We sat in the lobby facing one another on a plush velvet sofa. Alphonse, one of the bellboys, brought us drinks; a greyhound for Gerard Piccard and a Coke for me. Nicole and I both had crushes on Al. He was sweet and funny and looked a lot like Scott Baio. Once before my escapade with Russ in the parking garage, Al and I had hung out behind the kitchen, smoking cigarettes and talking over the voices of the dishwashers and the clanking pots and pans. He’d grown up in the valley, not far from my grandmother’s condo. Now I was too embarrassed to look at him. Chances were he’d heard all about my make-out session with Russ. In the hotel, news traveled fast.

“Thanks, Alphonse.” I avoided his eyes. “Um, just charge it to our room.”

Gerard took a sip of his drink, then reached into his khaki canvas shoulder bag and pulled out several pieces of paper with swatches attached. “This is more what I had in mind.”

“This?” I held up the fabric; peach and yellow Swiss dot. Dollhouse fabric.

“For the bed and curtains. And this,” he said, holding up another swatch of peach and yellow stripes, “for the pillows and love seat.”

I couldn’t keep my eyes from rolling. “You know I’m fourteen, right?”

“Your stepmother thought you would love it.” He pursed his lips and wiped his mouth with a cocktail napkin, sighed, and filed the swatches back in his bag.

“I do, it’s just that, I mean, are there any other choices?” I squirmed in my seat. Both of us knew this whole input thing was a waste of time.

Gerard checked his watch.

“Never mind,” I said, not wanting to offend him any further. Also, I feared I might have inherited my mother and grandmother’s lousy decorating genes. “Use those. It will look great.”

“Good. Well then, it’s been pleasant meeting you.” Gerard put the renderings back into his bag and left.

When he was out the door, I slid the remains of his greyhound to my side of the table, checked if anyone was looking, and drank it down.

“You want another?” Al had come up from behind, startling me.

“What?”

He pointed at the empty cocktail glass in my hand.

“Um, sure, but—”

Al dashed away and minutes later deposited what I thought was a Shirley Temple in front of me.

“Hey, no fair! This is a—”

“Vodka and cranberry,” Al whispered. “I put the cherry on top so no one would know.”

“Ohhhh.”

I’d never been brought my own drink. I took a sip. It was delicious. Cold and tart. I could hardly even taste the alcohol.

“Thanks, Alphonse.” Even his name was sexy.

He smiled down at me and my heart skipped a beat. I was crazy about his dimples and the way his shiny black hair fell over one eye.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked.