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over my face. There was no point in denying it.
    “I was bored,” I offered by way of excuse.
    “You’re a pervert,” she accused, but with an amused glimmer in her eyes.
    “You knew that already,” I replied.
    “Yes, but I didn’t know what flavor of pervert. So I married a voyeur.”
    “Maybe… a little.”
    “Okay, so tell me. What did my voyeur husband spy from his perch?
    I was uneasy, but she was encouraging. I felt like I was traipsing through a minefield. No matter how tolerant and even interested she seemed to be, I couldn’t help but feel that I was courting disaster in talking about what I’d seen.
    I began with the Lesbians.
    “How do you know they’re lesbians?”
    “I don’t. They just had that look about them.”
    “The lesbian look?”
    “No, I mean, they had that newly married look about them. They just happened to be both women.”
    “They could just be friends.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I’ll point them out tomorrow. We’ll see what you think.”
    I mentioned the Millionaire’s clan.
    “Ohh, I saw them too,” Claire gasped excitedly. “The wife is quite the number, isn’t she? Sofia Vergara, only bustier.”
    I told her about what I had seen with the daughter.
    Claire gasped, hand to mouth. “No! You did not really see that!”
    I nodded.
    “Oh my God, all over her face? That is so rude.”
    I shrugged. “Back alley quickies have their own rules I guess.”
    She laughed. “I can’t say I’m that surprised. That girlie had slut written all over her.”
    “Slut shaming, are we?”
    “Not shaming. Just sayin’ I’m not surprised.”
    I kept the Newlyweds to myself. I didn’t trust myself to speak about them, about her, without betraying myself. But that was okay. I’d given Claire enough.
    She giggled as she finished her wine. “Okay, okay, I see where your mind was. I forgive you for thinking the unthinkable about me.”
    “Unthinkable?” I said.
    “I would never cheat on you.” She paused. “Unless you wanted me too.”
    I felt my cheeks flush. “Claire!” I sputtered.
    She laughed -- maybe just a little too hard -- throwing her head back in mirth as I’d seen her do with Trent. “I’m just kidding. Seriously, John, you need to get out of this room.”
    I nodded. Then grunted. A piece of the fish had made its way down to my intestines. It was like a volcano.
    “Excuse me,” I groaned, racing to the bathroom.
    “So, I guess you’re not quite well yet?” she called through the closed door.

CHAPTER SIX
    When Claire began to stir the following morning at what seemed to be shortly after sunrise, I begged her to let me sleep in. I’d spent much of the previous evening in the toilet, and sleep-deprivation aside, it is amazing how exhausting dry heaves are. At around 3:00am I actually began fantasizing a new weight-loss and exercise routine based on inducing dry heaves. A moment of gallows humor as I tried to distract myself from my misery.
    “Come on, the fresh air will do you good.”
    “Kill me,” I groaned.
    “I’m going to the pool.”
    “Go.”
    “You never know who I might run into.”
    That gave me pause, but I felt like death.
    “I think I’m dying.”
    She leaned down and gave me a kiss on the forehead. “Okay. Rest up. But. You. Will. Get. Better.”
    “Yes. But just let me sleep for now.”
    She was right. When I woke again at the civilized hour of 10:12am, I felt better. Not one hundred percent, but even more than the day before, I felt I was on the road to recovery.
    Claire had left the curtains closed, but the balcony door open. I wondered if she was out there waiting for me, but when I peeked outside, she wasn’t there. I stepped out onto the terrace. Immediately, my phone rang. I ducked back into the room and answered it.
    “Morning sleepyhead,” Claire sing-songed into the phone. I stepped back out onto the balcony and saw her waving at me from the poolside.
    She’d positioned herself almost directly in front of our window. I