Maybe the Moon

T-shirts, by any chance?”
    “I think they do. Why?”
    I told him I needed a new gown.
    He smiled. “What size?”
    “Large.”
    “Coming right up. Any preference as to design?”
    I shook my head. “Long as it doesn’t say ‘Eat Shit’ or something.”
    “Right.” He started up the stairs, two steps at a time.
    “Wait,” I said. “What’s my room number?”
    He thought for a moment, then said: “‘Western Stars.’”
    “That’s the number?”
    “They’re all named after Zane Grey novels.”
    “Cute.”
    “It’s the row just past the pool. You can’t miss it.”
    I asked if he’d take my purse with him and leave my door open and turn the shower on, please, medium warm. He smiled and said, “Yes, ma’am,” took my purse and bounded up the steps out of sight.
    It took me almost fifteen minutes to get up there. In the absence of railings, I negotiated most of it on my hands and knees,cursing the faceless housekeeper who’d neglected to sweep the grit off the tile. Just before I reached the top, a pair of bare male legs appeared in front of me, white and unrecognizable and definitely going down.
    “Lovely day,” I said.
    “Uh…yes. Can I…?”
    “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
    So the poor, confused thing stepped around me and left me to manage the rest on my own. There was a low rail, thank God, where the steps ended, so I hoisted myself to my feet again and caught my breath. I was standing on a small poolside terrace overlooking the harbor. The view was spectacular, all right; it looked as if this might be the highest point in town.
    Somewhat to my relief, the pool area was completely deserted, if you ignored the pride of house cats skulking around the AstroTurf. There must’ve been a dozen, at least, of every age and coloration, and they seemed to regard me with overt suspicion as I set off in search of my room.
    “Nice kitties,” I murmured. “Just passing through. Stay the fuck away.”
    The sound of showers running led me to a motel-style row of rooms perched on the very edge of the drop-off. The first shower belonged to Neil, I decided, since the door was shut. The second one shushed invitingly behind an open door that was indeed marked “Western Stars.” The room was hardly bigger than its double bed, adorned with southwestern murals and a huge plastic cactus stuck in a pot of gravel. A blue-and-gray plastic electric fan droned away on the bedside table. On the bed, arranged neatly next to my purse, lay my new T-shirt—an ad, not surprisingly, for this very establishment.
    I pushed the door shut and shucked off my dress with a sigh of relief, then made a beeline for the bathroom. Neil, bless his heart, had thought to take the soap and shampoo off their way-too-high ledge and leave them on the rim of the shower stall. It felt wonderfully rejuvenating to wash away the grime of the journey, not to mention the sweat of my various exertions, both physical and mental. I never feel fully at ease in a new place until I’ve had a nice hot shower.
    I was toweling dry my hair in front of the electric fan when he rapped on my door. “Hang on,” I hollered. “Almost done.”
    “No problem,” said Neil.
    I pulled on the T-shirt—which was white, with just enough green to do something for my eyes—gave my bouncy, apricot-smelling ringlets a final fluff, and made a hasty effort at applying lipstick.
    “OK,” I yelled. “ Entrez .”
    Neil was wearing a T-shirt just like mine, only red, and the same khaki pants he’d worn with his blazer. “All riight,” he crooned. “A new woman.”
    “We try.” I did a little curtsy in the T-shirt. “Thanks for the smashing ensemble.”
    “My pleasure.”
    I stuffed my lipstick and compact mirror back into my purse. “I think I’m ready.”
    “You want me to turn off the shower?”
    “Oh, yeah, would you? Thanks.”
    When he came back from the bathroom, he said: “I made dinner reservations for us.”
    Us. For us.
    “It’s down on the water, and they serve seafood,” he added. “That’s all I know. I hope it’s OK.”
    “I’m sure it is.”
    “The guy at the desk recommended it.”
    I smiled at him slyly. “It’s probably run by his brother-in-law.”
    “Yeah.” He looked distressed, suddenly. “If you’d rather wait and…”
    “Hell, no. I’m just kidding. I could eat a horse right now. A buffalo .”
    He laughed and led the way out the door. As we passed the swimming pool,