I went to my room and rolled on some more deodorant, spread on another layer of foundation, and shored up the eyeliner. Pumped up the volume a little. The hotel phone rang, startling me. I answered it. It was Tom Sanduli wondering if I wanted him to pick me up in my room. I said sure, then I put on lip gloss and brushed out my hair. I thought about texting Chad something cute. The doorbell rang. I grabbed my purse, walked over, opened the door, and Tom Sanduli kind of fell in on me as the door shut behind him. At first I thought he must have had a heart attack, or maybe been shot. He felt like a hot sack of flesh. That was only for a split second. Then I realized he was making out with me. I laughed a little, twisting in his embrace, but his face pressed itself hungrily into mine, his mouth opening in his big head, revealing warm wet flesh inside. It occurred to me that he thought it was the two of us doing this. He thought we were kissing. All that witty repartee we had earlier had really gone to his head. I tried pushing him away, but his arms were wooden. I was too embarrassed to actually scream or hit him, because that would be admitting that he was attacking me, and that of course couldn’t be happening. It was Tom fucking Sanduli. We shuffled across the room together for what seemed like forever, like dancers tied together with rope, inching toward the bed. We fell onto the mattress. He was on top of me, continuing to act like a man making love to some woman who wasn’t actually here. He was reaching up my skirt. This was it. I made a decision, one that I have often wondered what if I didn’t make. I grabbed his dick in my hand, got up from under him, unzipped his pants, and blew him. I was aware of his mitts flapping once or twice, swatting at my face half-heartedly, but overall he succumbed without much of a struggle. Afterward, I walked to the bathroom to spit into a tissue and he lay there, defused. “Wow,” he said, or something. As if we had collaborated on some special moment. For a good ten minutes, I laughed with him. I made a special effort to seem happy and at ease. We exchanged a few of our signature quips. Then I looked at my watch and told him he better go to dinner ahead of me; I had to make a phone call.