The Morning After

Zem, grinning, opened the door of his suite to find the nubile fortune teller standing outside with her arms folded tightly.

“When you invited me for breakfast, I didn’t expect it to be in your room,” she announced. Not quite accusing.

“Lilith,” he rolled her name around his tongue in greeting.

“You still seem delighted by my name,” she said. “Would you like a chance to explain that phone call, downstairs? The P.A. system blaring my name to every tourist in the Western Hemisphere just so the hotel operator could direct me up here to meet you?”

“If you’ll recall,” he pointed out, “I invited you back to my room twice, last night. Breakfast only came up when you refused. And of course I’m delighted. Don’t you know who Lilith was?”

She sighed longsufferingly. “Adam’s first wife,” she recited, “Not made for him as Eve was, but alongside, as his partner. And she refused to play second banana to him, so God cast her out of Eden and tried again. And made a perfect little Fifties housewife, all concerned with aprons and cooking and children, whereas Lilith wanted to name things and have her own career. Which pissed Adam off, and apparently God, too. A cautionary tale,” she concluded.

“Exactly,” Zem beamed like a wise old teacher at his star pupil. “And never a better tale was told. Lilith was, indeed... a caution,” he declared delightedly.

There was a tiny silence. “Yes, well,” she allowed then, “about this breakfast. And your improper invitation. I may have dinner with a lion, but that’s no reason to waltz into his den of my own volition. How stupid would that make me?”

He opened the door wider. “You’ll never learn the lion’s secrets if you stay safe outside,” he scolded.

After one more moment’s hesitation, she strode past him, making a sound of disgust. “Maybe I don’t need to know some secrets.”

“Oh,” he clucked at the back of her head, following her in, “I think you’re a girl who likes all her mysteries neatly solved, aren’t you? T’s crossed and i’s dotted? All the answers, single-spaced?”

She shrugged out of her coat and handed it to him. “That’s just my job,” she dissembled. “And let’s not spend the whole morning bandying all this clever repartee back and forth, shall we? I’m already tired.”

“As you wish,” he bobbed his head. She pursed her lips as she regarded his mane of salt-and-pepper hair, his steady gray eyes focused unerringly on her. “I ordered room service.” He took her elbow and led her toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where a dozen gleaming service trays rode their linen-shrouded chariot.

“How did you know what I’d want?”

A grin. “Best guess. You can tell me how close I came. Besides, I ordered one of everything, so you can have your pick.”

“How debonair. I feel as though I’m in a wacky Thirties romance. Something starring Cary Grant.” She sat.

He pushed her chair in, then walked around the tiny table to sit, too. He looked her in the eye. “Would you like to admire the view?” The window beside them was hung with lacy draping, which he reached to pull aside.

“Don’t,” she stopped him. “Vegas is best at night, and never good from above. All these casinos look like warehouses from this angle.”

He grinned again. “You’re right. It’s the dirty little secret here. It’s all facade.”

“Yes, it is, though I don’t know if that’s really such a secret. I– oh no.”

“What?”

Lilith had caught sight of the suite’s television. “That woman. I can’t stand to watch her.”

Zem twisted around to follow her gaze. “Yes...?"

She inspected him for a split second while he stared at the TV screen. “That, my dear new Vegas visitor, is the Princess of Las Vegas. Mayor Magnolia Conner. She’s just like all these new hotels– all flash, no substance. She’s a fool.”

“Really? Yes the people like her?"

“She's just been re-elected for her third term,” Lilith told him. “But that just proves how much Vegas loves a tacky show. How can you not know this? Where the hell have you been?” She snarled at the television. “Magnolia Connor’s like a circus act. She’s the lady with the sword-thrower. You hold your breath while all the knives just barely miss her, but secretly you’re hoping she’ll get nicked. Just once.”

He smiled over at her. “Very bloodthirsty. I like that in a woman. And just more evidence to prove my point. You’re always looking for the truth, aren’t you?”

He was still bantering. But probing. And she was still waiting for that thing she’d almost seen last night, that tickling, teasing hint at all the rumblings she’d been feeling in the aether. It had almost been out in plain sight, twelve hours ago. Now it had retreated. She could barely feel if it were still there.

She watched Zem playacting his way through this romantic comedy scene with her. He was bobbing and grinning as if he expected her to be blinded by all his charm, as if he thought he could make her forget to look for something more. To delve deeper. Why would he care? And who is he?

“The truth can be overrated,” she scoffed ostentatiously. “Once you’ve seen it, that is. That’s the dirty little secret of my trade. It’s like the backs of these hotels. Finding the truth about something can seem important. But when you’ve stumbled on it... sometimes it turns out to be dull, really.” She shrugged.

“I don’t believe you,” he informed her. A grin tugged at his lips. “You believe in the truth. Through and through.”

She shrugged again. Caught. But... what the hell? “Well,” she admitted, “I like to make that judgement for myself. Whether it’s worth my time or not.” She eyed the shiny coffee pot, wondering if its contents were still hot. “So now that I’ve admitted that,” she spoke again as she reached for it, “Are you going to tell me–”

“Everything?” he broke in. He sighed deeply, with satisfaction. “No, of course not. I’m not even going to admit there’s anything to tell. Now, let’s have our eggs, shall we?”

“Obviously, there’s something to tell,” she said. “You’re a man of mystery. I said that in the beginning.”

He lifted silver lids, revealed eggs, sausages, all the cholesterol-laden, politically-incorrect foods Las Vegas thrived on. There was a pile of fruit to one side, but that was probably just for color. “But some mysteries,” he countered, “are really cover-ups for nothing underneath, as you keep saying. I’m a simple man. Just here to have a good time. A standard tourist.”

She sat and watched him serve her for a silent half minute. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. She picked up her fork and speared a strawberry.

“At least, that you’ve heard so far this morning,” he qualified through a mouthful of food.

NEXT POST: ONCE UPON A TIME... (Friday 8/21)