Diet Another Day

make up."
    Cocktail dress? Sausage casings and lip balm? Great. Homeland Security First Responders? Oh, don't they sound like a fun bunch? Jessica envisioned a group of fat, balding fifty somethings so uptight they dance you suspiciously through metal detectors.
    "All right, ladies. Retrieve your luggage from the holding area. Please form a line, two across with your roommate. Heads up, breasts high, walk proudly through the hotel and out into the night to our dormitories at the Jesuit school."
    Dormitories? Jesuit school? "Rosaleen, what's she talking about? I thought we were booked here at the hotel."
    "Only for the meetings, meals, and spa services. We are rooming in the dorms to keep us away from temptation."
    "In other words, they want to keep us from ordering room service."
    "Exactly."
    Two by two, they waddled through the automatic revolving door and into the night. Stars glistened on the surface of the Intracoastal Waterway. A cruise boat was docked. If we get any downtime, maybe Rosaleen and I can take a tour.
    They marched over the sidewalk, clip clopping and huffing.
    As the wind gusted through the coco palm lined avenue, Jessica pulled hair out of her mouth. She could make out the pink sensible heels of the women directly in front of her, so she didn't part her hair often. When they stopped at the light at the causeway, Jessica looked in awe at how no one else's hair was moving. They must use Belinda Phoon's helmet hairspray. She grinned.
    As they marched across the street, she wondered just how far the Jesuit school was. Her stomach flip-flopped as she switched hands holding her suitcase, and shoved Rosaleen to the outside. The bridge swayed beneath their feet and convertibles whizzed by, all with radios set to different channels. The horn o'plenty grated in her head.
    Cruella de Vil did say something about no caffeine, didn't she? Just great. I'm already in withdrawal and I hadn't even been deprived yet.
    Finally, around a dimly lit corner, the ladies snaked onto a concrete path through a black wrought iron gate. A Spanish style four-story building loomed. As Jessica wrestled her suitcase up the steps and over the metal threshold, her eyes settled on the torn green felt of a pool table and a large sofa clad in a faded orange plaid slipcover.
    A woman with a clip board read her badge. "Landry?" Jessica nodded.
    She looked at Rosaleen. "Dalrymple?"
    "Aye." She sniffed.
    "Room four twenty-three. Here are your codes. If you lose them, your house mother is in room four oh two. She has a copy, and also the first aid kit. Be sure to find her room, so you can locate her quickly when you need treatments for blisters and heat exhaustion." She handed them each a small slip of paper with Room 423 and Code 0611 typed.
    The elevator line was no line but rather a mosh pit. Jessica followed Rosaleen up three double flights of stairs, nervous that her backpack would crush her if she toppled backwards.
    "Four oh two. This is the house mother's room."
    "Aye." Rosaleen lamented.
    They wove through the musty labyrinth to the end of the hall. A window overlooked a mystery. Jessica couldn't tell what because a banana tree fully blocked the view.
    Rosaleen adjusted her black plastic Harry Potter glasses and keyed in the code. She pushed the door open and fumbled for the light switch. Jessica followed her in.
    "Right or left?" Rosaleen asked.
    Jessica peered around her. A closet, twin bed, and desk lined each wall. "Doesn't matter."
    Rosaleen wrestled with her backpack. Jessica assisted her as she lowered it onto the right bunk and commenced crying.
    "What's wrong? Did I catch your skin in the backpack? I'm so sorry."
    "No. It's Dickie."
    Here we go with the Dickie business again. Jessica flipped on the bathroom light. There was an old shower stall, toilet, and door to the next room. The sink was by the hall door in the bedroom. At least they wouldn't have to wait for the Belinda Phoon ladies to paint their faces. Jessica used the facility, then unpacked.
    Rosaleen curled in a ball, sobbing. Jessica offered her a box of Kleenex. She accepted and blew. And blew and blew.
    "Can I get you anything?"
    "No."
    "Do you want to talk?"
    "No."
    She was guiltily relieved. It's not like Rosaleen hadn't been complaining about Dickie online for three years and Jessica never did figure out what the rift was.
    The girls brushed and flossed and changed into cotton night gowns. At exactly ten o'clock, the building went dark. The mattress was