Page 79 of Johnny

“Yeah, I would like fine dining tonight. Really great steak. Fresh lobster. What can you

recommend?”

“I can get you in the private dining room in about forty minutes. Would that work for you, Mr.

Logan?”

“Sounds perfect. Where’s that located?”

“Beachfront, west side of the resort. Has a gold dome roof. You can’t miss it.”

“Great. Thank you.”

“No problem, Mr. Logan.”

Maybe Logan is his last name? Then what’s his first name?

Why do I care? What does it matter?

It doesn’t. I’m just spiraling today. Everything seems… weird. And I know it’s mostly because I’m

off script. I shouldn’t have rescued Megan. I should’ve left her there. They put her there for a reason,

right?

Why did I save her again?

Oh, yeah. I’m living some kind of fantasy where I appear to be a decent dude.

I’m just about to walk over to the still-open French doors to see if Megan’s still out on the beach

when I hear the sound of the shower starting in the master bedroom.

The door is slightly ajar. And with any other woman, at any other time, I’d consider that an

invitation.

It’s not though. Still, I wander over there and push it open just one more inch.

The bathroom door is open too, and again—any other time that would be a signal. And she’s

humming. Not loud. No singing, either. Just… humming.

Like she really could be here on vacation and we’re not just on an arms-deal layover.

I knock on the door. “Megan?”

“Yeah?” she calls.

And then I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why I knocked or why I called out. But I have to

say something. So I say, “Wear the dress tonight.”

She doesn’t say anything back but I can tell she’s stopped whatever she was doing in the shower.

You can tell when people do that by the way the water falls around their body and hits the tiled floor.

It’s constant and repeated. Not broken and arrhythmic.