Around the World in 80 Men (10 page)

Morgan backed away, her eyes
wide with surprise.
What did he say? Does
he know? What the fuck?
“I don't know what
your game is, but get the hell away from me.” Morgan stepped back,
then looked around to make sure people were still within ear shot
in case she needed help.

The man just smiled, then said, “A young
beautiful woman, traveling alone, I know you're here for the
singles retreat. So, how about we just skip to the real reason for
the trip, and get together.” He tilted his head, looking as if he
had just explained the meaning of life to her.

“Singles retr...I'm not here for a singles
anything! You're a pig, and you can leave!” She pointed away from
her.

“Well, if you get bored during your stay, I
have something that would keep you entertained for a night or two.”
He laughed at the indignation on her face, and walked away.

She fought with the thoughts
in her head, the fact that he had just treated her like a whore,
and she was one. She was pissed anyway, and she sat back on the
chair and crossed her arms in front of her chest. Dennis' words
came through loud and clear,
Sugar, don't
judge a man so quickly, he may just surprise you.
Oh, he surprised her, but not in the way that she
thought he could.

After fuming for several minutes, her eyes
went to her still open suitcase. She wondered what she was going to
do. She had no charger, no jacket, and no ride. The trip was
growing quite miserable, and she had just got there.

Morgan spent the following three hours
between getting coffee, sitting, looking at strangers passing by,
and growing more irate. She finally had enough, and she took
matters into her own hands.

She walked outside and held her arms around
herself to block the frigid wind. When a taxi stopped in front of
her, she told the driver to take her to the nearest hotel. Morgan
was done with the whole situation. She planned to get a good meal,
a night's sleep, and book a flight back to the States in the
morning.

Chapter Ten

“
Awrite, hen, jus' one for
ye then?” the old man behind the counter asked Morgan for the third
time. She pressed her index and thumb together at the bridge of her
nose, holding back a groan of frustration. She didn't understand a
thing anyone was telling her and the vodka from the plane was
quickly wearing off, causing her neck to stiffen up once
more.

“Yes, just one,” she
groaned. Her tone was surprisingly unpleasant and unlike
her.
Why does everyone in this place
insist on pointing out that I'm alone?

The short, red-haired man, adjusted his
glasses, pushing them higher up his nose, jotted a few words down
on a piece of paper and handed her a little brass key and a local
map. “Ye goin te go up the steps and doon the passageway and oan
the right ye'll find yer room, hen. Number four thirty five, it
is,” he explained to her.

Just speak English!
Morgan nodded as if she understood a thing the man
had just told her. She gave him a fake smile, and made her way away
from the lobby. She saw the stairwell the little guy had referred
to, but kept walking by.
Fuck the
stairs.
Finally finding an elevator, she
pushed the black button and waited for the ding. When it opened a
few moments later, she wheeled her bags inside, and pushed the
button for the fourth four.

When the doors parted at her
destination level, she was greeted by none other than
boy next door.

“You've got to be kidding me right now?”
Morgan spoke, more of a statement than a question, and she didn't
want to wait for an answer. She quickly debated on pressing the
'close door' button, but he had already propped his foot in the
door and was leaning on the side, a wide smile displayed his
perfect teeth.

“Well, we meet again! See, I knew you were
here for the single's gig.” His smile grew even wider and he walked
toward her, but she wanted no part of his act. She slung her floral
bag over her shoulder and grabbed the handle of her wheeled
suitcase and marched out of the elevator. As quickly as she crossed
into the hallway, he was behind her.

“At least let me help you with your bags. I
could have given you a ride here. Look we're even on the same
floor, it would have worked out great,” he reached for her luggage,
but she pulled it away.

Her rage increased by the second as the
douchebag continued following her. She grit her teeth and thought
if she just didn't talk then he might go away.

Oh my God, how long is this
hallway?
Finally, the numbers appeared to
be getting closer to hers and she counted in twos until she was in
front of her own room. She slid the key into the lock and gave it a
turn. After she heard the soft click, she turned the knob quickly
and pushed the door open with her foot, pulling her luggage in
behind her, she walked inside.

Morgan tried to shut the door behind it, but
it stopped in mid swing when a big foot got in the way.

“Oh, dear God, what in the FUCK do you
want!?” Morgan slammed the door wide open, this time, demanding an
answer. Julianne had told her to try and never lose her temper, and
how ladies are not to act like that. They are to handle situations
accordingly. Quiet and calmly. To Morgan, this was accordingly
appropriate.

“Hey,” boy next door put his hands up
defensively in front of him, “I just wanted to talk to you. Since
we were on the plane, that's all I've wanted to do.”

Morgan closed her eyes and
took a deep breath.
Ten, nine...eight,
seven, six......fiiiiive......four.
She
tapped her nails on the frame of the door, anything to keep her
hand busy and not make contact with cutie's face.

“Talk?” Morgan asked through gritted teeth.
“Talk,” she said again. “Look, you're a dick with legs, and even if
I wasn't having a day from hell, I still wouldn't want to talk to
you. Now, if you'll ever-so-kindly, get your foot the fuck out of
my way, I am going into my room.”

It worked. He moved his leg and backed away
without another word and Morgan shut the door without
hesitation.

She hurled her bags onto the bed, opening
the pink one first and completely dumped its contents. After a
minute of rifling though dresses and jeans and panties, she finally
found her jacket, but settled on a sweater instead. She wrapped it
around her shoulders and rubbed her hands together in an effort to
warm them up. Theatrically, she exhaled, wondering if she would see
her own breath. She didn't.

Having slept through the provided meal on
the plane, and nothing in her stomach but a few alcoholic
beverages, Morgan's stomach gurgled, making her realize she was
starving. “Okay, okay,” she patted her talking midsection, “I'll
feed ya.”

She quickly scanned a menu that had been
taped to the desk and settled on roasted chicken, “and Moscato, I
want the bottle,” she had added.

Twenty minutes later a knock on the door
told her that it was ready. She tipped the man in exchange for her
goods, poured herself a glass of wine and carried the chicken and
booze to the little desk in the corner.

When she sat down, she was reminded of her
phone. “Oh, my charger,” Morgan exclaimed when she felt the bump in
her pocket. She took a large gulp of wine and walked to her shoe
bag, holding a chicken leg like a delicate crystal between her
fingers.

After dumping all of its contents as well,
she finally came across the holy grail in a pair of fuzzy boots.
“Yes!” She plugged in her phone and got back to putting the smack
down on her chicken and wine.

*****

“And you don't talk right, Mr. I'm Scottish
and I talk like I'm so cool,” Morgan put her manicured finger in
the face of a handsome young man sitting beside her at the bar. He
gently pushed her finger out of his face, laughing at the drunken
girl beside him.

He had only asked how much she had drank,
and that had been her brilliant rebuttal. Morgan swayed in the bar
stool, taking her first sip of her fifth glass. She giggled and
kicked the wall in front of the revolving stool, causing her to
spin around in the chair, facing the crowd of Scotsmen and
occasional tourist speckled within.

“Hey!” she yelled loudly, pointing at one of
the men, “hey, you, you're cute.” Morgan smiled and turned her
body, grabbing the bar and pulling herself around to face the
bartender again. Strands of hair covered her face, and she blew on
them, laughing like a four-year-old as they fell back down on her
face. Morgan had only been that drunk once before, and it was at a
wedding reception where it had been perfectly acceptable to dance
like a fool and laugh at yourself. Sober Morgan would have been
humiliated if she could see herself right then.

The handsome man next to her reached over
and gently pushed the hair behind her ears, and tried to distance
the wine glass from her, but she pulled it closer to her chest. She
drew her hand up and placed her cheek on it, tilting her head to
look at the man. “Thanks!” she slurred, giving him a little pop on
the nose with her finger.

“What room are ye in, lass? I'll take ye
there, you can get some rest,” he suggested.

Morgan told him that she wasn't tired and
didn't want to go to bed. “And you aren't getting in my pants,
nope, nope, nope.”

The man turned his head down and pulled his
hand over his mouth to hide his smirk. “Okay, then,” he agreed.

The drunk girl suddenly stood, remembering
Finlay, “I have to make a phone call!” she announced to the bar.
All eyes were on her as she staggered toward the hallway and the
handsome man was behind her in time to catch her under her arms
before she crashed into the wall. “Hey, I'm good. See?” Morgan
spread her arms and tried tight-roping the few feet to the elevator
entrance before she nearly fell again. Morgan leaned up against the
wall and slid to the floor, and the man helped her right back up,
wrapping his arm around her shoulders, directing her toward the
elevator.

“What floor?” he asked her, not really
expecting a response, she held up four fingers in his face. “Okay,
four it is.”

Morgan reached down into her
pocket and pulled out the little key and handed it to the man,
“One-fortay-five,” she told him. He looked down at the key and
shook his head.
Not even close,
he thought.

He got her to her room, and
helped her inside. When she said she didn't need anything, he left
her be, with the suggestion she stay in the room. Although, he
imagined he would likely see her back at the bar in five
minutes.
They always come back
down.

The young girl got up from her bed the
second her door was closed behind the man who helped her in, and
she skipped over to her phone that was still plugged into the
charger. She plucked the cord out and held the green button to turn
it on.

“Whoa, four voice mails?” Morgan questioned
her phone. “Must be super important,” she told herself.

After a running jump and a cannonball onto
her bed, she crossed her legs into her usual phone call position
and pressed the green button twice to call Julianne.

“Young lady, I have been trying to call you
all day! Are you okay? Did you get my voice messages? Have you seen
Finlay yet?” Julianne machine-gunned questions at Morgan.

Morgan burst out laughing at her Madam's
questions. “Finlay!? That stupid son-of-a-bitch didn't even show
up! I sat there in the airport, all cold, getting hit on by creepy
boy next door, who asked me if I could “repay” him,” Morgan made a
half-set of invisible quotes this time with her free hand.

“Morgan, listen to me,” Julianne interrupted
the rambling.

“And then I get to
this
place,” as if
Julianne had any idea of what Morgan was talking about, “and now
I'm warm, but I saw creepy dude again, and I was all, shut my
fucking door, and he did! And now I'm tal...”

“Morgan! Shut up! Finlay's flight got
delayed. He's at the airport looking for you right now. Where are
you?” Julianne continued.

“Well, ain't that a bitcheroo? I wonder what
it feels like? Ohhhhh! Wait! I do know what that feels like!”
Morgan only replied to the “Finlay is looking for you” part.

“Dear, where are you?” Julianne tried a new
approach, speaking sweetly to the young girl.

“Hmm, I don't know,” Morgan truthfully
responded. She threw her legs from the side of the bed, and
staggered over to the window, tripping over her shoes along the
way, “shit,” she cursed at the black pumps that she wore the night
prior.

After she drew the curtains, she told
Julianne the first thing that she saw, an Indian carry-out place.
She also told Julianne that she wasn't far from the airport.

“I'll need a bit more information than that,
Morgan.” Julianne's voice maintained a level of calm but the older
woman wanted to jump through the phone and shake the booze from the
young girl.

“Okay dokie...let me see..Oh! There's a
booklet here, a thick one! Let me look,” Morgan turned the book and
read it, “I'm staying at Holy Bible.” After the words left her
mouth, Morgan realized what she had just read. “HAHAHAHA I said
Holy Bible! I'm not staying at the Bible!” Morgan, who had at the
point started snorting in uncontrollable laughter, rifled through
the papers on the bedside stand. “Here's one, Saint something,
wait, I can't see. Oh, maybe that's part of the Bible.”

Julianne instantly knew where Morgan was
staying. “Alright, he'll find you sweetheart. Just get some rest,
and I'll talk to you tomorrow.” The call had ended.