"Where can we find Ms. Julie Gray?" Tom asked the cute receptionist at the front desk.

"She's booking a wedding reception with one of our guests right now but if you'll be so kind as to wait over there, I'll send her over when she's done." The cute receptionist gently pulled her hair back over her ear, gave Tom a quick smile then pointed to a waiting area with sofas by the hotel bar entrance.

"Great," Tom replied, not once considering flirting with her.

Tom never made it to the sofa; instead he nervously paced back and forth in the lobby like an expecting father as he waited for Julie.

"Is the receptionist single?" I asked.

"How would I know?" he replied, still pacing.

"Because you're single," I explained. "You do know that you are allowed to see other women. Actually you are allowed to see any woman. I don't think Julie would mind. And didn't you see her do the thing?"

"What thing?"

"She pulled her hair back over her ear. That mean's she likes you."

"No it doesn't"

"Tom, you have to learn to speak chick or you'll be stuck like this forever. That should be easy for you since you are already part chick."
Tom turned away from me. "These are supposed to your wild years," I continued. "You should be with a different girl each night, well maybe for you each week. How else are you going to find out what you really like?"

Tom nervously scanned the lobby to make certain that Julie was nowhere within earshot. I hated to speak to him like this but he needed it and if I didn't say it to him then who would?

"I can't take seeing you like this anymore," I told Tom. "Either step up to the plate or get out of the batters box."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means if you don't take a swing then the umpire is going to throw you out and let someone else have a turn at bat."

Tom still seemed confused.

"Julie won't be single forever," I finally explained in easy to understand vernacular. I leaned back in the sofa thinking to myself how glad I was that I never had those types of problems. To continue with the baseball analogies, it never bothered me to swing and miss, at least I was in the game, besides when it came to the ladies I was a pretty decent hitter.

"I'm going upstairs to see what my car looks like from a bird's eye view," I said as Tom continued to wear out the carpet in the lobby. "I'm sure when Julie comes out you'd like to be alone for a few moments, not that it will do you any good."

Tom ignored the comment. "Just don't be too long, please."

Time wasn't my best subject in life. I was late for everything that wasn't work related. Usually it was because I was with a chick, or two. This time, Tom was worried that I would spend hours ogling over my car. He was probably right.

I know this sounds nuts but I wanted to see what the car looked like as I went up floor by floor. You're probably thinking by know "I get it, you liked the car!" Well, I really did.

The second floor looked like any other hotel hallway, tacky carpeting with dizzying patterns broken up every few feet by hotel room doors. This pattern continued as I walked through the hallway, past the vending machines and finally back to the elevators from where I began. It was then that I realized the error in my thinking. There are no windows in a circular hallway, just in the actual hotel rooms. I went up to the next floor and walked around the hallway until I found an open door. I peaked inside. The room was an unbelievable mess but there was nobody in it. I stepped out onto the balcony, looked down and spotted my car, glistening in the California sun.

"Is somebody in here?" a sweet female voice called out. "I'm coming in to make up the room."

There she was; Spanish perfection. I loved how these hotels always dressed their maids in short skirts, God bless them.

"I just came up here to look at my car," I said to her.

"You shouldn't be here. The room has to be made up for the next guests."

"Julie Gray said it was alright if I came up here."

"Are you sure Ms. Gray said that?" She seemed unconvinced.

"Absolutely," I replied. The key to lying is to never waver in the conviction of your statements. If you don't believe what you're saying then you can't expect someone else to believe it. "My room isn't ready yet so Julie told me to hang out here."

"I don't think so," she replied; so much for lying.

"I'll just be minute, I promise...Hey, why don't you have a look with me? I just got the car today."

"Boys and their cars," she sighed. "Alright, but then you'll have to go. I have a lot of work to do."
She came out onto the balcony, stood next to me and looked down.

"That must be yours," she said with her beautiful Spanish accent as she pointed at an old Chevy Fleetline.

"Why would you think that's my car?" I asked, insulted by the insinuation that I was boring.

"You seem like the business type, the way you're dressed."

"I'm a salesman, true, but your car is supposed to express your attitude, not your position in life."

She brought herself closer to me and leaned over the balcony railing. I placed my arm around her and asked her to guess again.

"Well," she said, "If I had to choose based on your attitude then I would have to pick the red convertible." She looked up into my eyes. We had made a connection.

"You're a smart girl," I said as I leaned in to kiss her.

"But not that kind of a girl," she replied as she pushed me back.

"I never thought you were."

"Of course not," She went back inside and stripped the sheets on the bed. "I'm only working here for the summer. In the fall I'm starting university."

"Which one?"

"UCLA, majoring in theater and film," she replied.

"So then you are that kind of girl," I said with a smile.