Short Time

The getaway offer was enticing and I couldn’t ask for more, knowing the troubled paradise my spouse and I were going through. The perks I enjoyed as a lifestyle journalist had always saved me some unbearable weekends. 

The heavily discounted staycation was welcome news after an awful week stretch where I engaged myself in a marital shouting match that remained ringing in my ear. I couldn’t wait to reach the venue, and checked into the suite by myself, perhaps meeting someone at the bar on the ground floor come first night. 

I texted the press relations officer who made it possible for me to stay away from the toxic atmosphere in our house. The timing of his offer couldn’t be more perfect. I needed such a weekend. 

The hotel’s pool was both big and very relaxing to the eyes, being situated on the roof and having a view deck that allows one to see the chaotic beauty of the whole city in panoramic view. That was even a secondary attraction to me. The room took the cake. 

Spacious and designed with classic furnishings, with paintings on the wall that looked to me as if they were painted in the olden times, it's a suite large enough for a small family. I was set to occupy it, with twin beds which didn’t bother me at all, alone. It was the only room available and my me-time had to be that weekend. 

My wife had allowed me as she needed space as well. I left the house with her sarcastically saying, “Hope you find the right one over the weekend.” 

I didn’t answer back. I just had to leave for a while. 

Once I was settled in, I hit the bed and opened the big screen TV and checked if there’s a live telecast of an NBA playoff game. Or a movie I haven’t seen yet. I almost fell into a nap in just twenty minutes changing channels. 

I heard her voice very clearly and it brought my drifting consciousness back to real time. There she was standing in front of my stretched legs. By reflex I pulled myself up and had to let out a manly scream. 

“Hey! Don’t be scared. I’m not gonna bite you,” she said, in a tone trying to assure me that she’s not some robber with a lover hiding somewhere waiting for a chance to knock me unconscious. 

“I’m Amanda,” she quickly introduced herself. “I don’t mean any harm.” 

It was easy to see that she got the look, with a face resembling that of a Spanish actress who starred in a film called “The Bar.” Still, I had to express my confusion at her unwelcome presence. 

“You scared the shit out of me, woman! Why are you here? This is my room!” 

I said those angry, or better off I say, scared words in a flash. 

She remained calm. “I just told you my name. This is also my room. You don’t have to act that way. I’m not gonna hurt you in any way.” 

I gathered myself right back quickly realizing I was in the presence of a beauty, dressed in decently sexy way, and smiling sweetly at me. 

I spoke like I needed to explain. “Oh, I am sorry if I reacted beyond what you may have thought of me. I just totally didn’t expect that there’s someone else in here. I know you look definitely not scary.”

I had to pause, before continuing, “Well, I have to call the lobby personnel and ask what mistake did they make to let this uncomfortable situation happen.” 

Amanda pounced on her composure again. She asked, “Why bother them if we can be friends instead?” 

At that point she already got me. It suddenly felt more important knowing her, her background, and why she’s alone, than tracing the roots of how we had been booked in the same room. 

I asked her to sit down on one of the intricately designed chairs as I kept myself on the bed I was lying in. My next queries contained the double meanings I felt she deserved anyway. 

“Amanda, are you telling me that it’s okay with you that we’re booked in the same room? I mean we’re complete strangers to each other and I am a man for Christ’s sake.” 

She answered back like she always knew her response, while maintaining her now captivating smile. “As long as you’re not some Ted Bundy who’d just strangle me with a blanket, I don’t think I have to worry.” 

I am not good at keeping tension. So I asked her, “Are you a hooker or what?”

“Do I look like I’m one?”

It was a stupid question for me to ask, and Amanda once again put one over me.

I apologized once more. “You know, I’ve been having a rough week. I needed this short getaway.” 

“You need someone,” Amanda said, “There’s a brandy on that small table and a couple of wine glasses.” 

The next hour was surreal. Me and Amanda were laughing at each other’s tales as if we’d been dating for months. Hers were kind of conservative and old-fashioned, while mine adventurous and bordering mischief. 

I told her that my marriage’s incapacity to bore fruit had strained the relationship that made it a union. I admitted that I was being unfair to blame it on my wife. The brandy quickly penetrated my head. 

It also made me feel pity for Amanda who revealed that her man left her for someone more extroverted. Not exactly prettier I supposed. 

Amanda excused herself for a leak. I knew it was the signal that something had to happen when she returned. She’d be washing off and putting in some fragrance. I felt excited down there, my blood immediately rushed in. 

Then came the call at such a proper timing. It was my wife. I told myself I would ignore her call if ever she attempted one. But the first thing I did was take it and say hello. 

“How are you? Would you like to cut short your staycation?” she asked.

My wife’s voice had none of the nagging I’d been hearing in increasing fashion. I felt she was about to say some good news. 

She didn’t keep me waiting. “Perhaps my agitation and bad mood had to do with this great development. I just checked and found myself with two red lines. You’re going to be a father!”

The information my wife relayed made me jump. My heart leaped with joy. It was like I suddenly fathomed I really don’t hate my wife. I was just frustrated with what was going on. I was feeling desperate to be a daddy. The idea that it was going to happen made me want to go home. 

I was still catching my breath when I saw Amanda in front of me again, this time just in her nighties. She was staring at me with a look that was both inviting and concerned. 

“What was it?”

Again I couldn’t stop myself being tackless. I let loose the words without a silencer, “You look awesome but I can’t cheat on my wife tonight.”

Amanda stood still. Her look now appeared more concerned than inviting. 

I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I could have eaten my dinner inside it, with its aroma and artistic design. It felt like I was smelling Amanda. I felt ashamed of what I told her. She looked too beautiful it was almost a gay act to let go of the opportunity. I thought it would be quick and my wife wouldn’t know anyway. 

I stormed out of the bathroom. Amanda was nowhere. I ran out of the door to see if she was still in the hallway. She was gone. The brandy was still in my head. I chose to sleep it over. I dreamed of Amanda’s face, staring back at me, as she whispered, “You are a good man.” 

The morning I packed up to go home. I told the PR man I had to cut short my stay. I needed to rush home. I didn’t even bother to inform the lobby of the mixup that led me to drinking with Amanda. Nor did I ask if they happened to see a woman that looked like her. 

At home I embraced my wife tight and had a sumptuous launch she prepared. While eating she started smiling at me like she had a secret she needed to reveal. 

“That PR guy must have hated you to book you at that hotel.” 

“Why?” 

“I was sure you didn’t know its history and I was too angry at you to even tell you. That hotel is haunted. Years back a woman jumped off from the view deck on the roof. She checked herself in, spent the night making out with one of the lonely male guests, and then jumped in the morning as she pretended to be swimming in the pool. 

I was both trying to pretend and not feel scared. 

“Why did she jump?”

“Her lover left her for a backpacker. She was kind of stiff. But she was beautiful, her face remained pretty even after she hit the ground.”