There isn’t a soul in sight on my walk to the main building. When I reach the automatic door, I hear raised voices coming from the reception area. Two women are speaking. The calmer voice attempts to defuse the situation while the other has a desperate tone.
Peeking through the space, I see a very frantic looking Ivory standing at the reservation desk. She’s wearing a blue one-piece covered on the bottom by white shorts. Her bronzed legs look even longer than they did when I saw her at the pool bar. Her entire demeanor is animated. From her moving hands to her bobbing head, all the way to her shifting feet. The receptionist says something in a soft tone that I can’t quite make out, and Ivory groans loudly. She places her elbows on the white countertop and palms her forehead muttering to herself.
Seeing her so out of sorts tugs at my chest. My hands itch to sooth her. It’s a foreign reaction to a near perfect stranger but I can’t help but want to ease some of her worry. The poor desk attendant meets my gaze as I walk closer, a mixture of hesitation and shock from Ivory’s outburst.
Deciding it’s best to save them both, I relax my posture,despite my own high stress level and make my presence known. “Hello.”
It’s hard to tell if Ivory is still speaking to the receptionist or herself with her face buried in her palms. She tenses then slowly turns her head towards me. Her cheeks tint the faintest pink when she sees me walking her way.
“Hello.” Her voice is raspy. Is the blush embarrassment at being caught in what the media would consider a ‘compromising position’ or attraction, I wonder.
“Did you get a flight notice too?”
She groans again, standing straight with her palms still on the counter. “I did. I don’t know whether to be glad I’m not the only one or upset because that means there aren’t likely any other flights out.”
Her response surprises me. “You haven’t called yet?”
“No, my—” Ivory pauses as if unsure what to say. “My friend is handling it. She booked the tickets so she is trying to see what is going on.”
“I was watching the news in the villa and the U.S. is shutting down.”
Ivory tenses again. “Shutting down? What does that mean? It’s not like the whole country can shut down,” she shrieks.
“That’s what it sounds like. School systems are closing. Local governments are calling for bars and restaurants to be closed. They aren’t letting non-U.S. citizens in the country.” I grimace when she begins pacing.
“They can’t. No way. At the very least, they have to make arrangements for U.S. citizens to come home.” The longer she talks the higher her volume.
“I spoke to the airline. The borders are closing, which is why my flight was canceled. Clearly, yours too.”
“This can’t be happening to me,” Ivory mutters.
“Sorry, Hollywood. Looks like it is.”
Ivory blanches.
“H-Hollywood?” Her speech is stuttered as she tries to regain composure. “You know who I am?”
I shrug. “Not that hard to figure out.”
She just glares at me for a moment. Uncertainty filters in. Her guard going back up before my eyes. It’s like a switch is flipped and she realizes she’s not acting how Ivory Crenshaw is expected to act in public.
Straightening to her full height, Ivory pulls her shoulder back before speaking in a clear even tone. “Do you have any idea what to do now?”
“You’re on the right track.” If I can offer any reassurance, I will. “We need to see if the resort will let us extend our reservations until the next flight out.”
“When is your rescheduled flight?”
She needs the realistic timeline but I almost don’t want to tell her. Surely her “friend,” more likely her personal assistant, will tell her when she calls later anyways.
“Three weeks.” I grimace.
“Thre–three weeks?” Her eyes widen comically. She chokes on the words. “THREE?! Like twenty-one days, three weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“Ohmigodthiscannotbehappening.” She strings the words out in one long breath, rubbing circles on her temples.
The desk attendant, who I forgot was watching our exchange, cuts in. “Sir, do you need help?”
