I am impatient. He will come. I have to see him. Be alone with him. He knows I am around. I can only hope. And that I will.

I am bored with the story I am reading. David Baldacci writes exciting suspense stories, but for some reason Last Man Standing badly needs the company of other human factors; truth be told though, Baldacci stands innocent in my situation. I am, indeed, the one who is badly in need of the company of the one for whom I care. I look outside my window and the vision of a sky that boasts a clear summer day with not a slightest hint of rain greets me. I watch the white clouds roll along with the gentle push of the wind against a background of clear, azure, blue skies. As I child, I had imagined images of different animals in the cloud formations. Today, my imagination withdraws from me: the lions, tigers, elephants and humans of various shapes and sizes are not allowed out to play. I am alone. But still, it is a beautiful day. It lends credence to the reason I am here in Boulder City, Nevada for an African summit pre-conference deliberation.

I have been waiting for Nameless’ call. I hope he calls. Just hearing his voice on the phone and being with him is the one thing I had looked forward to for the past days. I hope it happens. He is in a meeting. He is always in a meeting, but it’s always cheering to hear his voice. I begin to lose hope of seeing him. Even though I sense that my chances are running slim, still I hope.

I cannot sleep. I am restless. I have so much to do. Maybe I should go for a long walk. But then again, maybe not. I put Last Man Standing down, and I sit up; immediately and most reluctantly I shuffle to the lone chair in my hotel room. Resignedly, I fall into the lone lemon-green chair. I don’t feel like working, but that I must: I have a review to write. Lightly and in familiarity, I touch a space bar on my Dell laptop, and plink! Instantly, the swirling kaleidoscope on the screen saver makes way for another, which in its plainness calls me to duty. Groan! I can’t do this. I get up again, and almost immediately concede to gravity as I lie face down on my bed, gently pushing away the burgundy bed covers; I don’t need them.

Lost in thought, I am jarred back into the moment by the shrill call of my Sprint cell phone.

“Hi.”

“Where are you now?” Nameless’ voice spoke into my ear.

“At the Quality Inn. I’m in my room.”

“I am here at the Quality Inn.”

Oh my goodness. Are you serious? “Oh. Really!” I managed to say. Don’t babble, Girl. Get it together… steady here.

“I am here for a meeting.” Who cares?

“Will you come in and see me? I am alone in my room.” I replied. Easy, easy, don’t get desperate here, Girl. But I am desperate, I battle.

“What’s the room number? I am here with Tom.” Yeah, I really care about that!

I give him the number.

“I am not dressed though. I’m in my pajamas,” I caution. Just come! Hurry!

“I understand. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“OK,” I say into the now disconnected phone line. Oh wow! I cannot wait. I swing my legs from the queen-size bed, slide my foot into my well-worn soft, brown moccasin bedroom slipper and cannot bother to reach for the other foot of the slipper, which was nowhere to be found, anyway. There will be time for that later. Or maybe not. Who cares? Nameless was on his way down to the room. That matters.

I am flustered and can hardly contain myself. I barely have time to look in the large oversized mirror sitting on the four-drawer birch veneer dresser. I pull my champagne- pink housecoat closer and half turn around to reach absent-mindedly behind my back for the belt that will hold the robe better in place. I take a peek out the door. I should not have done that; I was not even properly dressed. Even though I do not hear his footfalls on the padded hallway, less than a minute and a half later, I hear the door open and Nameless walks in.

And then I see nothing else: not his face, not the suit he was wearing, nothing but the feel and fact of his presence. He pulls something out of his breast pocket. It’s for me. It feels soft. It smells soft; it’s the fragrance of sunny smiles and sunshine rolled into one: it’s a rose. “Thank you!” I fall into his arms as they encapsulate me. He must have closed the door with his foot because we open it later when he has to leave. I match the strength of his arms around me; both of us in passion and in need of each other. All I feel is him. I cling onto him. “Wait….a little while longer… please…I will make it up…time…” The words he mumbles I only sense through my subconscious. I smell his musk cologne and recognize the man in him. I feel him and ensconce myself in the shelter of his arms. His bear hug propels an engulfing fire which infuses some craved-for warmth into my body. First the touch is feathered then it becomes intense in its urgency; Nameless begins to rub his arms vigorously against my back and my arms. I hold him tightly still. I return his kisses and will not let go.

“I have to go back to the meeting now, Girl. They are waiting for me.” Ouch!

I cannot let go, I do not want to let go. Gently but firmly, Nameless draws back, holds my wrist and pries my arms from his neck or was it his shoulders? Momentarily, I try to step back, only to snuggle back for more of his love and his warmth. I always imagined this.

“The window blinds are not drawn…” I vaguely hear him say. Oh P-L-E-A-S-E! But I understand. I run, and quickly draw the blinds. I fall back into his arms.

“I hope I don’t have lipstick all over my shirt.” Nameless’ voice filtered in. I snap back into life.

“Oh dear! That would not be too responsible, would it?” I managed to smile, trying to get his face in focus.

A quick check and in less than two minutes, Nameless opens the door and walks out, leaving me in the room to hug the memories of the moments we just shared, freeze, and carve them in time. Somehow, I feel that with Nameless, I am home. But then again, who knows?