Body to Body, Heart to Heart

One

1993, Yerevan, Armenia

The New Armenian Hotel, as it was called, turned out to be anything but. "Very sorry," said the man acting as their interpreter and guide for the dozenth time in as many minutes. "We had such hope electricity would be on for you."

"What do you do when it isn't?" asked Cher, "Does the hotel still take guests?"

"Oh yes," the man continued, "Just many do not come. We give a blanket and a candle for each guest."

Cher searched Rob and Paulette, who both had given deference to her, and collected nothing but a couple of raised eyebrows. "Well, I guess that's what we're doing. Seems like everyone is in the same boat."

"This is the only hotel."

"I gathered that. Alright, where have they put us?"

"You have been given a suite for the three of you, on the fifth floor."

"Is it this cold up there?"

"Yes, so we give blankets."

"My friend is pregnant," said Cher, slipping her hand protectively into Paulette's. "Can she have an extra blanket?"

"I'll be okay—" Pauly interjected, but Cher squeezed her hand and stopped her.

"Yes, we get extra blanket for your friend."

"Thank you."

"If you are ready to go up, I will take you there."

"Just a minute. Is there running water?"

"Some, cold. It should work a couple hours tomorrow; we have some each day."

"I have bottled water in my bag," said Rob, "We've got enough to drink and brush our teeth, it'll be okay."

"Then I guess we can go."

The guide, loaded down with four blankets, three candles and a box of matches, set off at the direction of the Armenian staff, using a flashlight balanced atop his load to illuminate the stairwell.

"If there's no power, there's no elevator," Cher mused to herself, "Go first, Paul."

"And give me your bag," said Rob, "You don't need to haul it up all these steps."

"Are you sure? That means you have two—"

"Hey, I work out." He casually hoisted her large duffel onto his free shoulder. Cher grabbed her own Louis Vuitton suitcase with both hands and set her jaw. "Sorry," Rob said under his breath to her.

"Absolutely not," she countered. When they'd left on this adventure—for that was the only word for it—Bruce Howell had nervously asked them both to look out for his pregnant girlfriend, even though he knew they would. Paulette was a healthy and happy five months along, and, being of Armenian descent herself, had really wanted to accompany her best friend on the trip, particularly, she had said, because she was taking her unborn baby to this part of her heritage, too. In the last year, she had lost both of her parents, and, at Christmas, had found out she was expecting. She and Bruce were very much in love, but it was Cher who had been her safe harbor in every single storm, it was Cher who was her security. Bruce and Rob had joked that the girls were a package deal, and when the opportunity had arisen for Paulette to join Cher in visiting the war-torn land of their ancestry, well, there had been no question that it would happen.

For his part, Robert Camilletti had fitted himself admirably into the role as protector for both women and had given Paulette every consideration that he would have if it had been Cher carrying a baby. With no official relationship status to speak of, he still had been her first choice of travel companion. It seemed to him that that said something – he wasn't sure what, but something. They'd been together at Christmas, at her place in Aspen, and yes, being together at Christmas also meant sharing a bed, but – well, what about it? He'd spent Christmas with her for years now, when they were living together and when they weren't and, one unfortunate year, when she was dating someone else. That had been awkward. He'd only seen her a couple of times since Christmas, and then about ten days ago, she'd called and asked, out of left field, if he'd go to Armenia with her.