Mermaids of Glendale - a novel

Chapter 12

The view was similar to last night yet now past sunrise the gantry cranes of the Port of Long Beach were bright orange iron-and-steel sentinels lumbering back and forth. Lorna sat in an armchair by the window of the hotel room. Lorna and Kitt planned to go for a scenic drive later that morning and then Kitt was leaving for a two day seminar at Sea World in San Diego. For now, however, Lorna had thrown the curtains wide and was drinking room service coffee from a white ceramic cup with the Hyatt hotel logo on it – the same logo that was on the breast pocket of the terry cloth robe she was now wearing; the robe that Dr. Kittridge Dawson had draped across her shoulders and in which he had carried Lorna in his arms across the pool deck of Rooftop 360 and into the elevator.

Once Lorna had showed Kitt her tail, Kitt placed his hand gently over hers and pulled it away, letting the table cloth fall back down to conceal her transformed self. Kitt picked up the white linen napkin from his lap, folded it neatly and placed it on the tabletop.

“Pardon me,” said Kitt, signaling a passing waiter. “Can we please have the check?”

“Very good, sir,” said the waiter – not Derek, who Lorna noticed was typing something into his cellphone.

Maybe Marina’s phone number.

Kitt and Lorna sat for a while longer at their table at Rooftop 360 atop the Hyatt hotel in Long Beach with the glow of its pool, the chatter of its guests, and that lingering view of the sun setting, ever setting, disappearing and finally gone. When the time came, Kitt excused himself.

“Wait,” he whispered, lips brushing Lorna’s ear – Caressing my soul, thought Lorna – before heading to the elevator.

Kitt had left his iPhone behind on the tabletop and, while she waited, Lorna saw the screen light up with a received text message. She didn’t mean to look, but it was a reflex action.

Arnold called me. He’s coming home. Thank you. R.

Arnold called Rita. I wonder how much he told her. Possibly, he told her everything.

If so, Lorna could now hold at least some measure of respect for Dr. Briar. What was it Kitt had said? Try not to hate him.

“Lorna?” said Kitt’s voice at her shoulder. It startled her, pulling her out – thankfully – from thinking about Dr. Briar and Dr. MacAvoy and Marina. “Everything alright?”

Lorna turned in her seat and looked up at him. Kitt was carrying a long bathrobe draped over one shoulder and in that moment Lorna knew that she was in love with him. Kitt lowered the robe over Lorna’s shoulders, and she gathered it around herself.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

“I’ve managed it before,” replied Lorna. She pushed back her chair and stood, making sure the robe was concealing her. Her caudal fin was by turns pliable and rigid as Lorna pictured her feet, as she made herself shuffle-walk. She made it halfway to the elevator and stumbled. In one fluid motion Kitt swept her into his arms and carried her. Lorna felt for sure that someone would notice, that within moments there would be a hundred camera phones trained on her, zoomed in on the tail emerging from the hotel bathrobe. She rested her head on Kitt’s shoulder and realized that, in his arms, she didn’t care.

Kitt pressed the call button and when the elevator arrived, he carried Lorna inside.

“Wait, Kitt,” said Lorna, watching the doors slide shut. “What about the check?”

“Everything has been taken care of,” he replied. “I charged it to the room.”

Lorna had another sip of coffee, holding the warm cup in her hands, listening to Kitt in the bathroom. The door was partly open and the sounds of showering filled the room. He was humming a tune, something Lorna recognized from an oldies station. Steam slipped from the open door, drifted across the ceiling and dissipated above the bed.