As he dried himself off after his shower, Darryl's mind danced from subject to subject. Strangely it was his unnamed bedmate's dismissal of him as a man that pushed its way to the forefront of his thoughts. He wasn't vain but her constant reference to him as a 'skinny white boy' rubbed Darryl the wrong way. Since he was a teenager he had attracted the attention of the opposite sex. He was a good-looking guy with his father's dark Italian looks and his mother's full pouty lips. To have this woman constantly find him unworthy of her attention just made no sense.
Darryl grabbed one of the red cotton bath towels from the plastic shelf precariously attached to the bathroom wall. He recognized the distinctive Hilton logo embroidered in the center. Another 'H' had been sewn with an unsteady hand right beside the first. Still, it was clean but threadbare in spots. He wrapped it low upon his waist and idly wondered if the Hilton Hotel chain had sold the used towels or if the proprietors of this place had simply liberated them from the five-star hotel chain one at a time.
No matter. Darryl stepped out of the humid bathroom. The smell of bacon and reheated coffee greeted him as the unnamed woman sat on the edge of the heart-shaped bed and calmly ate what must have been room service. "You ordered room service?" She nodded, continuing to chew. "Did you think about ordering something for me?" She took a sip of coffee and made a face. Darryl didn't know if it was because of the coffee or him.
"Nope."
Darryl bit back his anger. He stalked across the room to the phone, determined not to allow her to push his buttons with her nonchalance. As he picked up the old-fashioned rotary phone, Darryl got a good look at it. The receiver (red, of course) was in the shape of a naked woman reclining with her legs slightly agape. A welcoming smile was on her face. When not in use, it rested on two posts that were constructed in the shape of erect penises, complete with wide slits in the tips designed to cradle it. Darryl quickly returned the phone to its base. His skin crawled at the thought of what bodily fluids he might have handled.
"Hmpf." The sound came from behind him. He turned to see the woman watching him with poorly disguised amusement. Against all his better judgement Darryl picked up the receiver again and dialed the extension for room service taped to the wall above the phone.
"Room service," the bored voice announced. "What d'ya need?"
"This is room 102," Darryl said. "I'd like some breakfast sent to the room, please."
"You want the same thing..." there was a rustle of paper in the background, "that Mrs. Pine ordered?"
Darryl began to choke. No matter how he tried, he could not catch his breath. With a sigh his 'wife' put down her coffee cup and walked over. She did not attempt to help him out of his choking predicament but instead took the phone from his suddenly lifeless fingers and addressed the guy in room service. "My 'husband' will have the Busy Night special," she said after listening to the choices offered. "Yes, that's room 102. Thank you."
"M-Mrs. Pine?" Darryl choked out. His eyes swung wildly about the room, finally settling on a phallic-shaped plastic water pitcher. He did not think about the cleanliness of the pitcher, or that it was designed so that the water inside poured from a small hole in the molded head. Darryl simply put the pitcher to his mouth and swallowed the warm, tepid water. "Why in hell," he stammered when he could finally speak, "did you tell them you were Mrs. Pine?"
"Cause apparently, I am." She reached behind her and waved a sheet of paper in the air. Darryl snatched it from her and began to read.
"This is a marriage license!"
"Very good!" Her tone was patronizing. "Now look at who signed it."
Darryl's gaze flew to the bottom of the document. There it was, his signature. It was a bit wobbly and not quite exact, but it was definitely his. "Who is Iris Gifford? Wait, are you Iris Gifford?"
"You think I'd still be here dealing with you if I wasn't? What?"
"Iris. Such a delicate name for such a delicate flower." It was Darryl's turn to be snarky and rude.
"Fuck you, white boy."
"Apparently, you did." Darryl did a slow survey of the room. "And based on the flashes of memory I am getting, it happened on every surface we could find." His taunt seem to loosen the memories of the previous night that had been hidden away. Darryl vividly recalled lying in bed while his new 'wife' rode him with surprising delicacy for someone her size. His assumptions about sex with a larger woman had been based on scenes he'd seen in movies - mostly comedies. If his memories were accurate, and admittedly, they were a bit hazy still, then everything he assumed sex with a larger woman to be had definitely been proven false.
"You're welcome," she said sarcastically. "You got the time of your life, and all I got was a skinny white boy husband." A knock at the door interrupted what she was about to say. It was the hotel's room service with Darryl's breakfast. "You can take that back," she instructed the man. "He got no time for breakfast."
"I am still going to have to charge you. Hotel policy."
Iris waved him off. "That's fine. And oh, yeah...Give yourself a big tip."
Darryl waited until room service was gone. "What are you doing?"
Iris rooted around beneath the satin sheets. She pulled out Darryl's discarded briefs and his shirt and tossed them his way. "Find your pants," she ordered. "The sooner we get dressed and figure this out, the sooner we can go our separate ways."
"Sounds good to me."
