said, promptly chugging the shooter, planting it upside down on the tray and waving at Mr. Bartender to keep it coming.
A collection of shooters and three beers later, I was feeling no pain. I kept searching the room for Surfer Boy. He was swirling around, looking cute as ever in a plain blue sweater that matched his icy blue eyes. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one looking. Some of the castle’s female staff had caught wind of the party. I noticed a particularly busty chambermaid swooping awfully close to my prey.
“Mmm, look at zose muscles. You ah zo. . . How do you zay, mmm, ztrong,” she said, her hand rubbing up and down what clearly was, even from my vantage point, a set of lean wash-board abs.
“No!” I said, lurching from the barstool.
I took a large slug of an inappropriately titled cranberry martini that was less martini and more mystery drink, and in a moment of recklessness, slinked toward Surfer Boy to hip-check chamber-skank out of my way.
“Bonjour,” I said, sitting beside him and leaning my back against the wall.
“Hi,” he said, turning toward me.
“Oo are yoo?” the chambermaid asked.
I ignored her and listened instead to my old friend Toni: “If you want him, take him. Otherwise, men take whatever is easiest, i.e., the chamber-ho beside you. Now get to work!”
“Hi,” I said to him again, sucking on a Tic Tac, praying I smelled as minty fresh as the tiny pellet eating a hole in my tongue.
“I vaz seeting ere,” the chambermaid continued. “Beetch.”
“No yoo veren’t,” I slurred, the Jagermeister talking, “becauze if you ver, zen I vood be zeeting on your vase.”
Surfer Boy laughed. “Nice accent.”
Then, strangely, he and I just sat there, staring into each other’s eyes, saying nothing, as though we had been waiting a long time for a closer look.
Finally, I broke the silence. “So, what do you think when you think about me?”
“What?” He smiled with a perplexed look.
“What do you think when you think about me? I know you think about me. I saw you looking at me.” I smiled coyly. “I want to know what you think?” Did I seriously just say that three times?
“Well, I haven’t really seen you since the bus ride. But you’re right. I have thought about you.”
“You have?” I attempted my cutest pout. “So tell me what you think.”
“Well, I think you’re pretty.”
I hesitated. “Anything else?”
“Well, what do you think when you think about me?” he said.
“I’m asking the questions.”
“I think you’re interesting,” he acquiesced.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s your turn now.” He placed a hand on my knee.
Gulp.
“I think you have great hair,” I said. In fact, I found the whole package absolutely delicious.
I hadn’t realized it, but our noses were practically touching. We were millimeters away from a kiss. I could feel his breath against my lips. It was as if no one else was in the room. I couldn’t hear the music anymore, just the sound of him breathing.
“And, I think—hey!” I yelped, yanked from my delicate state of bliss. “Danny?!”
“Come on, Honey Blossom. Drinks are on me!” Danny pulled me through the crowd.
“But wait, I—”
“No buts. I got them to make us something special. It’s called a Beluga martini. I made it up. Do you love it?” he said, pushing me onto a barstool, leaning into my neck for a little girl talk. “Oh my, you and that hotty cameraman, Grant, were getting awfully fresh. You should do him. I would.”
Working on it, you tool!
I had barely tasted Danny’s blackened firewater when I turned to check the bench for Surfer Boy. He had disappeared. Just like that. I scanned the room. Nothing. Nowhere. Then I looked for chamber-twinkie. Her friends were there. She was not.
Shit! Leave it to Danny to screw this up!
After twenty minutes of listening to Danny prattle on about how fabulous Karl was “as a boss” (yeah, right, more like lover), I checked my watch: 2:00 a.m. Before I did any more damage, I decided I had better get back to my room, especially considering the fact that, just minutes earlier, I was poised for not one, but two affairs. I was also considering kicking some chambermaid ass to make that happen. Probably not a great idea for an aspiring producer in a business where you’re only as good as your last show. After all, I needed a solid reference for my new dream job, Fix Your Life with Ricky Dean. With an air-kiss, I said goodnight to Danny as I slid out the