Chapter 11

Eventually (note to self: don’t run so farnext time) I rolled up on the beach behind the Golden Palace and made for my room. Always convivial, the pool area seemed obnoxiously crowded. Everyone must have been talking at once, people shouting to be heard over the din. “The fucking company” this, “heartless management bastards” that, “what the hell are we supposed to do now?” I didn’t need to get sucked into the impotent animosity of a mob rant against the airline any more than I wanted to swing through the gate and give a hundred boozed-up flight attendants, at least some of whom would recognize me, and most of whom would by now have heard what had happened, a reason to change the subject. I crept up the side street to the laundry room door, used my key card to click in, and snuck back up the stairs.

* * * *