“Come up.”“All right.” I return the pressure of his hand and smile at him. The valet approaches my window and I nod, then pop open the trunk for Joe’s bag. The glass doors of the lobby, wide as a wall, swoosh open, and refrigerated air pours out into the night with oil-rich Texan abandon. As soon as we step through the entryway the sticky glaze of humidity evaporates from my skin.“Wait in the bar for me and I’ll check in.”I sit at a small table in the corner and try to look upscale enough to pay the bill, despite my cotton candy and grease-stained blue jeans and shirt. I should have at least brushed my hair. The waitress doesn’t even bring the drink menu until Joe joins me.“I’ll just have sparkling water, thanks,” I say, pushing the menu across to Joe.“Really? I want a good, crisp martini. I love these dark hotel bars. Make me feel like Humphrey Bogart.”The minute the words are out of him a lithe woman in skintight black sequins taps the microphone on a small corner stage and sways into a torch song.
