Djibouti Read Free Page A

minutes, trying to give it some life. The phone rang.
    She said, “Yes?” expecting it to be the desk clerk.
    â€œMiss Barr, this is Billy Wynn. I met your cameraman, Xavier LeBo? We got along great talkin about seafarin…I had seen you on YouTube being interviewed and showing clips from your films—I couldn’t believe you’re here . The only one of yours I’ve seen the whole thing of is Katrina . I downloaded it and watched it last night. Dara, you nailed that hurricane. Thirty thousand people in New Orleans taken off their roofs?” Telling this with an East Texas sound, not much, but Dara heard it, Billy Wynn delivering his lines in no particular hurry, serious, sure of himself, a playboy—if that was still the word—taking his girlfriend for a ride around the world in his two-million-dollar sailboat.
    What he said was, “If you’re not too tired, why don’t we meet downstairs for a drink?”
    â€œI don’t have my luggage,” Dara said. “I’ve been waiting, I called the desk…”
    â€œIf I don’t have it in your room,” Billy said, “in five minutes, I’ll owe you a bottle of champagne.”
    Dara set out two champagne flutes from the bar cabinet and went back to the bathroom to wake up her hair, rubbed it for a while with a towel, gave up and tied a bandana around her natural blond hair, leaving the ends curling out. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Now she slipped on her sunglasses.
    That was better.
    But why bother if his girlfriend’s with him?
    And thought, Why not?
    He came to the suite with the bottle of champagne and a bellman pushing a luggage rack. Billy Wynn said, “Damn, but I’m a couple minutes late,” and held up the champagne.
    â€œI put the glasses out for you,” Dara said, not bothering to watch his reaction. She dug a ring of keys from her jeans and turned to the bellman. “You can leave the trunk and cases here on the floor. The hanging bag goes in the bedroom.” She went down on one knee to open the locker and got to her feet as sheraised the lid and looked down at her cameras and battery packs snugged in foam inserts. She said, “It’s all there.”
    Billy looked over as he opened the champagne: a tall guy with a noticeable belly hanging over his low-slung white shorts.
    â€œYou worried it wouldn’t be?”
    His hair was kind of a mess, long and uncombed, but seemed to go with his rich-beachcomber look.
    â€œI don’t worry about it,” Dara said. “You met Xavier? He brought a camera and the rest of the equipment.”
    â€œI asked him”—Billy coming over to hand Dara a glass of champagne—“‘What’re your people, Watusis?’ I’m six foot and have to look up at him.” Billy said, “Why don’t we sit down while we visit?”
    He paid the bellman and came over to take a chair, Dara already on the settee, an ashtray on the end table next to her. Now she lifted a pack of Virginia Slims from her shirt pocket and lighted one and offered the pack to Billy Wynn.
    He shook his head. “I smoke cigars.”
    â€œIt doesn’t bother Helene?” Dara stepping right in.
    â€œI only smoke ’em at sea.” He grinned at her. “You been talking to Xavier, haven’t you?”
    â€œHe mentioned you had your girlfriend along.”
    â€œAnd if she likes sailing as much as I do, it could mean we’re compatible. We take it from there.”
    â€œWere you ever married?”
    â€œAlmost, a couple of times.”
    â€œThey got seasick?”
    He was grinning at her again.
    â€œLet me explain it to you. I spend a good half the year at sea, sailing all over the world. Do I want to leave my good-looking wife at home for that long if she doesn’t care to sail? Helene says okay, she’ll give it a try.”
    â€œWhat does she do?”
    â€œYou mean does