Read Online Girl Before a Mirror by Liza Palmer - Free Book Online Page B

and swing around the sprawl of Phoenix, a city that looks like someone spread out a huge sheet of sandpaper and started setting little Monopoly houses on top of it. We were unable to get into the conference hotel, so I made sure we’re staying at the same place as Preeti Dayal—the Arizona Biltmore. Her husbandenjoys playing golf, according to her secretary, with whom I have become friendly. When I see her in the lobby, I’ll feign surprise.
    As we drive through the streets of Phoenix I notice immediately that, although the houses look normal enough, it’s as though some giant has come along with his thumb and just smashed them a little bit farther into the ground.
    â€œThere aren’t any windows,” Sasha says, dabbing her face with some cosmetics product I would have no idea how to use.
    â€œWhat?” I ask.
    â€œLook. The buildings. No windows,” she says. She’s right. While there are windows, they’re definitely not the same kind of windows I’m used to. They’re screened and awninged and used sparingly, if at all. It seems as though Phoenix’s entire architectural sensibility is simply “batten down the hatches because it is hot as hell.”
    We pull up to the Arizona Biltmore and everything changes. The beautiful Frank Lloyd Wright–inspired 1929 resort is right out of a picture postcard. The first thing I notice is the green. As with the windows, I realize I hadn’t really seen any lawns or flora and fauna. Here at the Biltmore? We’re surrounded by golf courses and palm trees and lush gardens. I never knew green was such an extravagance.
    The valet takes the keys to the rental and motions for Sasha and me to pull our bags out of the trunk. We fall in behind the so very blond women and their aging husbands.
    By the time Sasha and I haul our luggage into the lobby of the hotel, I’ve never been happier to feel the cool whoosh of air-conditioning in my life. And I’ve lived in the South. We check in to the hotel and head to our rooms, blissfully surrounded by air-conditioning.
    â€œThe kick-off toast starts in an hour,” Sasha says as we wait for the elevator.
    â€œKick-off toast?” I ask.
    â€œSure. It’s right before the Opening Night Bacchanalia.”
    There’s just so much wrong with that sentence.
    Sasha continues, “It’s all in here.” She hands me a printout of the RomanceCon schedule. “We have to be in the Silver Ballroom in an hour.”
    Once the elevator doors close, I scan the schedule Sasha just gave me. The doors ding open and I gather my stuff just enough to walk the few feet out of the elevator and into the hallway of our floor.
    â€œâ€˜Walk the plank at the Pirate Booty Ball’?” I read in a tone that is half wonder, half fear.
    â€œIsn’t it great?” Sasha beams, looking at the arrows posted on the wall, as she gets oriented with where our rooms are.
    â€œâ€˜Get wet down under at the Mermaid Bash,’ and finally, lest we forget: ‘noir it up, gangsta style’ is the theme of this year’s pageant.”
    â€œI can’t wait!” Sasha squeals. All of my belongings are strewn at my feet as I scan the parties over and over.
    â€œThat’s gangsta with an a ,” I say, finally handing the printout back to Sasha. I collect my things and check my room key, and we continue trudging down the hall to our rooms.
    â€œWe’re right across from each other!” Sasha says, gesturing back and forth at our rooms.
    â€œThat we are,” I say, sticking my room key into the slot. Green light. “See you in an hour?”
    â€œI’ll be right here,” Sasha says, standing in her now open doorway with a smile that belies what we’ve endured alreadytoday. I let my door close behind me and the silence surrounds me like a dream.
    What I want to do is flop onto my oversized king bed and sleep like the dead. What I do instead is