She lay with her hands behind her head, staring at the ceiling. Paul watched her.
“So I take it that means you want the left side?”
Mia climbed over the bolsters, jumped up and down several times on the right-hand side, and then went back to the other side.
“Yes. Left it is,” she concluded.
“Did you have to break the bed to decide?”
“No, but it was fun. So, do we draw straws for the bathroom? Afternoon toilet privileges were left undefined.”
Paul shrugged to indicate that she could use it now. While she was gone, he unpacked his suitcase and hung his clothes in the wardrobe, hiding his underwear and socks under a pile of shirts.
Mia reappeared half an hour later wearing a bathrobe, with a towel wrapped around her head.
“What were you doing, counting shower tiles?” Paul asked sarcastically.
As he climbed into his bath, Mia spoke to him from the bedroom.
“Departure from hotel at eleven a.m.; Book Fair opening ceremony at noon; signing session at one p.m.; lunch break from two fifteen to two thirty; signing session from two thirty to five; return to hotel; departure for television studios at six thirty p.m.; makeup at seven; on air at seven thirty; show ends at nine p.m.; dinner, and that’s a wrap . . .Wow. And I complain about my promotion schedules!”
“What was that?” Paul shouted.
“Like a good assistant, I was reading you tomorrow’s schedule.”
Paul came bounding out of the bathroom, swaddled in towels.
Mia burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You look like some sort of fakir.”
“Did I hear you say I only get fifteen minutes for lunch?”
“Welcome to the world of celebrity. The crowd at the airport was impressive, and the hotel receptionist was positively beside himself. I must say I’m quite proud of you.”
“There were more people waiting for me to get off that plane than there usually are at my book signings; those people were hired to act like fans.”
“Don’t be so modest. And go and get dressed already. A loincloth is not a good look on you.”
Paul opened the door of the wardrobe and looked at himself in the mirror.
“Are you kidding? I think it suits me just fine. Maybe I should go on TV dressed like this.” At the mere mention of TV, his voice had cracked.
Mia walked up to Paul, examined the contents of his wardrobe, and took out a pair of gray pants, a black jacket, and a white shirt.
“Here,” she said, handing them over. “These will look just fine.”
“I was thinking of something blue.”
“No, that won’t do, not in your present state. The shirt ought to be paler than your complexion; maybe after a night or two of rest, you can try the blue.”
Opening her bag, she found that the few items of clothing she had brought with her were badly wrinkled.
“Looks like I’m going to stay here and order room service,” she sighed, dropping her clothes on the floor.
“Precisely how much time do we have, Ms. Grinberg, before this dinner party commences?” Paul asked in his best pretentious voice.
