Note: This chapter and the next are VERY short-but don't worry; there's another biggie coming up.
Stupid time zones, throwing everything out of whack. It hadn't seemed to matter before—but Sam had a feeling that was just because he and the guys had been driving around on the road without much of a timetable—getting up and resting as they all saw fit.
At any rate, when he woke up, showered, shaved, dressed, and freshened up his cologne—he walked out of the guest room to find he was alone.
There was a note on the dining room table, with a flowing handwriting he remembered and—he was suddenly reminded—loved. Not surprisingly, the whole thing ran a couple of pages. And the more Sam read, the more he felt his smile grow:
Dear Sam,
I'm afraid I didn't quite have the heart to wake you—"time zones" and all that. Anyway, I'm off—I'll be at the studio for much of the day. I've just turned in a screenplay and I have high hopes. Wish me luck!
I should return some time in the evening, at the latest. In the meantime, I hope you'll find what I have in the kitchen to your liking. I'd prefer you not "order out" anything: the last time a guest did so, an unfortunate air lingered for a while about the place—chortle, chortle. In all seriousness, if you somehow find nothing appealing to your tastes and therefore must order something, please take care and ensure the aftermath is done away with promptly. I can't say I quite care for the mental image of leftover pizza slices in the refrigerator….
But I digress. I suppose the point is, don't feel you must second-guess yourself as to whether you can touch anything. My house is yours—proverbially speaking, of course. Just ensure things remain clean.
Faithfully yours,
Diane
P.S. The television has a channel guide. I don't know whether a game of any kind is being waged today—my apologies. You would certainly know more on that end than I.
P.P.S I already fed Christopher and Raymond—that's the puppy, Raymond Chandler. Under NO circumstances are they to be fed until I return. Be forewarned, they almost certainly will try and manipulate you to that effect—Raymond in particular amuses himself by trying to guilt my guests. But then, as you once told me you had a dog at one time, yourself—you'd probably anticipate such. There are "treats" for them, specifically marked—but again, kindly don't spoil them. Raymond has already "been out", if you will, this morning—you don't need to partake in any responsibilities; I hardly think that would have been fair of me to do that….
P.P.P.S. In case you are wondering, my stuffed friends are specifically hidden—I think they're afraid of you.
P.P.P.P.S. Remember, granola is sufficiently filling that you need only to fill a bowl halfway.
My word, I might as well re-sign this. See you anon, mon cheri!
Diane
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "That's my girl," he said.
