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thirty-five f

London

I packed a few things for London’s cooler spring temperatures and some tropical basics. The Crew fronted us $25,000, more than enough to buy everything we needed once we arrived in Kenya.

I popped a quaalude while I waited at Miami International Airport. A downer and a couple of drinks put me to sleep for most of the flight. I arrived at Heathrow Airport early the next morning and took a cab to the Dorchester Hotel.

My driver spotted me as an American tourist and drove past one historic site after another. I tried playing it cool, but once I spotted Buckingham Palace, it all evaporated.

“Do you think we’ll see the queen?” I asked my driver.

“She’ll be having her morning tea,” he replied. “Give her a ring once you settle in.”

He was having fun with me, and I played along. I was in Mayfair, the heart of London. Hyde Park, Trafalgar Square, the Thames—I wanted to see it all. Five days wouldn’t be enough.

Within seconds of my arrival at the Dorchester, a concierge grabbed my luggage and escorted me into the lobby. Marble, fine antiques, fabulous artwork, floral arrangements—everything spoke of understated luxury and class. I pinched my arm to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“Welcome, Mrs. Ambrose. Your husband’s suite is on the eighth floor adjacent to Mr. Nielsen’s,” the desk clerk said. “Your personal butler is James. He’s been trained to Royal Household standards and is available for your every need.”

“Thank you,” I said.

The desk clerk snapped his fingers and a white-gloved bellhop appeared.

“I’ll take you to your suite, madam,” he said.

James was waiting for me when we got off the elevator.

“Mr. Ambrose is in a meeting,” James said, unlocking the door to our suite. “He will be joining you shortly.”

A meeting at this time of morning? Was Mike lying already?

“May I give you the grand tour?” James asked.

“Thank you.”

James’s voice was a blur. I stared at the highly polished parquet floors, the perfectly appointed living room, the luxurious queen-sized bed, and marble bathroom. I couldn’t imagine Buckingham Palace being any finer.

Once I was alone, I plopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Here I was in London, in the lap of luxury with all expenses paid. All that was missing was Mike.

I knew I should unpack, shower, and call Gary’s suite, but I was exhausted. I wrapped myself in the feather-stuffed duvet and let my head sink into the down pillows. The sheets were cotton but so soft, they felt like silk. I was either in heaven or sleeping on a cloud.

After what seemed like minutes, I opened my eyes and glanced at the time. Was it eleven o’clock in the morning or at night? I tried calculating what time it was back home, then let it go. I was in London and starving.

I turned and saw Mike lying beside me. I wanted to kiss him awake but decided to let him sleep. I crept out of bed and showered in our marble and glass walk-in shower. Our towels and two terrycloth robes hung on a heated rack.

Mike was awake when I came back into the bedroom.

“Hey, doll. I missed you,” he whispered.

“Missed you, too.” I joined him back in bed.

“How about we order some breakfast?” Mike suggested.

“I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

We looked at the room-service menu and decided on a full English breakfast. I assumed we’d ordered bacon and eggs. Instead, our server wheeled in a cart laden with stewed fruit, eggs, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomato, mushrooms, toast with marmalade, tea, and coffee.

“I’ll never eat all this,” I said, “Who eats baked beans and tomatoes for breakfast?”

“Lemme help.” Mike finished every speck of food. “Before we do anything else, we should call Gary.”

Gary had left us a message saying he’d be out until teatime.

So very British.

Mike was content to stay in our suite until we met Gary. I headed for Hyde Park.

Gardens, fountains, and magnificent greenery—all set in the center of London. I felt a sense of contentment as I strolled down shaded pathways. At three o’clock, I made my way back to the Dorchester.

Mike and I joined Gary in his suite, which was as large and luxurious as ours. Was he married? Did he have a girlfriend? At that moment I realized how little I knew about Gary or the rest of the bosses.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Gary laughed.

“I could get used to this,” I said.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We have a lot of work ahead of us,” Gary reminded me. “Vinnie scouted out the area around Mombasa, so we have a good idea of where we want to start operations. I’ve got all the info right here.”

Gary handed us a packet of information. Mike shoved it aside and poured himself a generous amount of Glenfiddich single-malt scotch.

“We’re good,” Mike said.

“ Read it! ” It was the first time I’d heard Gary raise his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” Mike said.

I leafed through the information while Gary and Mike talked business.

“Ben said he gave you twenty-five grand. You’re gonna need more than that to get things up and running, so I’ll give you extra cash before you leave. They love the American dollar in Kenya.”

I was getting used to outrageous sums of money tossed around like confetti.

A gentle knock sounded on the suite door. Gary’s butler wheeled in a tea trolley stocked with tiny sandwiches with crusts removed, warm scones with clotted cream and preserves, a selection of cheeses, and a variety of teas.

“May I, madam?”

I nodded.

The butler poured me a cup of Earl Grey tea, then said, “Our sandwiches include smoked salmon with cream cheese, cucumber and butter, and chicken salad. Today’s scones are blueberry, and we have petit fours for the end of your meal.”

He bowed and left us to our feast. Gary and Mike played it cool, but I felt like a kid in a tea shop. Live for the present , I told myself. I had enough life experience to know moments like this were rare.

After tea, Mike and I returned to our suite. All I wanted to do was relax in bed and watch some British TV until I fell asleep. Mike had other plans.

“Gary wants to go pub hoppin’,” he said. “He’s gonna introduce me to some of The Crew’s drug contacts.”

“They have contacts in London?”

“Shit yeah. How d’ya think they afford all this?”

“Have fun. I’ll probably be asleep when you get back.”

w

I fell asleep not long after Mike left and woke around midnight. He hadn’t returned. I hoped he hadn’t gotten in trouble.

Mike tiptoed into our room sometime after two o’clock. By the way he slammed into the furniture, I could tell he was drunk. He crawled into bed beside me reeking of whiskey and cheap perfume.

Will he ever change?

We established a pattern. I’d wake early, have a small breakfast, and set out to see the sights. I’d return by midafternoon and join Mike for tea, then we’d head to one of the hotel bars for cocktails. Gary joined us each day before flying back to Florida.

With Gary gone, Mike had no excuse to leave me the next evening.

“How about you and I catching some night life?” I asked him.

“Sorry, doll. Gary connected me with some dudes. Gonna do a coupla deals. Can’t have ya along.”

“Do these ‘dudes’ wear cheap perfume? I know you’re cheating on me.”

Mike had mastered the art of the innocent look. “I’d never cheat on you.”

“Sure, Mike. Whatever you say.” No point in arguing with a sociopath.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Around two in the morning, I had a craving for hot chocolate and rang for room service. Twenty minutes later, our butler wheeled in a silver service cart with a pot of cocoa and a dish of miniature marshmallows.

“Anything else, madam?” he asked.

“I have a few things that need washing. Should I wait till morning?”

“Certainly not,” he said, “I’ll have them returned first thing.”

If it hadn’t been for Mike, I’d have believed I died and gone to heaven.

I finished my cocoa and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning, I found Mike crashed on the living room sofa next to my freshly laundered and pressed clothing. I ignored him and took my things into the bedroom.

Not only were my clothes pressed to perfection, but the hotel had also repaired a tiny rip on the pocket of my jeans. The small gesture almost brought me to tears.

Mike was so out of it that he didn’t hear our butler wheel in the breakfast cart. I tried picturing the scene from the butler’s point-of-view: a lonely woman sipping hot chocolate while her no-good boyfriend roamed the seedier side of London. The lonely woman enjoying a full breakfast cart while the no-good boyfriend slept it off. Truthfully, I didn’t care. It was my last day in London, and I intended to take advantage of everything British.