Educational Experience

Chapter Seventeen

17.

So did you have fun imagining what all we got up to that morning? Believe me, whatever you imagined? It was even hotter than that. They never disappoint, my ladies.

I’ll back track a little for you, though—not to the mad sex but so you know how I got Wyatt home and all tucked in and everything. And then we’ll move on from there.

Basically, I just escorted her to the guest loft I thought she’d like best. I added up little clues from what she was wearing and the conversations we’d had and picked one of the littler suites that suited her renegade spirit.

Some of ‘em are monsters designed to impress the grandiose fucks we deal with in our business world. They’re mostly men, and a lot of them have these delusions of grandeur that we’ll totally encourage if it helps us get what we want.

Even the doors to those ones say, “Prepare to be amazed.” Our interior designers buy things from all these old cathedrals and mansions and castles and whatnot. I get these texts and emails with pictures of “finds” all the time—they’re screened, thank God, so I don’t see them all day long. But I get the ones my peeps think I should or would want to see. And it amazes me that there are people who live for that kind of thing.

I mean, I don't give a flip about decor and all that. I grew up sleeping in UHaul trailers and washes, okay? I don't know the names of anything. I don't care about "pedigrees," you know what I mean?

But I knew Wyatt needed a “womb.” Something welcoming and warm. So I went serious Southwestern. A suite filled with Native pots and paintings and sculptures and all. The front doors to that one are a desert scape that looks like the saguaro and mesas and sun and all were big tiles they stuck on it and outlined in copper wire.

A local guy we like put that together for us. He does stained glass, too, in desert motifs—the “fake” skylights above the living room and bedroom were his work. They were lit with lights, not the sky. He believes they soothe you even if the light is manmade.

See? I know a little bit about this stuff. Stuff I like, I know about.

She wanted to know everything when we went back to the Fun House. She was almost totally sober by then, so she was seeing the place for the first time in a way.

And she was sort of glad I didn’t know the names of things--I liked that. Some women get all flustered about it, because they’re impressed by what they see. And want to be another “thing” I own.

The most important thing I needed to do was show her where everything was, how to use the elevators and the protocols—what was accessible and what wasn’t unless you were “family.” Also, I showed her how she could get help 24/7 and also how she could reach me, directly.

She was pretty much up to speed before I left—leaving was awkward, as you may have figured out already. I mean, we finally kissed again, but we both were sort of stiff and unsure about it. So it came off like one of those fake kisses you get at the club or something.

But then she just touched my face and we gazed a little…trying to see if something might bubble up from the depths of our sleep deprived brains.

No go. So I shoved off.

I had to try to get some sleep. I had a shit load of business to take care of AND we needed to get down to the carnival by lunch time—we were part of a little show they were going to have.

The church and organization people always did the opening and all that, but me, Joie and our ladies were always expected to be out and about--yes, we work like all the rest. Maybe more, because we’re working before the thing even starts.