The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,31
a quick look at my reflection was a reminder that I’d slept overnight in my uniform. I leaned against the bathroom sink and sighed. I couldn’t rationalize why I’d forfeited my only pair of pajamas to someone who was practically a stranger. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world if she’d had to sleep in the clothes she’d worn that day. I could only chalk up my unnecessary generosity to extreme customer service.
I entertained a brief thought about checking on Anissa to see if she needed toothpaste or other toiletries, but I was embarrassed about how the evening had abruptly ended. I also realized I didn’t know which room number was hers. Instead, I showered and got ready for the day as best as I could with the limited supplies I routinely kept in my overnight bag for situations like this one. I felt better and more like myself once I’d showered and had changed into a clean uniform. I re-packed my suitcase, double-checked the room to make sure I wasn’t forgetting anything, and headed for the front lobby.
The front of the hotel was a buzz of activity. I imagined most folks staying at the budget-friendly hotel had been, like myself, stranded at the airport overnight. Rescheduled morning flights had everyone up and ready to go, awaiting the airport shuttles that would bring us back to the Philadelphia airport.
The airport vans hadn’t arrived yet, and the promising scent of coffee had me exploring the lobby area for something to eat. I normally would have waited for breakfast at the airport since my airline paid for my meals, but I doubted I would find time to track down food before I was expected at my gate. Flight crews had to report to their respective gates at least an hour before the flight was scheduled to depart. I probably wouldn’t be working the flight back to Detroit—the original flight had been canceled, meaning we’d all be squeezed onto flights that had already been ticketed and staffed for that day—but there was still a slight chance I would be working my ride back to Detroit.
I found a small breakfast nook just off the main reception area. The floor plan was filled with small tables and chairs. A modest offering of continental breakfast foods, coffee, and assorted juices populated a long, low table against the far wall. The morning news played without volume on a small TV in another corner of the room. That day’s newspaper had been cannibalized with separate sections of the paper scattered around the small room. I scanned the breakfast offerings on the long table, but found them lacking. The free continental breakfast was little more than granola bars and old pastries, probably procured from a vending machine.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and pocketed a granola bar for later. I scanned the room for familiar faces, looking for the other members of my flight crew, when my eyes fell on a woman sitting by herself at a corner table. The oversized sunglasses that she wore inside told me exactly how she was feeling that morning. Her hair was wet from the shower and she wore the same suit she’d been wearing the day before, only more wrinkled and creased from continued use.
I didn’t announce my arrival, but discretely slipped a travel packet of aspirin onto the small table where she sat. Anissa looked up and winced, either from a lingering headache or from memories of our previous night together. She didn’t say anything, but her hand curled around the pain medicine’s individualized packaging.
I heard her sigh before she motioned to the empty seat across the table from her. The other tables in the room were already occupied, so I accepted her nonverbal invitation and sat down.
“Rough morning?” I tried gently.
In lieu of answering, she tore open the foil packaging and gulped down two pills with her orange juice. She removed her sunglasses and tossed them on the table.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she opened. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It was very inappropriate of me.”
“It was,” I concurred.
“I suppose I got my signals mixed up,” she said. “I’m sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable position.”
“It, uh—it’s not that I wasn’t interested. I’m, uh…” I couldn’t admit to her that I’d been intimidated to go to bed with her. I scrambled for a different excuse. “I-I’m on my period, so, I, uh, I couldn’t….You know…”
“Fuck,” she finished for me.
Her blunt language had me ducking