Free Antiques Slay Ride by Barbara Allan Page B

Sleeps . . .”
    â€œI thought Las Vegas was the city that never sleeps, and with you snoring, I’ll be the one that never sleeps.”
    â€œ. . . and simply no one comes to the Big Apple to spend much time in a hotel room. Ah, here’s that naughty key—I had it after all.” She unlocked the cuff, which fell to the floor with a thunk, then rubbed her wrist. Her eyes gleamed with possibilities behind the thick lenses. “Do you realize that the Empire State Building and Macy’s flagship store are a mere block away?”
    I had stopped paying attention, having spotted a gift basket of fruit and goodies, compliments of the convention, sitting on a side table.
    With my mouth salivating and stomach growling, I moved eagerly toward it.
    But Mother blocked my path. “ Oh , no you don’t, missy!” she said. “We’re going to send that over to the Gershwin Theater to reward that nice woman for picking us up.”
    Mother made regifting an art.
    â€œOver my dead body,” I snarled.
    And she grabbed the basket, and I grabbed the basket, and she tugged, and I tugged, and we both tugged, and suddenly the contents were airborne. Then the room was raining fruit and snacks.
    A packet of gourmet salmon landed on the pillow next to Sushi and in a blink of her blind eye, she had torn it open with sharp little teeth.
    â€œ Now look what you’ve done,” Mother said crossly.
    â€œYou did it, not me!”
    â€œYou need an attitude adjustment!”
    A knock at the door interrupted our squabble.
    I let Mother answer it.
    â€œIs everything all right?” Tommy asked, probably having heard bickering through the door.
    â€œFine, fine,” Mother said. Then, “But, dear, there is a slight snafu . . .”
    â€œYes, I know,” Tommy said, and he looked stricken. “This isn’t a suite—my mistake. I know I promised you that, as a perk, for being our honored guests.”
    â€œThink nothing of it,” Mother said.
    Having joined her at the door I discreetly kicked her in the calf. Not hard. She barely ouched.
    â€œBut I do have a solution,” Tommy said. “You ladies take my suite—it’s just down the hall. I haven’t moved in yet. Until tonight, it’s been easier for me to work out of my apartment a few blocks from here.”
    I was feeling a little bad about my behavior, and heard myself saying, “You’re sure? Because that would really be wonderful.”
    â€œYes it would,” Mother chimed in. “Not having to share a bed with Brandy is a lifesaver. The girl kicks like a mule.”
    Maybe so, but not when I’m sleeping . . .
    After exchanging keycards with Tommy, we thanked him again, and he left.
    â€œYou forgot to mention I snore,” I said.
    â€œDear, we needn’t air all our dirty laundry.”
    â€œJust mine.” I sighed, but my mood was improving. “Help me pick up the fruit.”
    Our new digs were a corner suite with two rooms elegantly decorated in gold and blue, the bedroom separate from an outer area that had a foldout couch, coffee table, desk, and mini-kitchen with sink and small fridge.
    While Mother disappeared into the bathroom to wash off the dust from our trip, I put her suitcase on the king-size bed, leaving my things in the outer room by the couch, where I would sleep. Foldout beds were never wonderful, but compared to sleeping with a world-class snorer, this would be a magic carpet to slumberland.
    After giving Sushi her insulin, followed by a dog biscuit reward for taking the shot, I helped familiarize the blind little darling with the layout of the suite so she could move around and about without bumping into anything.
    I also set up a little emergency pee-station for her, having brought along a plastic tray with pads designed for emergency situations.
    Finally, Sushi and I played the “maid game” I had taught her on other trips (including at those