the trip

 kathy and larry went to the bahamas. they were on vacation. their first vacation together in the eighteen months they had been dating. 
it was larry who proposed the trip. kathy was touched. she didn't think he had it in him to suggest a trip. she had reconciled herself to either trying to awkwardly bring up the idea and the possibility of a lengthy discussion about the edges and nature of their relationship, or to relegate herself to vacation alone or with her friends, wondering why he wasn't with her and whether to break it off and move on.  
larry asked when they were out to dinner at The Bells - a cute restaurant on the south side of the newly hip area. the place had the requisite atmpspheric edison lights, dark wood, full -wall distressed mirrors, unpolished brass and a waitresses who looked dusted with film glamour of the '40s. they got two dozen oysters, a split between malpeques and welfleets. they laughed about one of kathy's friend's alice, who told kathy about how her boss fell on the stack of papers he gave the temp to shred, right after the meeting where he chewed out alice for using the wrong stock paper for the presentation to the new clients. 
after their giggles died down, but the oceanic ooze still sloshing their giddiness around, larry tenderly took her left hand into his right from across the table, and kissed the third knuckle. his saliva glistened on her hand in the textured lights and a strand hung tenuously down his chin. 
in the glowing mirrors, he said - hey babe, let's go down to the bahamas. let's go down to the beach. let's see some rotting fish wash up on the sand at sunset, when the ocean sheds itself of the day's old relics and the salinic detritus appears charmed for a few minutes in the cooked egg sun on the horizon and magenta cloudstreaks. she breathed in shallowly, squeezed his hand and with cracking voice, said - that would be lovely. 

more from american hotel

the american dream still hooks me, even when i have abandoned the underlying nature of the same semblance of other dreams compiled from american romanticized imagery of european transience.  like that time i was in rome following a ragged cat, and decided to get on a train to civitavecchia to catch the ferry to sardinia. while in the waiting area for the ferry, a fat man with a bird in a cage sat next to me. he stunk the way fat men stink in the summer when they don't shower for awhile. i couldn't take it. so i got up and bought some french cigarettes and a pair of six euro sunglasses to replace the Persol's I bought in Rome two years prior but lost right before I got on the plane, and right before I was separated from my job at the firm back in new york.