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Lauren walked into the hotel room. It was utterly dark. She could not see anything. It seemed to her that she was in a room, filled with no breathing, until a tall box, outlined in a faint yellow light, appeared to her. She stood quietly by the door. Waiting. She heard his voice, filled with male husk: "Lauren. Do not speak." He paused for emphasis, and her stomach churned in knots. "There is a candle in the bathroom. Go and get it and return."

She immediately walked, black high-heeled saunter, toward the tall, yellow outline of what must be a door. She reached out blindly for the doorknob, found and turned it. Pulling slowly outward, she caused a wave of warm amber light to wash over her body and out into the room. Jesus.....On the black marble counter was a single pillar candle, flickering its snake's tongue of fire to and fro lazily, firmly, in partnership with itself in the mirror, and causing the whole room to vibrate with thick, golden light. Lauren could not see her reflection, but knew that to anyone looking in, it must look as though her tall, tan form had just been enveloped in a room full of honey.

On the sink stood 4 heavy crystal vases, filled to overflowing with a cacophony of screaming red tulips, the flickering candle's light causing them to MOVE -- twisted and drooping and proud on their long green stems -- excited by their own smudged and potent reflection in the mirror, looking in the dim glow like a thousand red secret-agent kisses -- a Russian, writing a farewell love-note to her American lover ...

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