on the floor beneath our rooms and had to walk up two flights of stairs. I guessed we were doing secret agent stuff. Why not just tell the man to shove off? Couldn’t we call the police about someone so obviously following us? But it wasn’t question time, not with the three stiff bodies of the men and the serious looks on their faces. Terry, the Viking warrior who didn’t care for apples, had his hand in his pocket. Was he carrying a gun? When we reached the door that our key card liked, Bob peeled off to the right. Terry took the room on the other side of us, which meant that Timothy and I had an entire suite to ourselves. I’ve got to say that the room was divine from my first glance, but as we stepped into its swankiness, I saw why Timothy hadn’t taken any apples. There was a large bowl of mixed fruit on the table in the center of the room, plus little cookies, some cheeses enshrined in red wax, and even a vegetable platter with carrots, celery, and radishes, all of it sitting on fresh ice. I set off to explore the rest of the room, marveling at its size. We had a full living room with comfy chairs, lamps, a cabinet with alcoholic drinks, a large couch, and the beautiful mahogany table with food. A sideboard even had full-sized Keurig coffee maker and underneath it, I saw a microwave oven and a small refrigerator. The living room looked out over a balcony with chairs. We could almost see the ocean from our inside window. San Diego’s evening air had grown chilly, so I scurried back inside. The bedroom looked bigger than my whole apartment. It had pieces of furniture that could probably hold the contents of at least five suitcases full of clothing. The bed had the potential to allow a soccer team to pile onto it, not that I thought that would be a good idea, but huge doesn’t describe it accurately. I’d guess it was a king-sized plus. In other words, the suite was amazing. I’d always thought that hotel rooms were supposed to be tiny with only a TV and a twin bed. That’s what someone had told me, anyway. This place could be comfortable for a member of the British royalty, a CEO billionaire, or even the president of the United States!
3.13 The Abyss of WonderLand
The four of us made our way over to a long counter where three attendants stood. They were all women wearing stunning uniforms, which looked designer to me. I had the urge to ask Simone. She’d know. The women’s cherry red skirt suits with the swanky hotel identification badge made me feel like I was entirely out of place. I was wearing a white tee shirt, jeans, and a hooded, zippered, navy sweatshirt. Simone, if she were with us, would have had a fit. Each of the women paused to give us a smile. They didn’t just concentrate on Timothy either. I felt equally welcomed with their quiet-voiced greetings. On the counter was a huge bowl of shiny red apples. I wanted one, but I thought they might just be decorative. Two four-foot bouquets of flowers had been plopped on the counter at each side of the apples. The flowers were pretty, I supposed, and artfully assembled, but the bouquet was made up of the raunchy kind of flowers, those that made you sick if you stood too close. I pitied the hospitality staff, which is what the ladies’ name tags said. Timothy signed in for all of us, then handed rectangular cards to Terry and Bob. “Are the apples for us?” I asked, blurting it out as I had the tendency to do. But I could smell the apples, and they were my favorite kind — red delicious. “Help yourself,” the woman with Tina on her name tag said, smiling at me. “Take a couple if you like. I do all the time.” “How do you put up with those stinky flowers?” I asked her. The woman next to her, Donna, shrugged. “We get used to it. It only bothers us the first ten minutes we’re standing here.” Timothy was barely keeping his laughter back. When his eyes twinkled as they were doing at that moment, the hints of gold shone through. I wondered if he knew that. Bob reached out and grabbed two apples, and I did the same. Timothy and Terry acted like they didn’t care for apples. How could anyone not like Red Delicious? Just as I’d palmed my apples, the males all stiffened. I turned to see what was bothering them. The golf guy had just entered the hotel. His eyes fixated on us.
3.12 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Of course. I’d never risk you, my darling. I told you it was completely safe.” Timothy was smiling at me, a smile so gentle and full, I almost melted. Instead, I simply kissed him, right on the cheek. (And yes, I wanted to kiss him better, but there were people all around.) There was a lot of congestion getting off the plane. We waited until the aisle was clear, even though others offered to let us go first. I was feeling a bit claustrophobic by then, but I certainly wasn’t going to say so. Besides, being smothered in a crowd would be worse than waiting. Eventually, the aisle cleared, and Timothy and I got up. The two guards behind us piled in at our backs. We walked down the aisle, our exit from the plane unhurried and uncrushed. We exchanged smiles with the flight attendants. Then we walked down through another tunnel and departed the terminal a few moments later. Since none of us had checked baggage, it was an unrestricted walk. We caught a taxi immediately at the curb and sped off to our hotel. I guess all this was something most people had done before, but I’d never ridden in a taxi or stayed at a hotel. I was having a lot of new adventures! “I booked us a shared room,” Timothy whispered into my ear. “Is that okay? I can change it to separate rooms if you like.” “Like my grandmother used to say, When you’ve already traversed a bridge, it’s too late to wonder if it was safe to cross,” I said, which made Timothy laugh and then give me a quick hug. The hotel from the front looked enormous, all white pillars and velvet green bushes with lots of flowers in bloom. The double door entrée had an automatic circular sliding door. Its glass was so clean, I suspected the staff must wipe it every hour. The front door had thick red carpeting sprawled across the entrance and a huge red tarp-like overhang to protect both the plush carpet and any guests afraid to dart outside into the rain. Huge pots on each side held a combination of pink and deep purple azaleas, which should have clashed with the red of the welcome mat carpet, but didn’t. We entered through the fancy door. Timothy did the pushing, while I just enjoyed the sensation of gliding a circular dance. Stepping out and into the lobby, I let out an ah of amazement. Everything was shiny. The floors looked like mirrors, they sparkled so, as did the chandeliers overhead. There were comfy chairs, tables, and lamps. The entire area was like a giant living room with people sitting around reading newspapers or studying their cellphones. An elevator toward the back in a coppery color looked like it had just been buffed. How did the hotel staff keep things so clean with people constantly touching the doors and buttons? Did housekeeping immediately rush forward and wipe the windows, counters, and elevator every time a person came near?
3.11 The Abyss of WonderLand
Just as Timothy was about to respond, the pilot announced that we were approaching our destination. “Welcome to San Diego. We are right on schedule, despite that little bit of turbulence. We will be setting down at the local time of 5:15 pm. The weather in San Diego is a pleasant 73 degrees, so if you speed through baggage claim, you may be able to catch one of our lovely ocean sunsets. “The seat belt sign has been turned on. We ask that you return to your seats, fasten your safety belt, and place your seat in the upright position. Please remain seated until the all clear is announced. Your safety is our first priority,” he chanted with a smoothness that told me he gave this same rehearsed speech daily. I hope safety is your first priority, I thought, remembering how landings were the most dangerous part of airflight. Why would anyone take off their safety belt, anyway? It wasn’t like we could do somersaults in the aisles. I scoffed at the pilot’s message, but then I saw people refastening their safety belts. Amazing. Through the window, I could see the ocean and patches of houses and roads. We were flying over a major freeway. The buildings got taller, then we passed those by and were suddenly over the runway. My stomach churned. The wings flapped. A stewardess came over the loudspeaker, reminding us to remain seated. Dull noises were rumbling from beneath us. “The wheels are dropping.” Timothy said. That was a good thing. Without wheels, we wouldn’t do well. I knew that. I felt it the moment we touched down. It wasn’t smooth, but the fact that we’d made a touchdown was a big relief, because it meant we were back on land. The plane was still coasting along, probably moving faster than a car on a freeway, but I could feel the plane braking. “We made it!” I said, which made Timothy chortle.
3.10 The Abyss of WonderLand
“You are pondering something. I can see it in your expression,” Timothy said. I shrugged. “I was just thinking about flying and how all these people do it so casually. They seem blasé, but airplane flight is such an odd concept, climbing into a huge metal object that lifts up and pretends to be a bird with a hundred people sitting inside its belly.” Timothy smiled and patted my leg. “I love your thoughts, Penelope.” He reached out with the hand I’d squeezed to death and lifted a strand of my hair to kiss it. “You always smell of coconut and strawberries. It’s a very pleasant scent, especially on my favorite lady.” “That’s Simone’s choice of shampoo,” I told him, glancing out the window to make sure that I hadn’t missed anything, but we were in the center of a cloudbank. Whiteness had swallowed us. “It doesn’t smell like this on Simone,” Timothy said, looking bemused. Bemused? I’d never even thought that word before. How amusing. Next I’d be talking of museums, amusements, plain old muses, and ignoramuses, although I had no idea if the last one was part of the word family. Snapping my mind out of its silly pathways, I kidded Timothy. “So, you sniff at Simone’s hair, do you?” His eyes darkened. “She is a friend of long standing, but I have never sniffed her hair, nor had any inclination to do so. This compulsion to touch, taste, and analyze aromas centers exists only with you, my darling.” I could see that he was about to say more, but then he clammed up. It must be something about being a pooka or about Simone, a thought he couldn’t share. But I wasn’t going to pry, not in a public place. I dropped the subject, deciding that Timothy was much too serious about such statements to tease him any further. I shot another glance out the window. The plane was doing an elevator drop. My stomach felt the movement. “Are we landing?” I asked.
3.9 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy and I started hunting through the shows on my screen when the plane ran into some turbulence. I’d never been a fan of roller coasters. Even mad rides in the small cars at amusement parks seemed unfathomable to me. But here I was bouncing around and clinging once again to Timothy’s hand as if he had the power to correct whatever was wrong with the plane. “It’s just a little turbulence,” Timothy kept saying. “It’s only the air currents, and the pilot knows how to fly us through them safely. No worries. It will be over in a minute.” All around me, people were bobbing about like toy balsa boats in the current. No one was screaming or acting in the least bit frightened by the jet streams that Timothy was babbling about. And, just as Timothy had said, the turbulence soon settled down, or else our pilot had flown us through it. I let out a big sigh of relief and released poor Timothy’s overly squashed hand. Then, as if nothing onward had occurred, we resumed our search of the monitor’s offerings and finally found a comedy series, which we watched for a few minutes. It was funny, and I hadn’t seen the show before, but I was in an airplane, up in the air, and it seemed much more important to peer down at the ground and take in all that was happening around me. For instance, the people sitting near us, bottled up inside this capsule, were all strangers mixed and seated among other strangers. Like being in an elevator, trapped and pretending that you didn’t see those standing next to you. How could anyone relax when the person beside them was an unknown — a CEO, a famous physician . . . a murderer. What were these people feeling and thinking? Didn’t being surrounded by so many mysteries bother them? And where were they going? Who would they be meeting at the airport? Were the passengers visiting relatives, traveling for business, or returning home? Were they happy about that? Was it the start of a vacation or the end of one?
3.8 The Abyss of WonderLand
I sipped at my drink. It was tart and sweet. I guess it was like the cranberry sauce we had at Thanksgiving, but that was usually eaten with dressing or a biscuit. This drink had pucker power. I laughed softly. “You enchant me, my darling,” Timothy said, leaning closer to whisper in my ear. “Why?” I asked, turning to face him. “Because I almost mashed your hand into black and blue bruises?” He let out a laugh that turned heads in our direction. But with all the eyes on him, he only shrugged and smiled. That was all it took. Everyone stopped frowning and went back to their activities. “Everything about you pleases me. Even the way you’re testing that cranberry juice as if it’s startling new, and you haven’t decided whether you like it or not.” “It’s awfully sweet,” I said, not sure what to do with something I didn’t want any more of. Timothy took the glass from me. “Are you done with it?” he asked. When I nodded, he drank the rest. I think he liked it better than I did, or at least, he didn’t pucker his lips like I had. “Too bad we don’t have time for a movie,” he said. “But I want you to open your water and drink some. Cabin air is dry. Your body needs the water.” Like an obedient child, I twisted off the bottle top and drank a few sips. There was no way I planned on walking to the bathroom on a plane high up in the sky. I guess I was slightly curious about what a toilet room looked like on an airplane, but I could just look it up on the Internet if I was really that snoopy.