“So, are you sure I can’t convince you to drive down to Florida with me?”
Callie rolls her eyes. “Really, Manse. If I went at all, it’d be a first class flight—no raggedy-ass seedy motels down I-75 for me.”
“But it’d be so romantic, Love—we’d take our time, with stops along the way.”
She’s frowning as she examines her fingernails.
“Do you have any idea how much a two-week auto trip would cost me in lost sales? No siree bob! If you want to piddle away your time scoping out some crumbling resort, then be my guest—as for me, I’ll stay here and hold down the fort for good old Pyramid Holdings—you know, the company that pays our salaries?”
She says it in her little girl voice and the sarcasm isn’t lost on me, nor is her total apathy toward romance.
Suddenly, she shouts in exasperation. “Damn! I just had a manicure, and now I snag a nail. Great. Just great!”
I abandon my efforts to woo her south, and leave her to her real work—bent over and absorbed in the task of restoring an impossibly long red talon.
She’s preoccupied, and doesn’t see me go. “You know the square shape of nail is the most practical and durable,” she sings out, “if you don’t mind being boring.”
I grimace at Callie’s profound disregard of me—to her, boredom seems relative to proportional amounts of her, herself and she.
Three nights later, I’m driving on Florida’s Gulf coast watching the silvery iridescence of moonlight on the water.
It’s late, but my rooms are booked at The Ritz Carlton so I decide to drive straight out to the resort and take a quick look around.
I spot a weathered sign announcing Moonlight Pier and pull off into a sandy parking lot.
I shut off the motor and sit spellbound. It’s so serene—the soft breeze, the sound of the waves and the moon riding fair in its quiet afternoon.
The dark buildings seem mysterious in moonlight—love among the ruins, perhaps? I’m being cynical, but I’m surprised at the bitterness that rises within me toward Callie—I thought I was better than that. Sadly, I hoped we were better than that.
I push away the misery, get out of the car and squish through sea oats and sand, and walk the perimeter of the property. Hugh Morrison, our acquisitions scout was right—this place has real possibilities.
The romance of the old ballroom near the sea stirs a pang of nostalgia in me—for the magic of a past era—and if I’m being honest with myself, for the missed possibility of a failed love.
Even if the trip to Florida turns out a success, it’s going to be a long ride home feeling totally alone.