Gordon Hardy stood on the edge of the sidewalk, squinting across the street at the physical embodiment of his fantasy—the Posada de Jardines—the Garden Inn. The fading roof tiles turned almost white from the blaring tomato red sun, and the tall palmetto palms around the property cast ragged shadows over the stucco walls of the split second storey.

A few small clouds splintered the painfully bright sky and a gentle breeze rippled the feathered leaves of the palms and the brilliant red flowers on the thick growth of bougainvillea fronting the building.

He walked down the sidewalk and studied the various aspects of the property. Grapefruit and lemon trees dotted the freshly mown lawns along both sides and he could just see the top of his tangelo tree that dominated one corner of the broad, flagstone patio, pool court. All in all Gordon was pleased and proud and most exciting of all was the antique sign that hung by the front gate reading, no vacancy-- currently an exaggeration.

A large truck broke his concentration as it shifted gears and rattled the air with an irritating growl and he made a face. The hotel was on the only main road out of the town and the one unfortunate drawback to his location, drawing comments from some of the people who came to stay.

It was the end of the first official holiday weekend since he'd taken over from the previous owner and the full house had been an encouraging sign, particularly since he had sunk everything he owned into the investment. The fifteen room, nineteen twenties structure had left him smitten from the first time he had seen it.

Postcard worthy was how he had described it to friends and family who threw their hands up in despair when he announced his intentions. The rooms were all appointed with the unique décor of the twenties and Gordon directed a lot of his attention to finding suitable accessories to augment that era.

He watched as the postal cart putted up to his mailbox and the uniformed driver shove a wad of mail inside, setting the red 'mail flag' to the full position. Checking traffic, he jogged across the wide street to the box and emptied it out, strolling back to the front gate as he sorted through the envelopes.

Nita, the maid, was polishing the glass and the brass handles of the large glass doors that led to the pool court and held one open for him as he wandered in. She smiled at his greeting and continued working.

"Is the laundry started?" He asked, pausing before going into the office, noticing that the doors were spotless and she seemed to be dragging out the process because it was in the shade of the portico roof.

"I have one more room to collect the linen from."

"So it isn't started?"

"The last room will be free in about twenty minutes."

"And the laundry?"

"I'll be watchin' for them to leave."

He nodded wearily and pushed open the door to the office into the air-conditioned interior. The laundry wasn't started. The mail was mostly bills and a few flyers from the town's various businesses. He leaned back in the chair, glanced out at the glittering water in the blue-painted pool with a sigh.

He would enjoy a nice swim about now but the two old maid sisters, one of his long-term rental couples, were sitting on the swing seat in the shade in front of their unit, both in dresses and the mandatory accessories. He didn't think strolling out in his Speedo would win him any points so he concentrated on the mail; he would swim later . . . maybe after dark.

**********************

Deborah West read the label on the bottle and pouted uncertainly. She shifted the grocery basket from one arm to the other and reset her glasses as she checked the rating on the price marker. Gordon always bought the wine and she usually drank it without thinking about his ability to select the types and vintages she enjoyed. This time she wanted to surprise him when she cooked dinner. She wanted to prove she could choose with best of them and have the wine chilled and ready to pour.

"Nice shorts." Deborah glanced up at the leering man looking at the wine bottles next to her and gave him a sour look. "Wish I could get into something like that."

She straightened up and turned toward him, smashing her plastic basket into his kneecap.

"Jesus, lady!" He bent down and rubbed frantically at the pain.

"Oooh, sorry. It's these shorts, they just tug at everything without warning."

"Bitch!" The man limped off, cursing.

Whether she liked it or not, her outfit drew many ogling eyes from men and envious glances from women as she crossed the parking lot and climbed into her cherry red, Toyota convertible. Big sunglasses and blowing hair, Deborah roared through town to the Posada de Jardines accompanied by the sound of beeping horns, both in appreciation of her natural beauty and anger over her erratic driving.

Gordon heard the grate of gravel as Deborah scrunched onto the parking area beside the hotel and winced at the telltale cloud of white dust that was launched into the bordering fruit trees. She rounded the corner from the lot, stopped at the mailbox and then breezed down the sidewalk-- queen of the world. He marveled at her insouciance as she slipped through the front gate, bummed the glass doors open and fumbled with the door into the office.

"There she is," he smiled, leaning up out of his chair for a quick peck as she kept going through to the inside of the hotel owner's apartment. "I have your dental bill." He called, waving the envelope.

She dumped her groceries and strolled slowly back, taking it from him and reading the amount with a pronounced slump of her bare shoulders.

"I'll never get out of debt at this rate."

He stood up and hugged her. "Babe, if you keep going in for cosmetic treatments you have to expect these charges. Your teeth are beautiful as they are. Leave them alone."

"You don't understand." She pouted.

"I know that nothing you do can improve on what God gave you."

"You're just saying that."

"I know." He squeezed her harder so she couldn't swat him. The phone rang, interrupting their embrace and he leaned over, flipped the switch on the big board and answered the phone.

"Posada de Jardines."

"I'd like to make a reservation for next Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. Can I get a double bed?"

"One or two people?"

"Just me, but I need a double bed."

Gordon sat back down and opened his reservation book. "Friday, Saturday and Sunday. No problem. Can I get your name and a card number?"

"Mindy Cowls but I'll be paying cash."

"That's fine; the card number is just for a deposit, Mindy."

He listened as she rhymed off her credit card number and then asked when she would be arriving, thanked her for calling and spun the expected patter about looking forward to her arrival.