The loud knock on the giant wooden door of my villa jolted me into a disagreeable state of semi-consciousness. In the wee morning hours it was still dark and foggy outside, but not nearly as dark and foggy as my head. Vodka, gin, antimalarial pills, throbbing head, bad dreams. The soft bed underneath the mosquito netting held me like a bug snared in a web, and it did not want to let me go.
Ugh. The bedside clock read 4:15 a.m. I had slept through dinner, I’d missed my “date” with Chris, and now it was up and at ’em for my first early morning game drive.
Shaking myself loose of the bed, I shuffled across the smooth ebony floor. “Coming,” I said, then turned the predator-proof lock and swung the massive door aside. A smiling porter stood there holding a silver tray of coffee and French pas
