Camry eyed me thoughtfully from his perch on one of the oversized armchairs in our suite. I could fairly see the mental hamster wheel turning and imagined a slight squeak from under use. He tilted his head, as if this would make some drastic difference, and considered me again. He sighed in despair. “Nope. There’s just nothing for it.”

I paused my brief inspection and glanced away from the mirror. What was he playing at?

He answered before I could voice the question. “You’re tainted. Like a walking germ. Couldn’t you have convinced him to go to a cleaner motel? Or maybe you could have avoided the dumpster altogether?”

Excuse me? I do recall Camry’s horrible obsession with cleanliness but as far as I could tell it had recently abated. He was almost normal. “It does disturb me that you discovered us in the motel and yet you find nothing at all wrong with that. Just that it was a dirty one is all that bothers you, no?”

“Well, you couldn’t have done anything. You were handcuffed after all.” He paused. I could see a new thought exploding in his mind, like a firecracker set off without warning. “Hey! You were handcuffed! But then when I grabbed you, you pulled away and starting flapping your hands like a halfwit.” There was an accusing edge to his tone. Right, because I had almost cherished that moment as one of my finer. I didn’t so much desire to be reminded of it.

“You can’t be in my line of work without knowing how to get out of handcuffs, you silly fruit.” I replied calmly.

“Why didn’t you just do it sooner then?”

I sidestepped this question. Delicately. Like it was a landmine. “All done. How do I look?” I twirled girlishly so that he could see.

He frowned. “You look so… average.”

“Depressing, isn’t it?” Suppressing my natural beauty and charm is so very much not fun.

I made my way down to the kitchens and sneaked in without anyone taking any interest. It was a shockingly easy feat. A cozy warmth and many delicious aromas greeted me. So did half a dozen other waiters who glared at me accusingly. I stood as unobtrusively as possible on the fringe of the group as orders were barked at us.

“Somebody’s got his undies in a bundle.” I muttered, as the group dispersed.

The guy next to me twisted his angular face into a look of disapproval. He was that anal retentive kind who would rather die than play against the rules. I could tell this by the slight pinch of his lips; like he had his first lemon, wasn’t expecting it to be sour and never quite got over the shock. I felt this gave me free rein to taunt him.

I honestly didn’t mean for it to evolve into a real fight.

We froze at the same instant. He had me at his side in a headlock. My hands, which had been searching for a decent tickle spot, froze around his waist. My right leg was wound around his in effort to trip him. I could tell this did not look good.

“Jones, back to work!” the drill sergeant of a head waiter barked. I resisted the impulse to salute. “Flirt with the tramp on your own time.”

Tramp? Me? Why, I oughta…

Hand. On waist. Illegal action.

“She’s mine. Sorry ‘bout that. She has a habit of getting away.” An apologetic smile was in the air. I could feel it. I was pulled away from the confrontation and physically turned around. My hero, and I use the term loosely, was no where in sight.

“Maybe you should buy me a leash then, huh?” I remarked, through gritted teeth.

“I find an electric fence has better results.”

I noticed movement behind a pot rack.

“Well then…” and I popped around the other side. To my surprise, no one was there. The pots swayed noiselessly. Stupid pots.

“You’re just a tease. A piddly, schmucky, stupid, squeebish tease.”

“Piddly? Squeebish?”

I held my head high and replied in what I hope was a defensive tone. “I engage in creative swearing.”

He came from behind me, behaving in a manner far too productive for my taste, and forced a tray laden with goodies into my hands. “No shit?”

I smiled wryly. “My, you catch on quickly.”