Chapter Thirty-Three
When the Chips Are Down
A true man of character knows his limitations – but doesn’t accept them.
–Unknown
DAY 6—6:06PM
Grand Hyatt Tampa Bay
ELENA
Jazz music is good music to drink to.
That’s what I’ve learned in my forty-uhhh…
I check the clock on my Hyatt nightstand.
… four hours of isolation.
I take another sip of my vodka—a subconscious/not-so-subconscious allusion to Mr. Super-c**k, and I replay the song on my hotel stereo, a sweet but sultry melody named A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream that momentarily chases away my nightmares—replacing them with alcohol-fueled, musically-inclined delusions of grandeur.
I pretend to play the trumpet in the chorus; I drum my fingers as if playing on piano keys.
My hair is partly wet, my Hyatt robe is half-on, and I swing
