Page 18 of Beach Bodies

She makes it to the toilet just in time. As the liquid sound of puke hitting water reaches me, I snap my wrist elastic twice.She is not Jessica. She is your new roommate and she’s feeling like shit. This is not about you, this is about her.Gathering my resolve, I join her in the bathroom, where she’s kneeling over the toilet, arms braced on the seat.

‘I’m going to get your hair out of the way,’ I say gently, sacrificing my wrist elastic in the process as I bundle her hair back.

‘Thanks,’ she moans. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I’m going to call housekeeping, OK?’

I use the old-fashioned room phone on the nightstand to request an urgent visit from housekeeping. Then, I move the guest roster from under the covers to under the mattress. Housekeeping shows up within minutes, thank God, and as the diminutive cleaning lady stoically deals with the throw-up, I lean into the bathroom to check on River again.

‘Stomach bug?’

‘Food poisoning,’ she says. ‘In the airport lounge on my way… I think I ate some—’ She vomits yet again, then tilts her puke-flecked face towards me. ‘Bad shrimp.’

My stomach turns, sending a rush of liquid into my mouth, and I force myself to swallow it down. I don’t think I’ll eatshrimp ever again. Or anything else that’s pink. Or food of any kind, really.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. And oh, how I wish we had two bathrooms. ‘Can I… get you anything?’

‘Ginger ale? If you don’t mind?’

‘Of course!’ My enthusiasm isn’t even feigned; I’m all too happy to escape the room. I hesitate at the door; I’m in my plaid pyjama bottoms and the ribbed tank top I like to sleep in, but… I’m not changing into ‘branded gear’ for a ginger ale run. I grab my key card, credit card, and head out.

*

The Sunset Bar at quarter to nine is hopping, and seeing how dressed up everyone is for their nightcaps, I shift uncomfortably. PJs might have been… shortsighted. The ribbed white tank is on the thin side; I didn’t even put on a bra. Yep. Total and utter mistake.

A live jazz band is positioned at one end of the room, the singer a stunning redhead who’s swaying sensuously as she croons, ‘I’ve got a crush on you…’

Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I sidle up to the side of the long, polished bar nearest to the entrance. Champagne-coloured lights hang like warm icicles in clusters all down the length of the bar, making the mahogany top glow like warm honey.

‘Hi…’ I say, trying to flag down the nearest bartender, but he’s in the middle of closing out a customer’s tab and doesn’t seem to hear me.

I lean on the bar with my arms crossed to hide my braless state and catch the metal foot rail with one foot as I take alook around. Little bar-height cocktail tables are scattered throughout the crescent-shaped space. Opposite the bar, a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows faces west. The Sunset Bar is on the top floor of the hotel. Below, fire pits glimmer and the pools glow.

As I try to catch the bartender’s attention again, I recognize a high-pitched laugh. Serena, sitting towards the centre of the bar. Wearing a tube dress that perfectly matches her skin. Talking to someone whose back is to me… a-ha. Daniel.

There are a few customers between us, but still, I stay hunched down, praying neither of them notices me.

‘Hey,’ I say in a loud whisper towards the bartender, leaning forward on the bar as far as I can go, feeling my breasts press against the wood.

He finally looks up and smiles. ‘What can I get you?’ His grin is amused. Yep, buddy, I’m in my pyjamas. Take a fuckin’ picture.

‘A ginger ale. Actually, make that two.’ I sense I might need one myself before the night’s over.

‘Can I interest you in a sugarless, organic alternative to ginger ale that’s infused with—’ he starts, but I cut him off.

‘Plain old ginger ale. Sick roommate. And do you have oyster crackers?’

‘Uh, I’ll have to grab some crackers from the kitchen. Give me a second?’

‘Of course,’ I say.

I glance at Serena and Daniel. Still oblivious to my presence, thank God. Then I distract myself, as usual, by people-watching. I spot Kyle tucked into a corner table with a slim blonde– no surprise there. And there’s Craig Lancasterat the cocktail table within spitting distance of me, handing a server his credit card, looking positively spray tanned. And that must be his husband Brian across from him. Craig’s face has the too-stretched look of someone who has undergone plastic surgery more than once, but Brian looks like a normal dude. He has a kind, puppy-dog face, and a bristly silver-flecked beard. Honestly, he looks a bit out of place. Based on the way he’s shifting in his seat, he feels out of place, too.

‘Why the hell did you order that second beer?’ hisses Craig. ‘I thought you were working on your beer belly!’

Holy shitballs. This guy makes Kyle look like Mr Rogers.

‘Sorry, babe,’ says Brian. ‘After that workout with Shayna, I just thought it would be nice to unwind—’

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