Finding her discarded clothing was like a game of 'Where's Waldo'. Iris had found most of the white boy's clothing without trying. His things were mostly tangled up in the sheets. Her clothes, on the other hand, were showing up in the oddest of places. Her lacy red bra hung from the light fixture overhead, her silk panties (and one shoe) were in the mini-fridge against the wall.
Iris gathered the last of her things and began to dress. She wasn't thrilled about putting on the same clothes but it couldn't be helped. Beside, as soon as she got home she intended to scrub every inch of her body over again. She intended to let her washer do the same with the clothes she wore.
Bow chicka bow bow...
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" Iris interrupted her dressing to answer the phone. Someone really should have told the management that a little of a thing could go a long way. " Yeah?"
"Good morning!" A man's voice greeted her with practiced enthusiasm. "And congratulations again!"
Congratulations?
"I'm calling about your complimentary honeymoon breakfast. Today we have available-"
Iris interrupted him. "Back the fuck up," she commanded. "You calling about our what?"
"Your honeymoon breakfast. As I said, it is compliments of the management, a little thank you for sharing your special day and night with us."
"Hold on. What makes you think me and the white boy are married?"
There was silence on the other end. "… You used your marriage license to get the "just married" honeymoon discount. You-"
Iris hung up the phone. She had done a casual search of the room when she was looking for her discarded clothing. Now she began to search in earnest. "Shit." She sat down heavily on the bed and stared at the seemingly official marriage license in her hand. Darryl and Iris Pine
The license was signed and notarized with the previous day's date. It was printed on state stationary and stamped with the state seal. And it was witnessed by someone whose name Iris could not make out past the initial letter 'C'.
No matter how many times Iris read and reread the marriage license, it still did not make sense to her. She could no more imagine agreeing to marry the white boy than she could even being in his presence.
"Where do you want me to put this?" Iris looked up with a start. She had been so focused on the marriage license that she hadn't even heard the hotel attendant let himself in with a key. He was a young, pimple-faced male barely out of his teens. "Your complimentary breakfast," he gestured at the silver platter in his hand. "Where do you want me to put it?"
The smell of bacon wafted from the platter and Iris' stomach answered before she could. "Just give it here," she said. It took a minute for her instructions to kick in. The hotel attendant was so focused on her ample breasts that he did not hear a word she said. "If you through looking at my titties," Iris rolled her eyes, "I said give it here."
"Uh, yes." The young man leered at her chest one time for the road. "And congratulations again. Your husband is one lucky guy."
Day-old coffee ruined what was otherwise a surprisingly nice breakfast of crispy bacon and hash browns, scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of paprika and a buttery roll. Iris put aside her questions about the entire situation and ate the food with pleasure.
"You ordered room service question?"
There it was, that pissy tone of voice the white boy used every time he spoke to her. It put a stop to any explanation Iris had planned to offer. "Did you think about ordering something for me?" he asked pointedly.
Iris deliberately took a slow sip of the bitter coffee. "Nope."
The white boy stalked across the room and picked up the phone. It was obvious that he was angry at her response, Iris observed. But she didn't care about his anger. Not when he kept treating her as though she alone was responsible for their current predicament. Iris watched in amusement as he picked up the phone with two fingers. His behavior was a far cry from the man who had slapped her ass and talked dirty in her ear. "Hmpf." Funny how she could remember his skill with the dick when she couldn't remember anything else.
"…breakfast sent to the room, please."
Based on the way the white boy began choking, Iris guessed that he had been informed of their apparent marital status. For the first time in their encounter she actually felt kind of sorry for him. Kinda. She sighed and decided to help him out. Taking the phone from his hand, Iris calmly placed his breakfast order. If he didn't choke to death first, he would be grateful for the sustenance.
After he took a few swallows of water, the white boy began to pepper her with one question after the other. Any amusement Iris had managed to find in their situation was gone. She wasn't even tempted to point out to her husband that the pitcher of water he kept holding to his lips made him look like he was sucking a dick. Instead she just held up the marriage license as her reply to every accusation he made.
It wasn't until after he insulted her name that Iris had enough. "Fuck you, white boy." She could have called him by his name; by that point she'd learned it thanks to the marriage license. Iris chose not to, though. She enjoyed the way that "white boy "just pissed him off.
Their argument was interrupted by the arrival of the white boy's breakfast. Iris declined it and sent the attendant on his way with an instruction to give himself a big tip thanks to her husband's credit card.
"What are you doing?"
Iris rustled through the sheets and grabbed whichever items of the white boy's clothing she could find. She tossed them in his face. "Find your pants. The sooner we get dressed and figure this out, the sooner we can go our separate ways."
"Sounds good to me."
