9WE TOUCHDOWN INNashville at about 9:30 p.m. The flight was relatively uneventful, except for Mary Sue’s incessant spew of verbal vomit. Being confined in a sardine can with this woman for four hours makes me want to suggest that Guantanamo Bay look into utilizing Mary Sue as a replacement method of torture as opposed to water boarding—half an hour into the flight and I was already at the point where I would tell anyone my deepest darkest secrets just for the sake of shutting her up.By the time we landed however, we were both so exhausted after the long two days we just went through that Mary Sue is back to her previous, albeit non-characteristic, complacent and silent state. It’s just as well that T.H.E.M. traditionally arranges transportation service for agents from the airport to their living arrangement, because I don’t think either of us are in a state where we can be trusted to operate a motor vehicle (anyone who points out that my radar intolerance makes me permanently
10I CROSS THEroom to my bed and kneel down by the safe under the bedside cabinet. I open the safe with a combination provided to me in my T.H.E.M. documentation and pull out a stack of manila envelopes—my case files. The safe, of course, had been sent by T.H.E.M. to the hotel to be placed in my room prior to arrival, and a duplicate safe is in Mary Sue’s room, as well.“You haven’t even looked at those yet, have you,” Mary Sue tisks with annoyance, indicating the envelopes in my hands.I roll my eyes, then retort, “For the love of Captain Hammer’s nipples, Lindsay, gimme a break already.” Even though we are now in the privacy of my suite, it’s probably best to stay in character, just in case a housekeeper walks in on us or something, and so I maintain my accent and use of Mary Sue’s dupe name.“Fine, whatever,” Mary Sue huffs in annoyance. “While you’re catching up, I’m gonna order room service. Do you want anything?”“No, I already ate,” I say as I plop myself onto my bed
11BEFORE LEAVING, we each lock our case files back up in our respective safes, to keep the housekeepers from randomly stumbling upon them.It is standard operating procedure for T.H.E.M. to have operatives use a company-issued vehicle while on assignment. As I’ve already explained, I’m something of an exception to that rule thanks to my radar sensitivity, which is one of the fewadvantages to being forced to have Mary Sue along with me on this assignment. I don’t particularly enjoy being escorted around, but it’s definitely preferable to having to take public transportation.However, something—a mischievous glint in her eye, a slight smirk, an almost too-eager spring in her step—about Mary Sue’s attitude as we make our way down to the hotel lobby makes me suspect she is hiding something, and I suspect that something has to do with our mode of transportation. By the time we get out of the hotel and into the parking lot, she is practically bursting at the seams with bubbly excit
12WE FOLLOW THE beat-up Grobes truck at a distance so as not to garner too much attention. Fortunately, it’s starting to get dark out, which will make it harder for them to distinguish us.After about a ten-minute drive, we find ourselves approaching the center of town and the truck turns right off of the main road into a parking lot, facilitating a large, white building. Mary Sue parks the car about a block away, and we watch as the two Clarks—easily distinguishable even in the fading twilight by the girth of one and lack of girth of the other—get out of the truck and disappear into the white building.We wait in the car for about fifteen minutes, to make sure no one else arrives, before getting out and making our way down the block to investigate closer. The parking lot looks to be about half full, so the two Clarks must have been the last of the group to arrive.As we draw closer to the white building, we begin to see a sign clearly marked at the front of the building: Bucksnor
13WHEN WE ARRIVEback at The Hotel Dickson, we are eagerly greeted in the lobby by our friend from the night before, Tim the Bellman.“Welcome back Ms. Buchanan, Ms. Dieterle, is there anything I can assist you with this evening?” Tim asks, reminding me of a love-sick puppy dog. I can’t help if he’s hoping to get another of Mary Sue’s ‘tips.’“Easy there, Tim,” says an older, balding man wearing the same monkey organ-grinder uniform as Tim, stepping between Tim and ourselves. I assume from his reprimand that he’s a supervisor or something. “I gather you are our new long-term residents?” The balding man inquires of Mary Sue and myself.“Yes,” Mary Sue says in her thick, fake, southern drawl. “I’m Lindsay Buchanan, and this is my associate Nanetta Dieterle.”“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man replies—as his eyes wander over us, I can feel him undressing us and I have to refrain from visibly shuddering with revulsion. “I am Howard, the head of Guest Services here at The Hot
14I WAKE UPeven more tense and sore than I did yesterday. Before anything else, I call the spa and ask when is the soonest they can get me in. The girl on the phone checks her ledger, and then responds that she can squeeze me in, in about 15 minutes. I tell her I’ll be right down, then hop in the shower, and practically sprint to the spa.By pure chance, I’m able to get the same masseuse from the day before, Bill. Hey, just because I won’t allow myself to sleep with him, doesn’t mean I have to refrain from letting him rub me down in other ways ...By the end of my massage, I’ve made up my mind on a matter I’ve been toggling in my mind ever since waking up—and I’d be lying if I said hunky Bill didn’t have something to do with settling the matter. Mary Sue is going to be unbearable when I confess this decision to her, but it’s clear after two nights in a row of dreaming about Jason and Nick that I need to do something to make these dreams stop before I go insane. We
15I CAN’T CLAIMto be surprised Mary Sue gets a response from Clark Jr. before noon. Considering that Clark Jr. is a basement-dwelling loser, he probably has spent every day since dropping out of high school having wet dreams imagining getting such an e-mail. There’s a reason I didn’t even try to place a bet on who would get first response.“wow, ur super hawt! im total down for w/e you wanna do so hit me up babe,” I read the response from Clark Jr. over Mary Sue’s shoulder.“I guess you’re gonna be heading over to his basement to jump him right now, then?” I smirk.“Geez, Nanetta, I’m not a totalwhore, you know. I’m still gonna make him work for it. That’s half the fun,” Mary Sue replies—despite the sarcasm, I sense I may have actually hurt her feelings. Worst of all, I feel guilty about it. Porcupines damnit. I hate feeling guilty.“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything. I was just teasing.”“It’s okay, hon, we’re good,” Mary Sue replies, brushing off my apology with a
16MARY SUE PAYSme a brief visit before she heads out for her date shortly before 6:00. As she had promised, she is sporting a blue sweater and casual, but nice, jeans. She looks perfect for the role of young woman headed out for coffee with a blind date.“Good luck with your date tonight, girlfriend,” she chirps. “I’d tell ya to be careful, but I know you, so I won’t bother.”“Yeah, you too,” I say, rolling my eyes, but smiling.“Don’t jump the kid’s bones right away. Make him work for it.”“Ummm ... shouldn’t it be yougetting that advice?”“Normally, yes. But with this dipshit, I don’t think it will require much restraint on my part to make him wait ... ”“True that.”“Meet back here when we’re done and compare notes?”“Yeah, I guess.”If we were just comparing work notes about the case, I wouldn’t have any hesitation about meeting up afterward. However, I know Mary Sue well enough to know this comparison of notes is going to be more focu