I feel a few hundred eyes escort us out the door. Some of them feel curious. Others feel like they stalk me. The door can’t close soon enough. The cold night air stings my lungs.
“Are we headed to the office?” I ask.
“I have a private penthouse apartment. I need to get to my files before the vultures arrive tomorrow.”
We stroll in silence, her right arm locked around my left, both our hands in our respective pockets. She sure seems to trust me. Derrick, the security guard lets us in the front doors and locks them after us.
“Ms. Rader, good to see you, but I gotta say, I figured you’d be at the party all night.”
“Derrick, those parties are so boring, watching ice melt is a thrill in comparison.”
Derrick chuckles as we head into the elevator. “Watching ice melt. You sure know how to put things in perspective, ma’am.”
The elevator doors close. Marci’s face, cold and pink from the walk over, flood my vision. Her lips press warmth throughout my body and her tongue dances with mine. My senses push past their limit and I jerk my head to the side and sneeze. Now heat bubbles up my cheeks behind the chill from the outdoors.
“I…I’m so sorry Marci. I sneeze whenever I get overloaded emotionally like that…”
I don’t want to look her in the eye but I do. She lets out a laugh and winks at me. “I’d be disappointed if your reaction was anything less Marty.”
The elevator doors open. Marci retracts the key she used when we first entered and pulls off each glove. one finger at a time until she pulls it off her hand. She tosses the first glove in the air as we walk into a sumptuous living room. White pile carpet adorned with a white couch with white throw pillows. White end tables with blood red lamps bookend the couch.
The other glove floats through the air onto one of the lamps. I get the feeling I’m in for more than I bargained for. As much as the party and walk over felt chilly, my reception here in her suite conjure up the tropics, Marci in the sand, and me…
The Method Writers 
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