Propitious
(Summer 2002)

A silky sultry night, and this airport motel with a white double bed. She emerges glistening from the shower cubicle, but she won't let the towel slip off, even in front of me, especially not in front of me. Night clothes on, she lights a cigarette by the open window. I wait, on the double white bed. Silence or maybe cicadas outside, it's the south of France, and wafting smoke. Tomorrow she'll apologize, it was a ground floor room, she could well have gone out for that fag. I wait; and I look at the room, the bare white motel rooms. Neutral, so propitious, it could be.. I have visions of motel seediness and illicit affairs, you know? Tonight is sso so hot; silky, sultry, so, I wait. You never know.
She turns the TV on. She chooses Bruce Willis over Isabelle Huppert. I wait. She likes films with car chases. Later she grows tired of the flickering and switches it off. It sounds like we have neighbours upstairs, is that their kid trampolining on the bed? Bounce, bounce, bounce. What do we do now? No, wait - that's no kid bouncing, what we're hearing is an Olympic sex session. There is some rough fucking going on upstairs in room 12, and I could definitely do with some of what they are having. Sorry but I have to turn the TV back on, I can't listen to that she said, disgusted. (I have hidden the remote under my pillow. Devious.) That's enough to put anyone off sex forever, she says. Gross! I say nothing. There is nothing to say. Did you pack your earplugs? Can I have them? she asks. Then she sleeps. If I smoked, I'd go out for a fag. Better than nothing.