"IT COULD HAVE been worse," Larry says as we enter the two-bedroom suite that will be ours for the next few days. We were quiet in the car because we didn't want the driver to overhear us.

"He hates me," I groan. Larry knows exactly who "he" is.

"He doesn't hate you. He's slightly shocked, I'll admit."

My laugh isn't humorous in the least. It's more like the squeal of a cat who's been stepped on. "Shocked?" I walk past the main room, toss my backpack on the floor ...