The sheets folded like cream across the mattress as she rolled through them, twisting her body to avoid the morning’s light.
As she cocooned, the sheets uncovered his body and he awoke.
His head lay at one end of the bed and hers at the other.
Her eye shadow had smudged, lipstick smeared–her face like a child’s watercolor–but her hair still in an elegant rope braid.
He gripped her foot. “Let’s get married,” he said to it. He kissed the big toe. She muttered in French and gently pulled away.
“She enjoyed you last night”—came a voice from the darkness by the door.
It startled him. A figure sat there.
“I don’t remember.”
“A good show,” said the figure.
He got out of bed and clothed himself. “Who are you?”
The figure laughed like a donkey.
“Leave by the balcony,” the figure said.
“But there’s no stairs…”
Her eyes fluttered open. She stretched. “You’ll have to fly then,” she said.