We stayed at the Hard Rock Hotel. Sarah had insisted that I needed a serious injection of fun. The nightly rate was steeper than I would have liked, but I happily took it out of the inheritance fund. I harbored no guilt, particularly after seeing the splendor of his accommodations with his mistress. The interior of the hotel was slick and urban. Counters were underlit with electric blue, and the far wall behind the checkin desks was painted to look like a rock concert crowd. Thin men in black turtlenecks and tight black pants checked us in.
When we got to our room, I flung open the mini-fridge.
“Careful!” Sarah warned. “These places charge you for opening the door.”
Ignoring her warning, I pulled out an airline-sized bottle of Crown Royal and downed it in one gulp. I flopped backward on the bed, splayed like a starfish, wanting to sleep for days and weeks and months and wake up when I reached the bottom of the rabbit hole, when all the facts had been assimilated for me, and I could stop feeling unwillingly whipped around by circumstance.
Lying on the opposite bed, Sarah stared at the ceiling. “How’s Drew?”
I sighed. “He’s happy to let me use him, and it’s what I continue to do, I guess.”
Sarah had a crush on Drew, not a serious one, but the way she had a crush on everyone. She loved men. She loved Greg, and she loved Drew. She always joked that it must be so great to have two husbands. In retrospect, the joke must have needled Greg. Probably because it was true.
She playfully hit me in the face with a pillow and pointed toward the shower. “Get up. We’re going out to eat.” She wagged a finger at me. “Look, you wanted me to come to bring you some fun. So that’s what I’m going to do. You know what restaurant is in this hotel? Nobu! Where movie stars hang out!”
“Sarah, there are no movie stars in San Diego. You’re in the wrong city.”
Unsatisfied with my crabbiness, she pushed me into the bathroom. I turned the water on, letting the steam fog the mirrors. Though the bedside table read six o’clock, my body still thought nine. However, I wasn’t too tired to appreciate the lush bathroom amenities. With the marble countertops and an oversized shower tiled in deep variegated slate, it might not have been The Grand Del Mar, but it was the nicest hotel I’d ever stayed in.
“Hey!” Sarah called from the other side of the door. “Do you know the Black Eyed Peas designed a room in this hotel?”
I smiled in spite of myself, shaking my head. The shower felt wonderful, hot and strong. Uninterrupted. After drying off, I chose a simple black wrap dress from my suitcase, my new size eight. I may have been overwhelmed by my life, but I looked fantastic, the best I’d looked in years. I felt a stab of longing. For Greg? Or Drew? I didn’t know. For a man who loved me. I wished suddenly that I was not there in a fabulously trendy hotel with Sarah, but with Drew. My thoughts were marbles, shaking in a jar, ricocheting off one another: one marble for missing Greg, one for hating him, one for wanting Drew, one for wanting to pull the blankets over my head and sleep forever.
Sarah whistled when I emerged from the bathroom. “Woman, you look amazing!”
After a quick blow dry of my hair and some basic makeup, I not only looked normal, but possibly pretty great. Looking good helped my psyche. My melancholy faded, replaced by a fluttering in my belly that I vaguely remembered as excitement.
I admired Sarah’s nonchalance in choosing her clothes. She got ready in less than ten minutes, looking thrown together, yet wonderful in a way I could never pull off. She piled her hair atop her head in a trendy, messy bun and wore a white strapless sheath dress that made her seem positively willowy.
We headed downstairs to Nobu, and because it was Wednesday, we were able to walk in without reservations. We didn’t see any celebrities, and Sarah pouted. After dinner, we decided to have a drink in the hotel bar, which was surprisingly crowded. Apparently, we were staying at the only hotel I’d ever been to where the lobby bar was a chic place to hang out. Black tables and chairs with electric blue under-lighting dotted the room. The bar in the back held liquor bottles illuminated by neon lights, sparkling like costume jewelry.
I noticed the stares of men, and instead of my usual dismissal, I smiled encouragingly, returning their gazes. I nudged Sarah and nodded toward the corner, where two men sat at a table, both tall and good-looking.
She looked at me, astonished. Yes, I notice men, too. She glanced back at the table and gave the guys a small wave. I felt a bubble of excitement. Oh, my God. I’m having fun. How long has it been? We each got a martini, extra dirty with extra olives, and sat at one of the two top tables closest to the bar.
“Claire, you’re different.” She sucked the olives off her martini pick.