(no subject)
The Sandy Pearl, 9:00 o'clock, I told him.
We had to talk, I told him.
Or really, what I told Cordelia was that I needed a hand and could she tell Wesley (the gentleman in me always tries to call him Mr. Pryce, but the one time I did that, I ended up talking to his brother on the phone, and if that wasn't a nightmare...) to meet me at the pier at nine sharp or the deal was going to fall through.
Code. We had no choice. It wasn't paradise, but...it worked.
The Sandy Pearl on the other hand was a dive. Sure seemed like you had just been spit out of a clam shell and tossed on the beach on some deserted island. Not much in the way of amenities, but the beds were clean and the night manager made a point of not looking at his customers.
Like I said, we had no choice, but I had to see him.
It was our usual room...for this motel. Sometimes we went to others, but this one was easiest for both of us to get to. At least he'd know which room to come to. Too many things in code and one of us would get confused.
The room was dark, light dusting in through the old, faded curtains with palm trees and native gals on them. I sat at the end of the bed and waited, trying not to smell the dust over everything or the faint scent of bleach from the bathroom, most likely covering up something far more unpleasant.
[Open to Wesley]