The clerk eyed us suspiciously when we checked into the hotel. It was clear she was trained NOT to, though, because as soon as she became aware of it, she smiled even wider, elevated the tone in her voice, and started to speak a little faster.
“And how long will you be staying with us?”
“One night.” I looked at my watch. It was eleven in the morning. For a second, I thought my voice echoed. The lobby was large and tasteful. Lots of polished wood. Marble floors with conservatively colored carpets bearing the hotel logo. Everything was well-lit and wide open. The lobby opened up into a large waiting area accented by an attractive looking bar on the far left side that was open all day and night. In searching for the appropriate term to describe the lobby, the only word I could think of was “magnificent.” I’d stayed in plenty of hotels – but most of them were small, dimly lit, questionably ran, and a few even charged by the hour.
“Very good, sir.” I wondered if she would make a note to have all the sheets in our room burned after we left. She looked like she wanted to.
I looked over at Clarice. She was looking around, taking everything in. She’d worked in nice places before. But this was a special occasion. Worth remembering. The clerk gave us an efficient looking pamphlet containing our key cards, smiled, and told us to enjoy our stay.
The elevator ride up to the third floor was seamless. The interior air was the perfect temperature and maybe even slightly perfumed. The ceiling to floor windows that were the three external walls of the elevator allowed us to see the entire lobby as we rose above it.
“Where are all the buttons?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“The buttons,” I continued. “You know. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The Glass Elevator. Buttons.” I pretended to push non-existent buttons on the glass. I left finger prints.
“You think you’re so funny,” Clarice said.
“So do you.”
She wrinkled up her nose and sighed. “Behave,” she breathed. “Can’t you, just once, behave?”
I didn’t answer because the elevator doors opened. We walked off the elevator. I looked up and down the hall. Clarice started walking to the right. We turned the corner and passed the ice machine and eight or nine doors before we got to our room. I tried to open it with the key card, but the little green light didn’t blink and I didn’t hear the sound of the lock tumblers clicking open. I tried it again. Nothing again.
“Why can’t they just use a regular key?” I muttered.
“Give it to me,” she said. She took the key card from me and slid it through the reader. The tumblers clicked and the little green light flashed. I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open.
The room was large. The bed was king sized. The ice bucket looked like polished silver and the glasses were actual glasses – goblets, really—with little paper caps to show they were clean. There was a large flat screen TV on the dresser in front of the bed. Next to the dresser there was a writing table and comfortable looking chair. The banker’s lamp illuminated the carefully arranged pamphlets highlighting all the tourist attractions we had no interest in seeing. In the corner by the floor to ceiling windows there was another comfortable looking chair with a matching ottoman. The room overlooked the lobby. We had a great view of the bar and of the comings and goings. I closed the blinds.
“Nice room,” I commented. I looked back at Clarice. She was staring at the bed.
“That looks like a down comforter,” she said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I bet it’s cozy.”
She looked at me. “I’m allergic to down.”
Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.
“The pillows are probably down, too.”
“We could call down for another blanket,” I offered.
“There’s probably another pillow and synthetic blanket in the closet,” she said. “There usually is.”
I walked over to the closet, and sure enough, on the top shelf, there was a plastic bag with blanket and pillow. “No problem,” I said. “It’s right here.” I tossed it on the bed and sat on the edge. The bed was soft. The down comforter was cool to the touch. Clarice looked at me and smiled.
“This was a nice idea,” she said.
I nodded. “We deserve it.”
She sat down next to me and sighed. “One night?”
“Is that enough?”
“It’ll have to be.”
“I bet they have killer room service.”
She nodded. “Probably costs.”
“So what?” I countered. “If we’re going to live it up, we might as well live it up.”
“In a little while,” she answered.
I shrugged and stood up. There was a small binder sitting squarely on the writing table. It contained a list of services and amenities, including the room service menu. I picked it up and flipped through it. “Says here they even have a laundry service.”
She didn’t answer.
I looked at her. “Do you think this is one of those places that has robes?”
“Go check.”
I did. There were two, folded neatly in the bathroom. Large, plush. Very comfortable looking. I picked them up and carried them out to her. “Check this out. They look really comfortable.” I tossed one at her. Then I tossed mine down on the bed and kicked off my shoes.
“What’re you doing?”
“I’m taking off my clothes,” I said, “and sending them to get washed.”
“Won’t it cost extra?”
“So what? Come on, babe. Let’s take a shower and relax.”
She smiled, stood up, and started peeling off her clothes. I walked over to the phone, called the appropriate number. There were clear plastic bags in the closet that were supposed to be used for the laundry service. We put our worn out clothes in one of the bags. For a moment, we stood naked, looking at one another. She smiled the way she smiles when I look her up and down. “Stop it,” she whispered. She didn’t mean it. I opened the door to our room, peeped out, quickly dropped the bag of clothes, and closed and locked the door. “Let’s take a shower,” I said.
“After.” She smiled. She had pulled to the down comforter off the bed. I walked over and kissed her. Then we fucked – a nice, deliberate fuck. We finished and then took a shower together. After we were dry, we put on the soft robes. I walked out and turned on the TV.
“Are you hungry yet?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she called from the bathroom. Then I heard the hair dryer. I walked over to the table and looked over the menu. Since I would have to wait for her to finish, I down in the corner chair, put my feet up, and watched TV. The local news was on and the talking head was going on and on about the war and how many soldiers had died that month. I looked at the clock. They were ten minutes into the news. They had probably talked about the economy first. That was how things went, anymore. I didn’t need them to tell me about the economy, anyway. I was trying not to think about it. I’d worry about all that soon enough. Tomorrow. We can put it off until tomorrow, at least.
Clarice stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in her robe. She was smiling. “Anything good on?”
“Porn and tragedy,” I answered.
She smiled and looked at the TV. “Let’s not watch the news,” she said.
“Fine with me.” I switched over to another channel. It was an old Gene Wilder/Richard Prior flick. “That’s better.”
“What’s it about?”
“Nothing,” I answered. “They’re always about nothing.”
She was looking over the menu. “Do you know what you want?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I want the grilled barbeque chicken sandwich.”
“I’m getting a steak.” She looked at me, and for a second I thought she was going to suggest I get a hamburger instead. “I want a steak,” I insisted. “cooked medium rare with a baked potato and a nice beer.”
“I was going to suggest a bottle of wine.”
“We can get one of those, too.”
She shrugged. “What’s going to happen tomorrow?”
“We’ll wake up, order breakfast, and hopefully, our clothes will be back from the laundry.”
“And then?”
I shrugged. “That’s tomorrow.”
“I think I’ll have the grilled salmon instead,” she said.
“That sounds good.” I stood up and walked over to the phone to put in the order.
