Middle Of Nowhere

"That's a great suit."

   "Thanks." Bored. Or maybe the hot water was getting to her.

   Samway looked Bobbie over, trying to see into the water. Bobbie felt uncomfortable. Pulling on her own suit she said, "Borrowed it. It's so small, it hurts."

   Samway chuckled. "You ever tried one of these?"

   "No."

   "You should. All the comments about butt floss? I'm telling you, it feels fine. And it's killer for the tan line."

   "I'm not exactly the right shape," Bobbie said. "What, are you twenty or something?"

   "Close."

   "Yeah, well I'm not. Not even close," she added, again making the girl smile.

   One of the women kicked on the jets, and Bobbie kept quiet while Samway floated in a boiling bubble stream. Gaynes had heard Matthews talk about wanting access to suspects—especially violent suspects—ahead of police intervention, ahead of the emotional barriers, attorneys and defensive postures. Now, she finally understood that urge—she wanted desperately to get Samway talking and to pick her brain for all the juicy details she could extract. But she held her tongue . . . briefly. A few women climbed out; a few more climbed in. There was a lot of flesh and not much fabric in the room. The talk she overheard centered on the looks of the male presenters at the seminar.

   Bobbie tried, "Highway noise bad on your floor?"

   Samway, her eyes closed, said, "Didn't really notice."

"You must not be on the second floor," Bobbie said.

"Third," Samway said.

   "I'm on the highway side," Bobbie told her, scoring one for herself. Third floor. "It's pretty bad over there."

   "We've got a view of the Space Needle from ours," Samway said.

   Gaynes could take that pronoun—"we"—to the bank. Despite the hot water, she felt a chill: Flek was here, on the third floor. Things were going to get ugly.

   "It's a small room," Samway conceded, "but it's still a pretty view."

   "First time to the city?" Gaynes asked, just to sound conversational.

   Samway turned toward Gaynes and offered a penetrating, suspicious look that made Gaynes feel queasy. One too many questions, perhaps. Or maybe there had been something in her tone. Or maybe the cop in her just leaked out now and then. Whatever the case, Samway recoiled from the conversation, like a snake. She crossed her arms nervously, glanced around the room as if expecting others to be watching her, mumbled something about having to go, and climbed out of the pool.

   Bobbie spun around, knowing that this was her moment. She had pushed it too far. She could no longer wind up in the elevator alongside the girl without it seeming forced. She had to get a look at that key, that room number. But Samway cupped the key as she checked to make sure she had the right towel, and Bobbie didn't get even a glimpse.

   Samway glanced back. Bobbie's position in the tub left her looking right up at the girl's ass. It was then that an overlooked opportunity occurred to her. She quickly pulled herself out of the pool and grabbed for her own towel. Samway wrapped the large towel around her, tucked it into her top, and slipped her feet into some Dutchboy shoes.

   Bobbie toweled off and wrapped up. As Samway made for the door, Bobbie caught up. She had never done anything like this—had no idea how to approach it, but felt convinced it was just the trick she needed.

   As they pushed though the door nearly side by side, Samway, clearly uncomfortable, said, "Nice meeting you," trying to be rid of Gaynes.

   "I, ah—" Bobbie wanted to stall until onto the elevator. "Nice meeting you too," she said. "Same here." She was more uncomfortable to the point of nausea. "Do you think—" she said, hurrying to keep up with the nervous Samway. "Do you really think I'd look okay in one of those suits?"

   They stepped into the elevator. Samway clearly felt trapped. Bobbie had mentioned the second floor—she had to push 2. Samway pushed 3, and it lit behind her touch.

   The doors shut. The elevator rattled as it lifted.

   Bobbie pulled off the towel to display herself to the other woman. She turned once as if on a runway, intentionally awkward. She blushed. She knew if ever there was a body not to wear a thong, it was hers. But she wanted to convey more as well. When she came fully around and faced Samway again, she spoke before the other could. "I think you're beautiful," she said in a creamy voice. She took a slight step forward, just enough to invade Samway's space. She whispered hoarsely, "I realize this is a little sudden—" purposely nervous, "I mean I don't even know your name. But if you're not doing anything tonight. . . . I mean . . . you want to hit some clubs or something?"

   "Listen, you're sweet," Samway said warmly, calming considerably, "and if you want to try the suit, I think you should. But I'm a dancer. Men's clubs? And a lot of my girlfriends are into other girls, you know? That's fine. But not me. And besides, I gotta work tonight anyway."

   "Where?" Bobbie said, trying to look crushed.

   "Pleasure Palace."

   "I mean the suit," Bobbie said.