Stone Cold Fox (21)

Another cue for me. I skip happily all the way down the hallway to the housekeeper and flash her a winning smile, just like Mother taught me. I twirl a piece of hair in my fingers and say, “Excuse me, miss. My mother and I were about to go get lunch downstairs, but she left her purse inside with the key. Could you please open it back up for us? See? She’s just down there.”

Mother waves, smiles and then throws up her hand, doing all the right things.

“I’m sorry, honey,” the housekeeper says to me. “I can’t do that. You’ll have to go to the front desk.”

“Please? It would only take a second of your time and we would really appreciate it!” I know how cute I am and that it makes me hard to resist. Mother says that people always trust a pretty girl. She’s right. Like clockwork, the housekeeper smiles back at me and follows me down the hallway. I skip every few steps in front of her, leading us back to Mother. “This nice lady is going to let us back in, Mommy!”

Mother smiles again and puts her hands over her heart. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver, really! We’re already late for our reservation and by the time we went down and up again, I mean, you get it . . .” Mother trails off, but the housekeeper doesn’t really seem to be actively listening to her. She smiles and nods and opens the door for us. A cute little girl and her mommy. Mother and I go inside and the housekeeper follows us. Mother’s eyes go dark. I know this look.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m just making sure that—” the housekeeper starts to explain herself, but Mother blocks her from coming any farther.

“Ex-cuse us!” Mother says, her hand on the doorknob, ready to slam it in the housekeeper’s face.

The housekeeper nods and backs out of the doorway.

“See to that, too, will you?” Mother commands, nodding at the dirty room service tray. Then she shuts the door. Confidence is always the key, Mother says. Believe you are who you say you are, and they will, too.

We hear the housekeeper take the tray away. It’s time. Mother starts at the walk-in closet, flipping the suitcases open. I go to the bathroom and go through the toiletry cases, looking for cash or jewelry. Instead, I find a fancy face cream I know Mother likes so I grab it for her, hoping for a hug or a kiss in return.

“No money, but here,” I say, handing the small tub of cream to Mother. The corners of her mouth turn up a little bit. She’s happy with the find. Thank goodness. “Did you find anything, Mother?”

“Nothing good.” She sighs. “But I’ll keep this as a souvenir. Nice work. Back downstairs.”

Mother grabs a red swimsuit from the suitcase and stuffs it in her bag.

“Are we going swimming?”

“No.”

“I need a swimsuit, too.”

“You don’t need anything,” Mother says. “Let’s go.”

It feels like she already forgot about my gift.

She leaves me in the lobby and tells me to wait for her there. I look up at the ceiling and it reminds me of a church. I look at the newspaper. Mostly everything is about politics and the election. The weather is going to be the same as today for the next week and I think that sounds great so I wouldn’t mind staying in LA, but I don’t think we’ll be here very long at all. When Mother’s wild like this, that’s when we’re on the move the most.

Once in a while, her plans don’t work out.

Three women over the hour stop to ask me if I’m lost. They all have the same question. Where is my mommy? I’m used to strangers talking to me when I’m alone and I don’t mind it. I like the feeling of someone being worried about me. Sometimes men stop, too, but a woman will always interrupt. They just know. They watch out for me because I’m just a little girl. Alone. In a hotel lobby, on a park bench, outside a restaurant. I look for the women. They will always keep an eye out for me.

When Mother comes back for me, she’s in the red swimsuit from the hotel room, no cover-up. Everyone is looking at her. All of the men. All of the women. Mother looks more relaxed now and she loves the attention. She’s always the most beautiful woman in the room. I can tell she’s been drinking because she’s loose when she walks. Her hips sway more from side to side. She’s putting on a show for everybody and now I’m mad. She was at the pool having fun and I was stuck in the lobby all alone. She can tell I’m upset.

“Oh, come on, bunny, you’ll swim next time. This is all temporary. I’ll even get you some new suits soon enough. You might be old enough for a bikini now. Would you like that?” I don’t say anything. She’s so embarrassing. Everyone is still looking at her. “Jesus, I thought I had a few more years until you turned into a surly teenager. Look. I brought you some fries!” she practically sings, handing me a brown paper bag, and my eyes get big as I yank it from her. She never brings me snacks like that so something really good must have happened at the pool. I’m almost never allowed to have french fries. She tells me all the time she wants to keep me lean. Keep me pretty. “I’ll get dressed and we’ll get going. We’re done here.”

“I thought we were going to stay,” I whine, and immediately regret it. I know she hates when I whine, but Mother’s in too good a mood to notice.

“Not this time, bunny,” she says, sweeping a piece of my hair from the front of my face. “But don’t worry. I always take care of you, don’t I?” I put my hair back so maybe she’ll do it again, but she leaves me for the ladies’ room. I dig into the fries and enjoy every bite, knowing it’ll probably be the only thing I eat all day. I scan the room for a water fountain because now I’m dying of thirst and I’m not sure where we’re going next.