Iris checked into a motel. The room was small, with a red carpet and cream walls. She flicked through the television channels, then decided to take a bath. As she sat submerged in the hot water, she thought of Mort; his handsome face with it's high cheekbones and five o'clock shadow, his endearingly scruffy hair, and his piecing, dark eyes. She would make herself presentable, have a good night's rest, clean herself up, and then she would try again in the morning.
She felt so sad; Mort had been through so much, he had built up so many defences. She would make him see that he could love again, and trust again, and be happy again. She had worked so hard for this; she was no longer the fat, spotty seventeen year old she had been a year ago. The plain undesirably who spent all her time living in books because no-one in the real world wanted to know her. She had slimmed down, worked out to get a body she could be proud of. Revelled in the excitement of walking down the street and catching men staring at her. She had her hair cut and dyed, changing her from a lank and forgettable brunette to a sleek and sexy blonde, because she was sure that Mort preferred blondes. She was sure he found her attractive, even if he had tried to hide it.
Yes, she thought, smiling to herself. She would get up early and go back to his and plan the next step from there.