I said as I lifted my suitcase up onto the bed to unpack. After a few huffs, I sat down for a second and observed the Navajo rug hanging on the wall. Intricate yet simple in design. The southwestern décor gave a homey, intriguing western feel to the room. Local pottery in browns and blacks sat on shelves above a fireplace with an opaque stained-glass sunrise scene as a cover when the logs were not burning. Above the mantel, in a glass box, was a decorative knife. Inlaid turquoise, a silver handle, and the lettering for Rancho Mirage in more silver set off by some black stones, made it look expensive. “Damn, this bodysuit is heavy. Makes me S.O.B … Short of breath that is.” Goldie, lounging on a deep cranberry-colored chair near my window—much like a lizard on a hot rock in the Caribbean sun—opened one eye and said, “Why the hell don’t you take that thing off in here? No one will see.” With that he shut his eyes, and I think let out a soft snore.
