She saw the personal assistant—his name was Edward—sitting on a couch in the lobby of the Centurion Hotel. The man looked agitated. He had a blue duffel bag sitting at his feet and was typing one-handed on a blackberry. She walked up to him.
“Hi there, I’m Brenda.”
He pocketed the phone and shook the hand she offered. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’m so glad you found time to squeeze me in.”
Edward sighed. “Well, we had an appearance on a radio show scheduled, but Mr. Arlington didn’t show up. It kind of freed up the morning.
“So he isn’t here?”
“Not right now. I’m not sure where he is to be honest.”
“Then why did you tell me to meet you here?”
“He’ll usually check in eventually, and he knows I had his things sent to this hotel.”
She sat down in a chair next to him. “How long do you think it will be until he shows up?”
“He probably won’t risk missing the complimentary breakfast.” The phone buzzed in his pocket. He puled it out tapped twice with his thumb and stashed it away again.

It turned out to only be a few minutes before Michael Arlington appeared in the revolving door. He stayed in it for a whole revolution before stepping inside on the second pass. He smiled as he crossed the lobby towards them. “Morning, Bernie.”
Edward shifted his eyes to look at him but didn’t turn his head. “I’m upset. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, that’s probably reasonable.” He didn’t break stride and moved past them to the buffet against the wall where he started to pile eggs and sausage onto a plate.
“Why did he call you Bernie?”
Edward shook his head. “I don’t think he actually knows my real name.”
“Oh.”

“Who’s your friend, Bernie?” Michael had found his way back to them, picking at his breakfast with a plastic spork.
“Her name’s Brenda. She was hoping to interview you for the Sun News.”
Michael held out his left hand. She hesitated, then shook i tentatively with her own.
“I think I’ll finish this in my room.” He took a step away from them, then turned back, “Also I need a phone. Chucked the last one in the ocean.”
Edward unzipped a pocket on the duffel bag and pulled out a cell phone. He tossed it to Michael, who caught it with his free hand, then turned and walked away. He called back to them, “Good luck with your interview.”
“Heh, I figured you had a chance, too.” Edward zipped the bag back up.
Brenda’s ears were red. “Did I do something to offend him?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it was probably the wedding ring.” He had the blackberry out again.
“What?” The redness spread to her face. “You mean he would only let me interview him if he thought he could sleep with me?”
“It isn’t necessarily the only way.” Edward punched lazily at the keypad with his thumb. “But the closest you’ll get to an interview is getting him to talk to you while he’s interested in something else. Some of the guys have gotten good results with luxury boxes at baseball games.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it tends to keep in in one place for a while.”
“Maybe I could try again without the ring?”
Edward shook his head. “That would definitely be a bad idea. He’s pretty distrustful of women to begin with.”
“Why’s that?”
He laughed. “Now that’s the sort of story that would get an assistant fired were he to share it with a reporter.”

She tried to change the subject. “I couldn’t help but notice how many cell phones you have there.”
“Spares. All to duped to his account. They’re the only thing he goes through faster than assistants.”
“You seem to have stuck around awhile.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Why is that, you think?”
“Who knows.” He leaned forward towards her. “Maybe it has something to do with what happened my first week.”
“Really?”
“I remember the day we met. A board member introduced us. Michael just said, ‘I’m gonna call this one Bernie,’ and walked away.”
“Wow.”
“The next time I talked to him, he was ass-deep in a crisis.”

Michael opened his eyes, then snapped them shut again in pain. They were so dried out that it burned. He rubbed them, trying to work what felt like gravel out from under his eyelids.

He ignored the rustling sound as he sat up to take in his surroundings. “Hotel room. I don’t like where this is going.” Worse, it was a pretty shitty hotel room. He would have to tell that new assistant off.

Michael found his pants on the floor and fished his phone out of the pocket. Speed dial number one. The name Bernie flashed on the screen and it started to ring.
“Michael? Where the hell are you?”
Michael didn’t like his tone. “I’m at the hotel, and I’m a little pissed off.”
“No you’re not.”
“The hell I’m not. This place sucks.”
“You’re not in your hotel room. I’m standing in it.”
“What?”
“It’s a mes, by the way. The hot tub overflowed and there’s broken glass everywhere.”

Michael’s head hurt. He struggled to remember the night before. “What am I supposed to do today?”
“Seriously? You’ve got that thing at the Mall of America at two.”
Michael looked at the palm tree outside his window. “I don’t think I’m in Minnesota, Bernie.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“I don’t really know where I am, except that it’s a shitty hotel room.”
“Fine. To hell with it. Find the front desk and ask someone where you are.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Michael pulled the pants on and headed towards the door.
“Michael?”
“What?”
“Can you get back into the room?”
The door to the hotel room was standing open. There was a key in the lock. “Yeah. I’m not an idiot.”

He kept Bernie on the line as he stumbled around the hotel complex, bitching about how the bright sunlight made his head hurt. Eventually, he found the lobby and the front desk. “Hi there. I need a little help.”
The man at the desk’s eyes widened. “I sorry, señor. No Inglés good.”
Bernie broke in over the speakerphone. “I don’t like where this is going.”
Michael laughed. “I said that earlier.” He looked back to the clerk. “Lo siento. Donde estoy?”
“Oh.” The man smiled. “La hotel playa de oro.”
“No, no, no,” Michael raised his hand. “La ciudad? Cual ciudad es esta?”
The man behind the desk stared at him. “Mazatlan… de Sinaloa.”
“Shit.” Michael covered the speaker with his hand. “Mucho gracias.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of notes. Looking that them he laughed. “All my money is in Pesos.” He handed a twenty peso note to the man behind the counter.

“Michael?” The phone cracked with static. “Tell me I didn’t just hear that man say Mazatlan.”
“Relax. I’ve been here before. Nice city, from what I remember.”
“Michael, listen to me. You are in another country.”
“Yes.”
“You flew there in an airplane.”
“Most likely.”
“So shit-faced that you don’t remember it?”
“Pretty much drawing a complete blank.”
“How in the hell did you make it through customs?”
“I can be quite charming.” He stepped outside and winced at the sunlight.
“Not that charming.”
Michael walked through a garden in the courtyard. “Either way, I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the mall by this…” He trailed off, staring at a fountain. “I’ve been here before.”
“Yeah, I know. You mentioned it already.”
“No, I mean this hotel. I stayed here when I was seventeen.”
“That’s great, Michael, but how about we wait to reminisce until after we find out if you have your passport.”
“Okay.”

Michael was sweating by the time he got back to his room.
“You said your money was in pesos. How much do you have?”
“In my pockets or on the bed?”
“What? All together.”
“Well, I’d have to count it, but I’d say around three hundred thousand pesos.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Most of it’s on the bed Looks like I made some sort of nest to sleep in.”
“Why would you want to sleep in a money nest?”
“Why wouldn’t you? Besides, there’s a big pile of coke on the other bed.”
“A big pile of cocaine?”
“About the size of a volleyball.”
Bernie sighed. “Glossing over that for now, I’m looking at your accounts, and you didn’t take any money out.”
“Then how… Dammit.”
“What?”
“I must have grabbed my bug-out bag.”
“So you brought that much cash into the country. How many felonies do you suppose you committed last night?”
“My personal best is seven.”
“Fantastic. Listen, I’m going to try to sort this all out. I’ll call you back later. Until then, see if you can piece together what you did last night. Look for tickets, receipts, that sort of thing.”
“I’ll try, but they aren’t exactly the ink and paper sort of people around here.”
Bernie sighed again. “Just see what you can do. And try not to get into any more trouble.”
“No promises.”
Bernie hung up.

Michael was sitting on the balcony—sipping a piña colada and staring out at the ocean—when his phone rang. “Hey, Bernie.”
“Hey, Michael. I think I’ve got a bank near you that can wire the money back to the States. It’s going to raise some red flags, but we’ll deal with that after you get home.”
“Okay.”
“The cocaine you’re just going to have to get rid of somehow. Flush it, whatever.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. It was just flour.”
“Flour?”
“Yeah, I tasted it.”
“Oh.”
“Then I found the bag under the bed.”
“Well, that’s good I guess. Weird, but good. Did you find your passport?”
“Yeah, and two boarding passes.”
“Two? You took someone with you?”
“You see, that’s the thing. Ne is in my name, and the other one says William Knight.”
“Who’s that?”
“Billy Knight was the name on the fake ID I used to buy beer in college.”
“Are you saying that you bought two tickets for yourself?”
“I think so.”
“That’s weird, too.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, as long as you’re sure you aren’t leaving anyone behind, let’s get you home.”
“Sounds good to me.” Michael hung up, laid the phone down, and looked out at the open water beyond the islands.

Michael was tugging at his tie as soon as he was out of the boardroom. Bernie took it from him. “So, how was the board?”
“Pretty angry.”
Bernie shifted his weight uneasily. “Am I fired, then?”
“No.”
“No?”
“They wanted to, but I told them we wear the same size suit jacket, and I often need to borrow one.”
“Huh. Thanks.”
Michael walked away down the hallway, calling back, “I’ll be at the bar.”

“What city is this Bernie?”  Michael yawned and stretched his arms as he walked down the steps from the jet.  It was already dark out.
“Are you fucking serious?” Bernie stopped punching the keys on his Blackberry and looked back at Michael.  “We’re in Myrtle Beach.  How in the hell do you not know where you are?  Did you even read the itinerary I gave you?”
“Hey, cut me some slack.  I’ve been drinking since last Tuesday.”
“I know.  It’s been making my life a living hell.” They walked towards the buildings of the airport.
“You need to lighten up.”
“I busted my ass to put this tour together.  Could you at least pretend to take it seriously?  The things you do affect a lot of other people now.  You’re not just a person, you’re a brand.”
“Well, for your information, the brand is thirsty right now.” Michael stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

There was a cab waiting for them.  Bernie opened the door.  “I have some last-minute things I have to take care of for tomorrow.  Can I trust you to check in, behave yourself, and be ready in the morning at six-thirty?”
Michael half-fell into the backseat of the car.  “Probably not, but I promise to give it my best shot.”
“I guess that’s a start.”  Bernie leaned over to tell the driver, “He needs to go to the Centurion.”
“Ooh,  I like the sound of that.”
The cab started to pull away, and Bernie shouted after it, “Six-thirty!”
Once they were out on the road, Michael pulled a hundred dollar bill from his jacket pocket and handed it to the driver.  “I’d rather go to the bar.”
“Whatever you say, man.  Which bar?”
“When was the last time someone puked in your cab?”
The driver hesitated, then said, “A few weeks ago. Why?”
“I want to go to the bar where you picked that person up.”

Michael sat down at one end of the bar.  “Ketel One.  Leave the bottle.”  The bartender gave him a funny look, and Michael responded by sliding the black AmEx across the counter.  The bottle came and the bartender left.  Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph, carefully folded so as to keep the crease from cutting through her face.  He stared at it as he sipped the vodka.

A blonde girl sat down on the stool beside him.  Solid eight, probably a college student.  “Hey, aren’t you that guy?”  Her voice only had a slight southern twang to it.  Masked, like she was ashamed of it.
Michael hid the photo under his left hand. “Probably got me mixed up with someone else.  I sell electronics out of the back of a van down by the beach.”
She giggled.  “No you don’t.  You’re Michael Arlington.  I saw you on the cover of Time.”
That had been Bernie’s doing.  “Yeah, alright, you got me.  So what, you want an autograph or something?”
“No, I just saw you over here by yourself and thought you looked like you could use a little company.”  Not especially subtle, this one.

“Well, if you’re going to hang out here, let me get you a drink.” Michael motioned for the bartender to bring him another glass.
“No, that’s okay.  I already have a tab open.”  He could tell she didn’t want straight vodka, but wasn’t going to say so.
“Nonsense.  Besides, he doesn’t know it yet, but tonight’s all on Bernie anyway.”
“Who’s Bernie?”
“My babysitter.” Michael downed what was left in his glass. “But he doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job at the moment.”
“Is that right?”
“Hell, he can’t even get me to quit calling him Bernie.” He poured another glass for himself, then one for her. “S’real name is Edward.”

She saw the photo while he was pouring the drinks. “What do you got there?”
Michael’s ears turned red.  Caught, he showed it to her.  “Just a picture of a girl I used to know.”
“She’s pretty.”
“Yeah.”
“Old girlfriend?”
“Kind of.  I guess.” He folded it up and put it back in his pocket.
“Did something happen to her?”
“She went off to school, haven’t talked to her since.  She’s probably back in our hometown by now.”
She picked up on the fact that he didn’t want to say anything else on the subject and let it drop. “So what are you doing in Myrtle?”
“Some sort of public relations thing Bernie put together.  Says I’m the face of the company.  I don’t really do much actual work anymore.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”
“Yeah, could be worse.”

They almost had the bottle finished by the time the lights came on in the bar.  Michael was still conscious and not happy about it.  “Closing time my ass.  I’m not finished drinking yet.  I’m famous, god dammit.”  He slammed his hand down on the bar.
The girl put her hand over his. “We could go back to my place if you want.  No closing time there.”
Michael didn’t say anything, but he stood up and let her lead him out of the bar.

Michael’s head was throbbing the next morning as he walked down the sidewalk.  Somehow he had managed to lose track of a sock, so his left foot was wearing the shoe without one.  His phone beeped to remind him he had a voicemail.  He realized that the street he was on ran along the beach and stumbled out towards the water.  The phone beeped again.  The voicemail was from Bernie. “Michael, this is Edward.  Where the hell are you?  I’m standing here at the hotel like a jackass because they say you never showed up.  Even if you walk through the door right now we’re already late.  What am I supposed–”  Michael cut it off, crow hopped, and chucked the phone out into the ocean, then let himself fall to the sand.  He sat there and watched the sunrise.

Her eyes blinked sleepily as she woke, then snapped wide open in panic when she became aware of the ropes pulling her limbs towards the bedposts and the strip of duct tape over her mouth. She tried to scream, but couldn’t. The sound got trapped inside her mouth and struggled against the tape a while before retreating again. He shushed her as he sat down on the bed beside her. She held still and stared at him.

“You know, it’s a shame things had to come to this,” he said while running his fingers through her hair. “All I ever did was love you. I think you know that. You had to know that. I bared my heart and soul to you, made myself more vulnerable than I’d ever been before.” He brushed the hair back that was covering her forehead and withdrew his hand.

“And what did I get in return? Nothing. Nothing but pain.” He stood up and walked over to a bag that was sitting on her dresser. She tugged at the ropes that bound her arms. “You tossed me away like some dress that went out of style.” He pulled something with a long handle out of the bag and went back to the bed. “You were the only thing that mattered in my world, but you decided I wasn’t good enough for you.

He held up the object from the bag in front of him. In what little light made it through the window from the street lamps outside she could see that it was a heart-shaped chunk of metal on a stick. “Now, I have this huge emotional scar to remember you by, but you have nothing to remind you of me.”

He clicked on a butane lighter and held the dim green flame up to the metal heart. She thrashed wildly against the bed. He inspected the glowing-hot piece of steel. Satisfied, he tossed the lighter aside and brushed the hair away from her face again. She shook her head violently, and the hair fell back in the way. “Fine, then.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it, pinning her head to the mattress. The smell of seared flesh filled the room as he pressed the hot heart against her forehead. What might have been a blood-curdling scream was muffled by the tape across her mouth.

“Shh–, I know it hurts.” He caressed her ear. Her eyes were tightly shut and she was breathing heavily. “But I guarantee you, it’s nothing compared to the pain you’ve caused me. He returned to the bag on the dresser. “That’s not the only little parting gift I have for you tonight.” He took something else from the bag. When he came back near the bed, she could see that it was a handgun. Tears were rolling down both sides of her face. He pressed the barrel against her chin. She closed her eyes again and whimpered. “I could kill you right now. Easily. You have no idea how much I want to.” She felt the gun move away from her face. “But I’m not going to do it. That’s my gift, because I love you.” He stood up and turned to face her. She opened her eyes to look at him. “When you wake up each morning, I want you to know that you only get to see that day because I let it happen.” He held the gun up to his temple. They stared into each other’s eyes as he pulled the trigger.

He’s sitting on his porch in a lawn chair. He had been sobbing, but now he’s just staring out into the dark. It’s over. She’s gone and he doesn’t really know why. She had said that they would both be better off apart. The heavy lump in the bottom of his throat disagrees with her. He stands up and throws the chair out into the yard.

He pours the last of the whiskey into his glass and tosses the bottle towards the trash can. It falls short and shatters on the floor. He sits down, takes a sip, and cringes. It’s not good whiskey. It’s the sort of stuff you drink when you want to hurt yourself. He lights his last photograph of her and watches it burn, then downs the rest and grabs his keys.

He’s standing alone in the woods, holding a dozen roses. There is no stone, no markings at all. The grass has even grown back in, but he knows that she is there. He’s the only one who knows. He stares down at the spot and wishes with all his heart that things had gone differently. A single tear rolls down his cheek as he lays the flowers down and walks away.