Other People's Baggage Read Free

hadn’t been turned on and the small waiting area was dark.
    I felt for the knob on the lamp and clicked it repeatedly but nothing happened.
    Voices from men waiting for their elevator floated to me from around the corner. They seemed not to notice my presence.
    â€œShe’s here. I haven’t seen her yet, but she’s here. The message said she’d be available tonight, after ten,” said the shorter man.
    â€œIs that when you’re going to see her?” asked the man in the suit. “And what about the last guy? Is he showing up to make sure she’s in good hands?”
    â€œI hope so. I’ve been waiting a long time. I hope she’s as pretty as she sounds.”
    I crept forward and looked at the men. The taller one was in a grey suit with a white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He wore glasses without the rims, and smelled like expensive aftershave. The other man, shorter but more muscular, had on a striped shirt and tie under his sport coat and blue jeans.
    I tried to pretend I wasn’t listening in on their conversation, considering they didn’t know I was standing there. I half-turned, thought about stepping back into the shadows until after they’d gotten on the elevator, but that’s when they spotted me.
    Grey suit nodded his head at me. “I bet that sounded funny to you, ma’am,” he said.
    â€œTo be honest, I wasn’t paying attention. I’m a little lost in my thoughts,” I lied.
    â€œFirst time in Carmel?” asked Blue Jeans.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou picked a nice hotel. Doris Day’s hotel, but by the looks of you, I’m betting you already knew that.”
    I looked past the men to my reflection in a decorative mirror. He was right. In my vintage aqua double knit sheath dress and coordinating ivory jacket lined in matching aqua silk, I looked like an Avon Lady from the early sixties, not the carefree vacationer I was trying to be. But this was how I was comfortable, in my vintage ensembles. Drop me in a mall and I’d have a panic attack trying to put together the kind of outfit that might be featured in a recent fashion magazine.
    I ran my fingers through my short blond hair, trying to bring back the pouf that I’d started with before I’d caught the plane in Dallas. “Your bet would have paid off. I’ve been a fan of hers my whole life.”
    â€œA fan? I would have guessed you’re related. You look just like she looks on that poster.” He pointed to the Lover Come Back poster on the wall. “Minus the silly hat.”
    The men laughed.
    I could have introduced myself. I could have elaborated on Doris Day as style icon. I could have told him I owned that very hat. Instead, when the bell to the elevator chimed, I maneuvered my way inside.
    The two men followed.
    â€œWhat floor?”
    â€œThree,” I said. I didn’t know whether it was the way I’d left Pennsylvania, like I was running from someone or something, or the fact that grey suit didn’t hit another floor’s button after he hit the three, that put me on alert.
    When the car arrived on the third floor, both men stepped out. Maybe we were all on the third floor, I thought. But when they let me pass them, I knew I was being watched, and I didn’t like the feeling. About ten feet down the hall I stopped to study the plastic signs that indicated which room was where, then went the direction opposite 319. The elevator door was still open, but the men weren’t in the hallway. I couldn’t control the sound of the crutches even though I was on carpet. Plunk, creak, step. Plunk, creak step. As I passed the elevator, I looked inside. The two men stood there, blue jeans on his cell phone. Grey suit smiled at me.
    â€œI got turned around, I guess.”
    â€œHappens to me all the time,” he replied.
    I couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like he took his finger off the button and the doors slid shut.