"Hotel California"

[MeGuyUGirlWeRP]

"Hotel California"

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The Baker Family posed without the need for feigned smiles; once the stranger they'd wrangled to click the pic got the shot, they were heading east from the coast for home. It had been a fun vacation ... but it had been a long vacation, and each of them couldn't wait to get back home to something -- or someone -- they'd been without for almost a month.

Tim Baker had left his company in the hands of his younger brother, and while Pete was a capable man he had no imagination, and Party Time needed a man with imagination to be at the helm. Tim had been calling and texting his brother every day -- every time his wife wasn't within ear shot to remind him that they were on vacation -- and Pete had responded each time that everything was just fine. But Tim needed to get back to Pete; he needed to check on the shop personally.

Tim's wife, Camille, needed to get back to Pete, as well ... because she found him fine and needed to get personal with him as soon as possible. The two In-Laws had been carrying on -- once, twice sometimes three times a week -- for almost three years. Being without Tim's younger, more energetic, and extremely more skilled brother had left Camille so desperate for sexual release that she'd actually made love to her husband, their first time together in over a year ... and not worth her time, Camille had told herself afterwards.

Greg was having a similar love life problem. After lusting over her for six years, Greg had lost his virginity to, literally, the girl next door. Three years his senior, she'd enjoyed the night as well and promised him much more as soon as he returned from the obligatory family vacation.

And Carla, his recently turned 19 year old sister, had a similar problem ... far more similar than she would ever speak of to her family. She, too, had met a beautiful older woman, a 23 year old photography major and barista at the local Starbucks. Tara had invited Carla to her apartment to look at her photography portfolio, then convinced her that she should pose for some shots. It began innocent enough, but over the next two weeks, the clothes Carla was posing in became sexier, became less numerous, and finally became an obstacle. She posed for artistic nudes ... then posed in erotic situations, including touching herself ... and finally posed with Tara, making love as the multiple cameras on timers continued to snap away. Tara had given shy, innocent plain Carla something no boy had ever given her ... a feeling of beauty, a feeling of confidence, and a feeling of true pleasure and satisfaction.

Now, all the Baker Family wanted was to get the hell home and return to their lives. As the man behind their camera reviewed the shot in the digital camera's small screen and gave the thumbs up, the family scattered; Tim headed for the motel's porch to retrieve the last of the bags, Camille retrieved the camera, and the children headed for the car, each one of them on their phones, rapidly texting messages to their respective lovers promising to be with them by the end of the day.



The steam rolled out of the engine compartment while all four of the Bakers stood outside of the SUV, praying for a breeze to cut through the unusually high early summer heat. Tim looked to his wife and shrugged. "I had it serviced before we left and checked all of the fluids yesterday."

They'd been on the side of the road for more than an hour with no passing traffic when, of all things, a limousine came over the rise, slowing and stopping beside them. A Chauffeur emerged, donning his cap and suit jacket and, as if meeting his assigned clients, offered out his hand to Tim and said, "Hello, I'm Jake."

"Um, hello," Tim said with a tone of disbelief. He took the man's hand and asked, "How far to the nearest town?"

"Too far," Jake said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder and adding, "But there's a hotel just up that road."

All four of the Bakers followed his gesture and, for the first time, found a full color advertisement the size of a sheet of plywood for The Hotel California, with the line "Only 8 short miles to Paradise" across the bottom with an arrow pointing up the narrow, poorly maintained black top.

"I can give you a lift," Jake went on. "I'm on my way there to pick up clients, so ... it's not out of the way or anything."

The kids were already confirming their desire to accept Jake's invitation, grumbling about the heat and the need for water and more. Carla looked to her phone for the hundredth time and asked, "Is there cell coverage there?"

"I believe so," Jake said, already heading for the back of the SUV as he asked, "Do you want to take all of your bags or just specific ones?"

Tim and Camille looked to one another; their expressions told all, that they really didn't have much of a choice ... and as far as choices went, this wasn't a bad one. Tim -- fearful that anything left behind would be stolen -- looked to Jake, answering, "All of them if they'll fit."

"They will," the Chauffeur said, quickly beginning to unload the suitcases and bags. In less than two minutes, the SUV was practically empty and the limo was, instead, full of the Bakers and their stuff and heading up the narrow road.



Camille was about to ask how far they'd driven -- it had been far more than just 8 short miles -- when they began to climb a long rise and the dry, brown desert gave way to an ever thickening green forest. When they burst out the other side of the thick woods, there it was before them, The Hotel California.

The Bakers each responded with surprise and delight as the limo left the rough black top behind and moved onto the cobblestone drive, which was more elegant but still rough below the big car's tires. Jake stopped the car at the Hotel's entrance and came around to let his riders out. "Here we are sir, ma'am. I'll take care of the bags for you."

"Welcome," a deep male voice called out. The Hotel's Concierge opened the metal gates across the Lobby's entrance and emerge, extending his hand toward Tim. As Tim took his hand, the man looked to Jake and informed him, "Your clients will be down momentarily."

"Thank you, Harold," the Chauffeur replied, turning to begin unloading the bags. As he did, he looked between the other Baker Family members and then gestured toward the open gates. "Best lemonade in the state is right through there ... restaurant, at the far end of the lobby."

Before Tim could say anything, his kids were gone. Camille shrugged to her husband, then turned and followed behind them.

Tim was alone, essentially, with his family already inside out of the sun and the Chauffeur and the Concierge quickly unloading the Baker's possessions and rushing them into the Hotel. He watched the operation from the shade of a pillar, feeling out of control of the situation.

Tim Baker didn't like not being in control. He'd lost control of his wife; she'd been having an affair with another man for months, possibly years, but Tim -- no longer sexually interested in Camille -- had allowed it to continue because it made her happy ... and when Camille was happy, the rest of the Baker Family was happy.

He'd lost control of his business, too. The financial crash had put him on the verge of bankruptcy and he done some things that weren't quite legitimate to keep afloat. Thank goodness his brother was there to help him keep things afloat.

So, with nothing to do, Tim headed inside the hotel and wandered toward the rear, toward the best lemonade in the state.

Behind him, the Chauffeur and the Concierge moved close to one another and watched the lead of the Baker Family disappear into the shadowed interior of the century old structure.

"You found them where they were supposed to be?" Harold asked quietly.

"Right at the junction," Jake answered. "How exactly do you--"

Jake cut his question short. There were somethings about Harold and the Hotel that he simply didn't want to know, such as how the man knew who would make a good addition to the Hotel's permanent guest registry; or how he managed to get those people here in the first place.

Instead, he looked out of the corner of his eye to Harold, with his hand outstretched, and asked with a knowing tone, "And ... my client...?"

Harold reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of keys -- one a room key, the other a hand cuff key -- and instructed the Chauffeur simply, "Be gentle with her. She's never done this before ... even though she thinks she always wanted to do so."

As Jake's penis began an early rise, he smiled and acknowledged, "As I always am, I will be gentle this time, too."

He began to head inside, then stopped and turned back to Harold. "And the Bakers. Will they be needing a ride back to their vehicle any time soon."

Harold smiled, then turned away from the Chauffeur to look out across the grounds of the Hotel California. More to himself than to Jake, he mused, "No ... I don't think so. The Bakers won't be going anywhere soon ... if ever."

 

[SweetAsSuga]

Summer Cahill wiped at the sweat beading down her neck. The hot sun beat down on her as she walked down the deserted highway, her white skirt sticking further to her legs with each step. Her tank top clung to her body, a small and oddly sexual patch of sweat forming in the fabric that covered her breasts.

Eighteen years old, Summer had fled her home as soon as the clock struck midnight on her birthday. She was through with her mom and she was definitely through with Greg, her perv of a step-dad who couldn't keep his wandering hands to himself. Let them rot in hell, Summer thought as she continued down the highway. The two of them could drink themselves into as deep a stupor as they wanted and could throw away their money on all the drugs their systems could handle. Without her there to steal from, Summer didn't doubt that her mom would soon be turning tricks to keep the couple in drugs and booze.

Hoisting the backpack that carried all her worldly possessions further up onto her shoulders, Summer trudged wearily down the road. She had been walking for what felt like a thousand years, but, in reality, was only two weeks. She had put as much distance between herself and her dysfunctional family as possible. Sometimes relying on her own two feet and, sometimes, on the generosity of strangers. While she had met her fair share of good samaritans, Summer had also run into quite a few pervs who were willing to exchange driving her a few miles down the road for a blowjob...or more. In those instances that Summer was grateful for the pepper spray and pocket knife she kept handy. It was amazing how quickly a man took his hands off you if you threatened to cut off his junk.

Just when she thought she was going to collapse from the heat, a sign rose up on the road ahead of her. The Hotel California it read, a long driveway going up a hill behind the sign. Mentally calculating how much money she had left, Summer figured that she could spare the cash for one night in a soft bed and a decent meal. With her stomach now rumbling at the thought of food, she made her way up the driveway. As the entrance to the hotel came into sight, the front door swung open and a man stood there, smiling at her.

"Welcome," he greeted her.

"Um...hi." Summer replied with an uneasy smile. The man seemed nice enough, but it was always best to be wary.

"My name is Harold, and I'm the concierge here at the Hotel California." He said, ushering her inside.

A blast of cool air greeted Summer. She couldn't help sighing gently as the sweat cooled on her skin.

"May I show you to a room?" Harold asked.

"Sure thing." Summer said with a grin as she followed Harold to the check-in desk.

 

[MeGuyUGirlWeRP]

Greg and Carla came bounding down the wide staircase with the latter calling across the lobby, "Mom! Dad! Did you see our room?"

As Tim gestured for the excited girl to calm down, her mother answered, "Yes, honey, we saw it--"

"They gave us a suite!" the 19 year old continued, yanking on her father's arm, trying to lead him back the way she'd come. "Did you see it, dad? Come on, you gotta see it!"

"I will, darling, just..." He pulled his arm away and repeated his settle gesture, finishing in almost a whisper, "In a moment. We still have to figure out how we're going to pay for this."

"Whaddaya mean?" Greg chimed in quickly. "Are we out of money?"

Tim shushed his son. "No. We're not out of money. I just..." He flashed the credit card the family had been paying for the month of fun with and whispered, "It isn't going through. The Concierge is trying to figure out why ... but--"

"I'm sorry, Mister Baker, Harold said, seeming to appear out of no where. "The phone lines still seem to be down. But don't you worry about anything at all. You and your family get settled in and, if for some reason, we can't get the card to go through, then you just send us a payment when you get back home, yes...?"

Tim looked to his wife with a questioning expression, only to find an even more dubious look on hers. People simply didn't show that kind of credit and trust in strangers these days, particularly out her in the middle of the no where with the chances of catching up on people who run out on bills was nil.

"Let's go, Greg! Carla called out, already heading for the back of the lobby. She'd already changed upstairs and was ready for a dip. She laughed loudly as she called back over her shoulder, "Did you see a diving board from the window...?"

Tim thanked the Harold, reassured him that payment would be made, then picked up his camera bag, and headed upstairs. Camille watched him leave, then turned to Harold and asked with the doubt in her voice obvious, "No catch to this...?"

Harold smiled, then chuckled; it was a low, almost creepy laugh that Camille thought could have come from any of a number of bad horror movies. "No catch, I assure you, Mrs. Baker."

"Don't call me that..." Camille cut in. When she realized how harshly it had sounded she continued, "...please. Call me Camille, please. Mrs. Baker was Tim's mother."

The last statement had sounded harsh, too, but she'd done nothing to correct any impression the Concierge took away from it.

Harold stepped up closer -- almost an intimate sort of closeness -- and offered out his hand. "I assure you ... Camille ... your arrival here is a good thing. Your family will be better for it when they leave."

Camille hesitated, unsure of exactly what Harold's meaning was. He seemed ... cryptic. She smiled and thanked him, then took his hand -- and flinched at the electrical shock between their palms, a zap that was reminiscent of touching a door handle after sliding your feet across a carpet ... but ten times stronger!

Even stranger was the reaction of the man before her. Harold's expression was ... almost orgasmic. His lips parted a bit as he drew a sharp breath and held it. Then he released the air, gave her a broad, satisfied smile, and released her hand, saying softly, "Thank you, Camille ... and ... it will be a pleasure having you here. You and your family."

Camille backed away a step, studied the man, then turned and headed up the stairs after her husband, thinking, and my family my ass. You're ... you're a freak, Harry ... and I don't trust you for a minute.



The rest of the family was sat at dinner when Carla hurried back into the Hotel's dining room with an excited expression on her face. She dropped into her chair, quickly asking, "Can Summer join us?"

"Who's Summer, honey?" her mother asked, her eyes in a hotel brochure that had been copyrighted and printed in 1922 yet looked positively brand new. "Shouldn't she be eating with her family--"

Carla jerked at her mother's arm and, gaining her attention, nodded her head across the table. A young woman, seemingly close to Carla's age, was standing in the doorway, simply glancing about the dining hall; her look, Camille thought, was a bit forlorn.

"She doesn't have any money," Carla whispered softly. In one breath, she continued, "I saw her in the lobby and she spent all of her money on one of those little teeny rooms on the second floor and there wasn't any left and now she doesn't have any for food or nothing and she's all alone and I think it would be nice if we--"

Camille waved her daughter off anxiously, saying, "Yes, yes, honey. Invite her over if you want." As she watched her daughter spring from her chair and scurry toward the door, Camille gestured the Waiter over. "Another place setting please and--" She leaned closer to the Waiter and whispered, "And another bottle of the red, please."

At the door, Summer was looking off toward the buffet when she flinched at the sudden appearance of Carla before her, shoving her hand out.

"Hi!" she said, sounding like she was back in middle school summer camp trying to make friends with the cool girls. "I'm Carla. Wanna come eat with us?"

 

[SweetAsSuga]

The rest of the family was sat at dinner when Carla hurried back into the Hotel's dining room with an excited expression on her face. She dropped into her chair, quickly asking, "Can Summer join us?"

"Who's Summer, honey?" her mother asked, her eyes in a hotel brochure that had been copyrighted and printed in 1922 yet looked positively brand new. "Shouldn't she be eating with her family--"

Carla jerked at her mother's arm and, gaining her attention, nodded her head across the table. A young woman, seemingly close to Carla's age, was standing in the doorway, simply glancing about the dining hall; her look, Camille thought, was a bit forlorn.

"She doesn't have any money," Carla whispered softly. In one breath, she continued, "I saw her in the lobby and she spent all of her money on one of those little teeny rooms on the second floor and there wasn't any left and now she doesn't have any for food or nothing and she's all alone and I think it would be nice if we--"

Camille waved her daughter off anxiously, saying, "Yes, yes, honey. Invite her over if you want." As she watched her daughter spring from her chair and scurry toward the door, Camille gestured the Waiter over. "Another place setting please and--" She leaned closer to the Waiter and whispered, "And another bottle of the red, please."

At the door, Summer was looking off toward the buffet when she flinched at the sudden appearance of Carla before her, shoving her hand out.

"Hi!" she said, sounding like she was back in middle school summer camp trying to make friends with the cool girls. "I'm Carla. Wanna come eat with us?"

After having left her bag up in the tiny room she'd been able to afford, Summer headed down towards the hotel's dining room. Though she had no clue which way to go, the smell of delicious food guided her.

Standing in the doorway of the dining room, she looked about unsure of where to sit. A family of four sat at a round table not far from her. She had seen them when she'd checked in. They'd been having trouble with their credit card.

Sometimes it's just better to deal in cash, she thought. Her eyes traveled over each member of the family, wondering what had brought them to the hotel. As she stood there looking at them, the daughter bounded over to her, startling Summer slightly.

"Um, hi." She responded to the girl's overly enthusiastic greeting. "I'm Summer. Sure I would love to join you."

She followed Clara over to the table, where a fifth place had been set. She sat, nestled between father and daughter and gave the family, what she hoped was, a friendly smile.

"Hi everyone. Thank you for letting me join you."

Growing up, Summer had never really experienced a family setting, let alone one that had any semblance of normalcy about them.

Appearances can be deceiving, though. She thought as she glanced around the table. For all I know, these people could hate each other.

 

[MeGuyUGirlWeRP]

The Baker family was having a crisis. Not a collective crisis, per se, but instead four little ones that revolved about the same issue: Lust.

Camille Baker simply hadn't been able to get her earlier encounter with Harold out of her mind. The man gave her the creeps. And yet now, she was continually glancing at the Concierge, standing at the little podium near the dining room's entrance. She might have considered it keeping an eye on the man ... if it weren't for the fact that she couldn't keep her eyes off Harold's expensive, tailored suit slacks ... and the tight ass within them.

The fantasies flooding her mind were not her ... and just wrong! Most of them revolved around the idea of Harold taking her in ways she's never been with a man before: he had her spread out, face down, on the dining room table after midnight, pounding her from behind while her family slept upstairs; she was tied with leather reins to a stall gate in the stables as he ate her out from on his knees; they were on the beach, hidden from her laughing, playing children while her head bobbed up and down above his groin; and more, so much more. Camille would, of course, never do any of these things, with any man, let along that man ... would she?

She shifted her weight a bit, trying to force her thighs together. She was having a bit of a problem down below; she was wet -- dripping wet -- and if she couldn't get control of herself, she wouldn't be able to get away from dinner without the back of her dress revealing where her mind had been during the meal.

Tim leaned closer to Camille, asking softly, "You okay, sweetheart?"

Camille nodded, answering simply, "Yes, dear."

Tim returned to his meal again ... or to what he himself had been doing during his meal. He stabbed a carrot and lifted it to his mouth, tipping his head to again allow him to inconspicuously glance toward the cleavage of his daughter's new friend. For the past twenty minutes of so, as the young woman and Tim's family visited about their fun and adventures over the summer month, Tim had been glancing about the table to ensure no eyes were on him, then glancing to his right to look down Summer's blouse ... and fantasize.

Carla had sat Summer next to her father, which initially hadn't been a problem. Then, Tim smelled her. It was a wonderful scent, a woman's scent. Camille had often had that scent when they were first married, working in the yard of the little home they'd rented then, or rushing about the house to clean it up before her parents or in-laws stopped in for visits. Tim would catch a whiff of her as she passed, snag a wrist, pull her back to her, embrace her, kiss her ... and that would be all it took. An hour later, exhausted and panting, they'd finally separate and don their clothes once more.

Glancing now at Summer, at her hair and her skin, Tim could see that she'd tried to spruce herself a bit upstairs in her room, but ... she hadn't showered ... and Tim simply melted at that smell. When Summer leaned forward at one point, retrieving a glass or fork or what ever, Tim's eyes had quickly fallen to the cleavage being revealed by the thin, spaghetti strap blouse she was wearing. She was perfect -- they, her breasts were perfect -- at just the right size and firm and adorned with pert nipples that were standing a bit in the cool of the dining hall's air conditioning.

He glanced across the table at his children as they listened to Summer talking about finding the road to the hotel. Tim was thankful that their eyes had been set almost continuously upon the young woman; it had given him more time to eye her himself without being caught.

Ironically, his children were each thinking the same about the Summer as he was.

Like his father across the table, Greg was hard as a rock within his summer shorts. He'd lost his virginity the weekend before the vacation began, and for the past month he'd been unable to look at a good looking woman, or even a bad looking woman with a great looking body, without springing a bone down below.

But he was, generally, a shy guy, with a confidence problem; he'd always thought he was too skinny and looked three or four years younger than he actually was. Over the last month, he'd said hi to dozens of girls, traded introductions with many of those, actually have several long conversations with a portion of that group, and even spent a couple of hours -- once on a beach and again at an amusement park -- with a couple of those. And while he'd been hoping to get laid, of course, the most he'd gotten out of a month of trying was a kiss from one girl and a light brushing of his crotch by the other.

But now, here, without all of the distractions -- meaning, better looking boys and men -- maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. I mean, who the hell else is she going to like around here ... the Concierge ... or my dad? Really!

Of course, Greg was a bit of a conservative. It would never have occurred to him that maybe he ought not to be looking toward the dining room door or across the table for competition when it came to Summer's affections. He probably should have been looking to his left ... at his sister.

Carla completed the trifecta of Bakers who were being consumed by lust for the beautiful, young brunette who'd joined them for lunch. Carla's sexual experience was at the same time exactly like and totally different from her brother's. She'd lost her virginity at almost the same time as Greg had, though she'd given hers away at a younger age. She'd slept with -- no, had sex with -- a guy she'd known from high school simply so she wouldn't go off to her freshman year at college a virgin. She'd hated it, of course; it had hurt, and she hadn't enjoyed any real pleasure, let alone satisfaction. But it was something she felt had needed to be done.

Then, she'd met Tara, and something clicked in her mind. They'd been meant for each other, and after one afternoon of conversation over coffee and an evening of Tara showing her her portfolio and bedroom studio, Carla had known that she and Tara were meant to be together. She'd posed for hundreds of photos, of increasingly more sexual and erotic nature, never caring about the pictures themselves; she only wanted to get naked with Tara, and for Tara to get naked with her, as well.

Also similar to her brother, Carla had spent the past month endlessly thinking of having sex again. But, in contrast, the object of her desires hadn't been every attractive female walking about, but had consistently been only Tara! Carla knew who she wanted to be with, and no other woman would fill the craving that had been popping up its head so often during the trip.

And yet, it had only taken moments for her to fall in total lust with Summer, simply upon sighting her in the lobby. Carla didn't understand what it was all about. She'd seen dozens -- hundreds, thousands -- of beautiful girls and women over the past four weeks; women at the malls in short skirts, women at the beach in bikinis that almost didn't exist, women at the amusement parks in cropped, belly-revealing blouses and shorts so short that butt cheeks were slipping out the backside. And yet, all she could think of was getting back to Tara.

Maybe that's the reason, she thought, looking across the table to Summer. Carla was supposed to be with Tara tonight; she'd already texted her that by sundown, they'd be making love to one another again. That, of course, wasn't going to happen. And Carla had been, as she'd heard her grandmother call it once, hot and bothered ever since the family's rig broke down out on that retched highway.

And then, standing there at the hotel counter with Harold was this beautiful girl, all tanned and exposed by her spaghetti strap blouse and short white shirt. And ... Carla had simply forgotten all about Tara. In a flash, Carla was in love -- not lust -- with this stunning creature who seemed to simply appear out of the desert.

Carla had slipped up to stand behind a decorative beam in the lobby and listened in to the woman's conversation with the Concierge. She hadn't leaned much -- just Summer's name and that she hadn't even had enough money for a room, so Harold spotted her the last few dollars -- but it had been enough to give Carla an in. She'd milled about the lobby until the family sat down for dinner, then kept her eyes on the dining room door ... and when Summer appeared, her heart had leaped.

And now, here they were, sitting side by side, so close that Carla could have leaned in an kissed the beauty if she'd wanted to. And ... she wanted to. So badly! Of course ... maybe Summer didn't like girls...

For a moment, Carla's smile faded. It was the first time she'd had the horrific thought. Maybe she likes boys! Men! A chill ran up her spine at the thought of Summer liking men more than women. Carla didn't not like men; she'd been with one, of course, and while it hadn't been an enjoyable experience, she hadn't sworn off another encounter with one in the future.

She simply preferred women. Didn't she? Or, did she simply prefer Tara? Since her weekend with Tara, she'd often asked herself whether she was a lesbian; she'd been with one guy and one gal ... so ... What am I? had been something she'd asked herself again and again.

Sitting here beside Summer, wanting so badly to go upstairs with her, to undress her, shower with her, kiss her, lay with her ... Carla was certain she was a lesbian. She loved the feel of a woman's body next to her. She wanted that feel again ... soon ... with Summer!

"How is dinner?"

The male voice snapped Carla from her musings. She looked up to see the Concierge standing behind her and, almost in concert with every one else, gave him her compliments. Then, just as quickly, she turned her attention back to Summer.

"I was wondering whether I could speak to you," Harold said, looking directly at Camille. "The credit card is, of course, in your name ... so..."

"Do you want me to come," Tim whispered, sensing his wife's unease.

"No, I'm fine," Camille said, rising and tossing her cloth napkin on the table near her thrice empties wine goblet. "I'm sure it's nothing."

She departed ... leaving the remaining three members of her family behind ... with Summer ... and their building lust for their guest.

 

[MeGuyUGirlWeRP]

Harold led Camille across the lobby, curling around to the employee side of the front desk to stand behind the Guest Register the Baker Family had signed into earlier that day. He had taken the walk without ever once looking back to the Camille, who -- unashamedly -- had ogled his form all the way across the lobby without regard to who may have been nearby to spot her interest in his backside.

"Is there a problem?" she asked arriving at the Front Desk and realizing that Harold's hand was resting on the still unprocessed credit card billing for their room. "Were you able to--"

She halted her inquiry as the man raised his hand in a polite gesture.

"There is no problem with you payment, Camille," he answered, remembering her request that he use her given name. "I will not be submitting you card for payment."

Camille raised an eye brow questioningly. She asked doubtfully, "And ...why would you not do that?"

"I thought that possibly we could discuss that this evening," the Concierge suggested. "Perhaps after your husband has fallen to sleep. Perhaps over a nice bottle of wine on the veranda ...are you a fan of caviar?"

Camille's lips spread in a smile, which preceded a short chuckle. She responded with sarcasm, "Sure, why not. Wine and caviar after dark with a man whose not my husband."

She laughed again ...but the humor faded as she watched for a reaction from Harold and got nothing but a steady stare. She studied the man for a long moment, then asked, "And you don't think my husband would have a problem with me stepping out on him with a stranger?"

"Why would he?" He replied immediately, adding, "He has allowed you to, as you put it, step out with his brother for years, and he has done nothing to put an end to that, has he?"

Before he'd finished, Camille's face had already flushed white with shock. She turned and looked back to the dining room, finding her family still at their table with Summer. She'd expected to find her husband's suspicious eyes boring a hole through her, but instead found him engrossed in conversation with the three younger folk. She turned and snapped back, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I've never..."

But as she stared into Harold's eyes and knew that he knew, her words trailed off. She again glanced toward the dining room, then asked, "How do you know this...? What did Tim tell you...? Why in the world would he tell you something like--"

Again, Harold stopped her with a polite gesture. "Mr. Baker has told me nothing."

"Then how--"

"I do feel..." Harold cut in, "...that this evening would be a more appropriate time for this conversation, do you not agree?"

Camille realized that the shock had given way to anger when she felt her heart pounding in her chest and the heat in her face. She was about to explode on him -- at his unfounded accusations -- but didn't; it seemed ... almost a relief to have some one know what she'd been doing with Tim's brother for all these years. Only, she thought, why him...? Why here, and now...? It makes no sense. For three, no four years we've been fucking under Tim's nose, and...

She drew and exhaled a deep breath, then again checked the diners behind her. She turned back to Harold and said hesitantly, "Yes ...I ...I think that maybe this evening ... This evening might be--"

"Very well," the Concierge cut in, starting around the Front Desk again. "I will have Cookie bring some dessert to your table.". He was heading back toward the dining room as if the conversation between the two of them hadn't taken place. "His pie is simply to die for, as is the home made ice cream, which I will..."

Camille wasn't hearing him anymore; she remained where she was, simply watching the man disappear, still wracked with disbelief. She was lost on how to deal with this twist in her dealing with Harold. It was unbelievable that the man knew of Camille's adultery, and it was shocking that -- somehow -- he knew her lover was her husband's own brother. But what surprised Camille so incredibly more than either of these was that she was looking forward to her late night rendezvous with the mysterious Concierge ... wondering ... why do I feel this way toward this ... freak...?

She didn't understand it. She glanced around the lobby and then, finding herself all alone, reached to the back her dress between her thighs. It was wet with her fluids and, she knew, would be visibly stained. She rushed to and up the stairs ... leaving her family behind to enjoy their dessert.