A gag, I thought. It had to be a gag. I got up. I was wearing a bathrobe and slippers. I passed a dresser with a mirror on top. This time I gaped. There was a tall, dark guy standing there in the mirror, staring back at me. I had nothing against him.
Only, he wasn't Jack Brody. That is, he was me—but I wasn't who I'd been a couple of seconds ago.
I felt weak. I sat down on the bed again. There were two doors in the room, besides the closets. One led out to a hallway. The other was closed. From behind it came the hissing of a shower. Suddenly a girl started to sing in there. She had a nice voice. She was singing about all the ways she loved me.
There was a picture on the dresser, one of those cardboard backed wedding souvenirs. The girl I was leading from the wedding ceremony was a lovely-looking blonde.
The singing stopped. The girl called: "Hal. Hal, honey! Will you come in and scrub my back please?"
I looked in the mirror. The guy looking back at me had a very pale face. He'd been tan a moment ago. My mind was whirling with happy but stage-struck thoughts. Just like Don Juan, I thought. Only Don Juan had to go out over balconies and things. Me—I could get away with it.
"Come on, Hal, honey," the girl called again. I headed for the bathroom door. Well, I'd been invited, hadn't I?
I opened the door. The hissing became louder. There was a lot of steam in the room from the hot shower. The shower stall had one of those translucent glass doors. I could see her through it. She was a tall, statuesque blonde with her hair cut so short she could be in there in the shower without worrying about a shower cap. She was long and tan and pink and delightful.
She slid the shower door back with a wet hand. I got splashed.
She said, "The robe, silly."