Oh, Merry Christmas

Annalise stirred from her slumber. There was shock at first; she wondered where she was. The thirty-one-year-old propped up on an elbow and scanned the darkness; the tinge of a hangover lurked behind her eyes. A line of light indicated the foot of a closed door. Yes, it was the light from their hotel room’s bathroom. She winced, Their hotel room. Cognizance flooded her mind. Sans a stitch, Annalise was in Room 1412 of the Roosevelt Hotel. She tensed upon hearing water running in the bathroom sink. That would be the luscious forty-something blonde whose perfume wafted as Annalise clenched up the bedcovers. Reality struck the Manhattan wife and mother. Annalise, what have you done?

*****

Eleven hours earlier, Francis Cole from art and reporter Jenny Hart had started without Annalise. Her coworkers waved when Annalise turned from the stairway and approached the bar. Jenny apologized, “We tried to wait for you, Lise, but — “

“Don’t worry about it; I procrastinated at the office.”

“Work? What came up?” asked Francis concernedly.

“I can’t fib to you two. It was guilt.”

“Damn, Lise! You’re not breaking your marriage vows by having a drink after work,” chided Jenny.

Francis added, “So true, Jen. Besides, Lise, your fellas are off in the wilderness. It’s time to let your hair down, honey.”

Annalise perched on the barstool they’d saved her. “Okay, okay … I’m here, aren’t I?”