The Write Choice

Chapter 2

Melanie opened her eyes and fumbled for her iPhone. It was eleven am. She loved how her iPhone automatically switched to the local time whether you were in California or half-way around the world. She had slept ten hours. The rest of the last evening was a blur. The shuttle ride had been harrowing as the driver weaved in-and-out of traffic at what seemed like Nascar speeds. The speed limit must be the only law in Singapore people broke. When she finally arrived at the Hyatt, it was almost midnight.

A young bellhop had escorted her to her room on the eleventh floor and deposited her luggage inside the door. His name was Chin. He grinned like he won the lottery when Melanie handed him a twenty dollar bill. She hadn't had time to exchange any money yet, and it was all she had. He thanked her profusely and ran around the room showing her how to turn on the TV, open the blinds, and call room service. Melanie was exhausted and practically pushed him out the door. She barely got her clothes off before falling into bed and passing out.

She slipped on the plush, white robe she found in the closet and walked over to open the blinds. A flurry of activity was going on below as service workers in white uniforms unloaded trucks of food and beverages. Huge skyscrapers sprung up in every direction.  Lush palm trees reached up from the floors below and balconies were covered with orange and red flowers cascading over the rails.  Although the room was air conditioned, the humidity seemed to seep through the windows—coils of curls exploding on her head.

Melanie sat down at the desk and browsed through the room service menu. She ordered waffles with fresh berries, whipped cream, and a pot of coffee as she pondered her day. It was already Sunday in Singapore, since they were a day ahead of the western world. "Screwed out of another Saturday night," she grumbled.

Speaking of screwed, she thought, I wonder who Jake was with last night. She had missed a text from him that came in around five am pacific time.

"Glad you got there safe. Just got home. Chat later," Jake had texted.

The only reason Jake would be getting home late was if he hooked up with someone.

Melanie texted back. "Hmmm....who fell for your charms this time?"

"The blond at the Fleur de Lys."

"Dam it Jake! Quick screwing girls at our fav places!"

The Fleur de Lys was their after work watering hole. She and Jake would split an order of garlic fries and have a Pacifico as they gossiped about the day. Except on nights Jake had a date—they would skip the garlic.

Because of Jake's past indiscretions, they now had to walk three blocks out of their way to the Starbucks on Market Street for their morning fix. This happened after he slept with and "forgot" to call back the main barista at the Starbucks only a block from their work. For a week or so after the incident, she continued to wait on them with a pasted smile, but Jake usually got three times the cream he ordered and Melanie's coffee tasted like it had five pumps of regular hazelnut instead of one pump of sugarfee.

He texted again. "Left her with a smile."

Jake was such as player, she thought. In the years they had worked together, Melanie had seen him go through hordes of women. He never went out with any of them more than a few times. He was the ultimate bachelor; he had never been in love as far as she knew.

Jake grew up in San Francisco. His mother owned a condo on Lombard Street or what was better known as "the crookedest street in the world" with its eight sharp zigzag turns down an incline so steep it would make even the most skilled race car driver a little nervous. There was an endless parade of tourists that drove or walked up-and-down the street at all hours of the day and night and, according to Jake, an endless parade of girls. He learned as a young teen all he had to do was hang out in front of his condo to meet women. Those cute hazel eyes combined with the novelty of living somewhere famous made him irresistible.