“It’s a fact of life here,” Gemma says. “They think it’s absolutely no big deal. Of course, people use them to have affairs as well, but that’s for the married crowd. I gather the lunch rush at telos is all people shagging their coworkers.”

“Right. So, anyway,” Cali continues, “I hadn’t been to one yet, but I’m not so shocked, and some of them are actually pretty nice, I’ve heard.”

“And the one our fair Rodrigo took you to?”

“Ye-ah. I think it must be the student discount version. So, so bad. Like red velvet, heart-shaped bed, shag carpet, the works. I half expected Austin Powers to burst out of the closet. The worst part of it is, I think it’s funny, but the kid is in full seduction mode.”

“Oh dear,” Gemma says.

“Indeed. Anyway, you know how it is, once you’ve decided to bone, it’s hard to turn back. And it’s been a while, so I’m willing to get past the bad decor, and at this point I’ve had some wine and we’ve been dancing this amazing tango all night. I’m still in the place. So I decide to just forge on and be relieved that he’s not suggesting we break open the costume closet.”

“Costume closet? You’re joking,” I say.

“I’m absolutely not. Anyway, I forge on. And you guys, it’s bad.”

“Bad how?” I say.

“Yes, please dish,” Gemma says.

“In about every way that sex can be bad. It was as though I were a machine that he had no idea how to operate. He tried to go down on me . . .”

“Wait, tried?” I ask.

“He was down there but there was this tongue darting and . . . oh, I can’t, it was too awful. I wanted to pull him back up and interrogate him: like, whoever told you to do that to a vagina, they must be stopped.”

“What did you do?” Gemma asks.

“I pulled him up and kept going.”

“And??”

“Jackrabbit hammering for about three minutes and then it was over. The worst part is, we have the room for an hour, and at that point we’re like ten minutes in.”

“Was he mortified?” Gemma asks.

“No!” Cali says, slamming her hand on the armrest of the chaise. “He didn’t even have the sense to be embarrassed. He just dozed off.”

“What did you do?!” I ask.

“I’m alone in the tackiest hotel room in the universe, with my failed little Don Juan taking a nap. I raided the minibar obviously. Then he wakes up and wants to go again. At this point, I’ve downed two minibottles of tequila so I figure why not, everyone deserves a second chance.”

“And?”

“I’ve now revised that maxim to: Bad sex once, shame on you. Bad sex twice, shame on me.”

“Oh, Cali, I’m so sorry,” I say.