Ice

Settling into the Hampton Inn in Kearney, Nebraska. Jessica sighed. It was only seven, she’d finished her audit presentation to the gasket manufacturers, she’d already had dinner – chicken fried steak and canned broccoli, she was sure it was canned even though the dragon-tattooed waitress had said, no ma’am it’s fresh, and why did all the young ones have dragon tattoos now? – and nothing to do on the Tuesday evening but sit in the room and read her book.

Not even interesting, “The Seven Veils of Mata Hari,” a plodding graduate-student novel that was all about feminist rage. Jessica had had enough of being mad at stupid men running the world. Like the whole world didn’t already know that stupid men had screwed up the world? And why’d she think of Dick Cheney all of a sudden.

Jessica sighed again. She hated taupe, and they always painted the walls taupe at Hampton Inns. All her cheap-assed boss would pay for on trips like these. And she went out of town two, maybe three, times every month. Why’d their clients always live in places like Kearney or Dubuque? The most glamorous city she’d visted was Denver, and they all wore cowboy hats and tried to act like Brad Pitt in “Thelma and Louise."

She had to have a martini. The refrigerator bar had the mini-bottles of gin and vodka to buy, so all she had to get was ice.. So she took the empty bucket and went out into the hallway. Down at the end, she saw – so she went there, and then she saw a young blonde man, a boy really, a teenager … no, college-age … athletic, short shorts, tight t-shirt, hairy for his age … hmm, Jessica thought.

Lucky she was wearing a short skirt and no bra. The evening needn’t be boring.