So many pieces of luggage and totes to carry, I’m embarrassed I don’t pack lighter. R. will see me struggle and think poorly of me, I’m sure. Yes, he does raise an eyebrow when he sees all my bags, and that’s not even all of them. I still have to retrieve the clothes I left in Santo Domingo, because I didn’t have room in my bags.
Meanwhile, we go to dinner with another couple. Three of us seem much younger than R., and I think how well he fits in. Then I remember he is only a year older than the oldest of us. R. and the other man go ahead to pay the checks. I’m left behind, but I catch up. R. has movie tickets for us. An action flick. Oh well, I guess it will do me good to expand my horizons.
Juggling the bags now falling out of my arms, I must find Joni McVey’s apartment on the seventh floor. When I get on the down elevator for stops 7 to Lobby, I assume I can get out on the seventh, and I will see her apartment right away. Someone alerts me that the elevator won’t stop at seven, but will take me straight to the lobby. Yes, she is right. But she intervenes and finds a way to get the elevator to let me out on the seventh floor.
But, which apartment is the one? I walk past the doors and none of the names are familiar. Someone asks who I am looking for. “Doris. Doris Day.” Well, that will be tough to find, they say. Such a common name. But I keep looking.