“It’ll take us about three days,” Cleo said into the hotel room phone. Her shoulder pinned the headset to her ear as she organized her things in her suitcase. “Eleven o’clock on Saturday? Yeah. We’ll be there.”
Still listening to the voice on the phone, she leaned to dodge Dixie, who was darting around the room, tossing her things into her own suitcase. Cleo put her hand over the receiver and said, “Unload that gun if you’re just going to toss your shit in there with it.” Dixie stopped in her tracks and returned to her case. She dug the her revolver out from under her clothes, popped the cylinder, let the bullets fall into her suitcase, and then dropped the gun back on top of the pile. Satisfied, Cleo returned her full attention to the phone.
“Great! Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing you again too,” she said. “Thank you again… Goodbye.” She hung up the phone. “All right, she’s invited us to her house in New York for brunch to talk crew setups. We could be there in two days, but I asked for three so we wouldn’t have to rush,” she explained in a raised voice so Dixie, who was in the bathroom, could hear her.
Dixie came back with a zipper lock bag of her toiletries in one hand and her makeup bag in the other. She tossed both on top of the pile in her suitcase and began smoothing and smooshing the mountain of personal effects down so the lid would shut.
“Seems weird to invite us to her actual house,” Dixie commented as she struggled with her suitcase.