Five-Star Mistake – Epilogue – Do Not Disturb

I still send clients to the hotel where he was staying.

Not out of spite. Out of professionalism. The room really was good – four stars at worst – and I don’t let my personal life edit my inventory.

People ask me sometimes, other agents mostly, if I ever hear from him.

I tell them the truth.

No.

Not because I’m still angry. I stopped being angry somewhere over the Atlantic, around the time I realized being angry that he was married would be like being angry at a hotel for having a policy.

The marriage wasn’t the problem.

Finding out after check-in was.

That’s information you’re supposed to get before the minibar, not after.

What I actually think about, when I think about that week at all, is the parking-lot line.

Maybe it’s a very emotional parking lot.

I still use it.

Different men. Different bars. Same joke. Usually the same laugh.

Except now I pay more attention to the follow-up.

I pay attention to what they don’t say.

He was fun.

The trip was fun.

I got a tan, four good stories, and one very useful rule I didn’t have before:

If a man is that good at reading a room, ask what he’s not saying about his own.

I don’t regret the week.

I don’t regret him.

I just don’t rebook.