Here's a fairy-tale foretaste of "Gildi":
Three college men emerged from a hallway—a bulked-up athletic type in a tank top, shorts, and sandals; a skinny, tattooed guy dressed in black; and an officious looking redhead, all glasses and freckles. Each one was kind of hot, Gildi decided, in his own way—from the jock’s obvious brand of studliness to the hipster’s sinuous quasi-androgyny to the nerd’s round-faced version of “geek cute.”
“Hey,” said Black-Clothing Guy, “Aren’t you Gildi?” He was evidently too cool to put much pizzazz into the question, but a hitch of his eyebrow conveyed that he was impressed.
“Yeah!” said Gildi with relief, extending a hand. “I’ve been waiting for someone to direct me to my room.”
“Your room?” said Freckles & Glasses.
“Uh-huh,” she said, addressing herself to what she presumed was an ally in Black-Clothing Guy. “I’m supposed to stay here tonight.”
“That can’t be right,” said Athlete. “Maybe you’re here next Saturday, the 27th?”
Gildi couldn’t help rolling her eyes, but she spoke calmly. “The Student Association arranged it, because I’m performing at your Spring Fling. I think you’re supposed to look in the guest log—assuming you can locate it.”
Freckles & Glasses shook his head. “Nah, the log won’t do any good if it was arranged through the S.A.”
“Do we still have a VIP spreadsheet on the upstairs computer?” asked Black Clothing.
“The spreadsheet wouldn’t reflect an S.A. booking, either,” said Athlete. “They only use that for visiting lecturers—things the faculty liaison sets up.”
“Besides,” said Freckles, “that computer is in the shop.”
“Maybe I should just get a hotel room,” said Gildi. She was beginning to lose patience. Irritation quivered through her above the waist, while her libido continued to pulse below.