Eight o’clock. My stomach was churning. Where was she? Why hadn’t she contacted me? My fears began to gain an advantage over my reason. Had I done...something wrong? Had I offended her? I began to review our time together since my arrival at the airport wondering if I had said or done something that had made her unhappy. My mind was racing trying to identify something, anything that I might have done when I heard some soft knocks at our door and what sounded like sobs. I opened the door. Oh my. The swimming suit would definitely not cover even half of those glowing red marks. I blushed, anticipating the embarrassment.*To my greatest relief, the swimming pool was empty. I had gotten there in a mixed state of anxiety and excitement, clothed only in my swimming suit and a towel wrapped around my upper body that left most of my thighs and legs exposed. Which meant that anyone we passed even as we went from our room to the swimming pool - in the elevator or the various corridors - could. Arram, giddy from his day of adventures, wanted to tell a story of his own, but he felt shy in the midst of these older, more worldly men. Now that the wine had gone to his head he'd finally spoken up. "Well," he said, "my family line is Assyrian, but really I'm from Sicily, and even in Sicily we hear stories of the great caliph of Baghdad—" "Do you hear that?" said the mamluk. "Even in Sicily they tell stories of our beloved caliph! Even in Sicily!" The others muttered that yes, they had. Johanson, my boss??" Jordansaid, finally putting two and two together. "Are you kidding me?" Of course, silly! He's the only uncle that I have." That's just wonderful!" Angela said. "I love how the Johanson familyrallies to support their employees in need. Don't you agree, Jordan?"But all Jordan could think was, 'My boss just paid for my underwear.'Jordan accepted the bags from the sales lady and they left the store.'I will be wearing sexy panties and bras which Ed Johanson bought forme,'.