Names have been changed to Protect
the Guilty.
“I can learn to live with guilt. I don't care about
being good.” Anonymous
Friendships, like marriages, are dependent on
avoiding the unforgivable
it isn't foolish or wicked to enjoy. Wickedness is
hurting people on purpose. I love what you are and what you are and how you
are. You give me great joy. And you make horrible coffee.
“Duck
Soup”
(October 1992)
In the morning of my last day in the apartment I sat on a card board
box of comic books. The phone rang and startled me as I thought that it too had
been shut off. A pleasant voice asked me if I were still interested in coming
in for a job interview at the Long Wharf hotel.
“Absolutely.” I answered.
The next morning I stepped on the up escalator in the lower lobby. A black
girl with a large chest in red uniform stepped on the down escalator from the
upper lobby. I tried not to stare, but as we passed she gave me a smile and it
was a beautiful thing.
“Welcome to the Long Wharf. Enjoy your stay.” She said.
I nodded and smiled. “Job interview” I said.
“Oh, well, good luck then.” She said.
I waited and looked back for a second peak and she still looked at me.
The escalator reached the top and tumbled me out.
“It’s ok to look.” She said and laughed as I regained my footing.
“But just be careful who you touch.”
I collected myself and gave her the thumbs up.
I walked into the hotel lobby for the first time. I just turned 24. Strange a simple act like entering a building
for the first time goes un-noticed in its significance. The first time an
alcoholic sips a beer he doesn’t know, just has no idea, no fucking idea in the
world.
A bellman dressed in white sailor themed uniform loaded luggage on and
off carts. He folded a wad of cash and tucked it into his back pocket. Three
young women in light grey uniforms, a blond, a brunette and a red head (I swear)
assisted guests at the front desk. The lounge “Rachael’s” next to the front
desk had a sign that indicated that brunch on Sunday started at 9am and that
there would be a bikini contest Friday and Saturday night sponsored by a beer
company. Everyone was welcomed. Tourists, families and business people walked
to and from and around. The guest elevators made a continual ding.
I interviewed with the bell captain. He looked younger than he was. He
had nice teeth and seemed like he should be in a different profession than the
manual labor calling of being a bellman. I overheard him talking about his golf
swing to a man in a blue uniform holding a drill just before we sat in couch
chairs in next to the gift shop above the front door.
I dressed in my suit. ‘You can never over dress for an
interview.” A nun in high school had said.
It was something I’d never forgotten, I needed the job, and I was nervous. The
bell captain asked me three questions:
“So, what brings you here?”
I started into the ‘I love working with people etc.’ answer then a suit
case dropped off an overstuffed cart. The bellman with the wad of cash in his
back pocket grabbed the handle of the fallen case and lifted. It fell open and
scattered women’s clothing, a hair dryer as well as a purple colored dildo out across
the marble lobby floor. The bellman gathered the clothing and the hair dryer
back into the bag. He picked up the dildo and held it up. He scratched his
head, shrugged and put it back in the suit case. He continued on like nothing
had happened.
"He may look like an idiot and talk like an idiot but don't let
that fool you. He really is an idiot." My interviewer mumbled.
“I love the Marx brothers.” I said.
He turned his attention back to me. “Very good.”
He wrote something across the front of my application and smiled.
“Well, I hate to do this to you, but when can you start? And can you
work overnights?”
(May 13th
1995) (8am)
Emile, from the garage, shaved with a disposable razor in front of the
sink next to me. We were in the men’s locker room. “Should be busy tonight,
chien sal.” My linguistically short
straw pulling friend splashed a handful of aftershave on his face. Cheap lavender scented fumes saturated the
room and stung my nostrils. He offered me the bottle; I passed, and walked back
to my locker. I dressed in a standard issued hotel security charcoal gray
colored suit. We would have to hurry.
Emile and I waited for her by the Statute in Columbus Park. I’d
promised I’d go to church with him, why? No idea. Emile said it would help with
my living situation. The new intern from the Concierge desk had asked Emille
where the closest Catholic Church was. He insisted on going with her, and asked
me to come long. He thought it would make her more at ease.
From 30 feet away she caught my attention, long hair waived in the
breeze and she used her hand to clear it from her eyes. From 10 feet away she
made me forget I was tired, her long tanned legs with a
floral print sundress. From 5 feet away I changed my mind; I wanted to go to church,
her white teeth caught her full bottom lip. After I would get to know her, she
would tell me her 2 favorite things were having her hair played with and
shopping, any kind of shopping; I would get to play with her hair quite often;
she demanded it.
The Sunday morning sun warmed the air and took the chill out of the
harbor breeze. We walked up Richmond St. and turned right on Hanover St. most
of the restaurants closed. The bakeries, cafes and pastry shops were busy.
Freshly cooked breads and coffee filled the air and caused my stomach to
grumble, or it may have been one of the others, or all three of us.
Emile and Sofi spoke in French. I pretended to be part of the
conversation. Then Sofi looked at me. Her eyes were kind; they made me feel
that I had somehow been approved of. I wanted to keep that approval. She asked
me where I lived. I told her close by. I asked her about her home town. She was
an only child. She liked the beach and warm bread but cheese gave her a stomach
ache. She asked me if I had a girl friend and I told a little bit about my
break up. Emile listened intently and pretended to be part of the conversation.
I asked her how the she liked the hotel. She told me that everyone was
so friendly to her, and told me about winning over the affection of the women
in the locker room with candy that the boys had continually left for her.
We reached Saint Leonard’s church on Hanover St. It was an immigrant’s
church. Leonard championed the imprisoned, the actual imprisoned, the emotional
imprisoned and those imprisoned by bodily and mental pain. He became their
intercessory. He whispered their prayers into the ear of God, and became their
Saint. The magnolia trees in St.
Leonard’s Peace garden had bloomed in a pinked purple. Emile, Sofi and I sat in
a black metal bench, the kind you find in a cemetery. There were no more words. Spring beauty coupled with the silence had
stripped me bare and exposed me for the hypocrite that I knew I was; now they
would see it too. Embarrassed, I didn’t
want to move any part of me and risk attention to myself. I swallowed and felt
even my Adam’s apple movement too loud.
Did my friend and my new friend feel anything? I risked the slight turn
of my head and Sofia’s eyes glistened with slight tears. Emille took Sofia’s
left hand into his own; she in turn took my right hand with her right hand.
Emille’s cleared his throat and his voice entered the air just above whisper
and Sofia’s voice blended in. I didn’t understand the Belgian-Haitian accented
French language they spoke… but I knew the words.
Notre Père, qui
es aux cieux,Que ton nom soit sanctifié,
Que ton règne vienne,
Que ta volonté soit faite sur la terre comme au ciel.
Donne-nous aujourd'hui notre pain de ce jour.
Pardonne-nous nos offences
Comme nous pardonnons aussi à ceux qui nous ont offensés.
Et ne nous soumets pas à la tentation,
mais délivre-nous du mal,
car c'est à toi qu'appartiennent le règne,
la puissance et la gloire, aux siècles des siècles.
Amen
We went into the church and laughed at our foolishness.
The old church inside smelled like a museum - in a good way, a
survived-lots-of-shit-and-still-standing kind of way. Brilliant stained-glass
windows streaked with golden light that fell over the statue of Saint Teresa
who looked very much like a teenage girl dressed as a nun. A small placard suggested we light a candle
and beseech St. Leonard to intercede on our behalf that we may be freed from
whatever emotional, material or physical bond that tormented.
We ended the morning freeing ourselves from hunger at a pastry shop
with pistachio Torrones, chocolate almond Biscotti and Caffe Espresso, I had
apple juice. By the time I got back to the hotel I had been a wake for almost
twenty four hours. I fell into the back seat of Singh’s car into a deep sleep
untroubled by dreams.
I woke at around 2pm to a car alarm sounding continually from the level
below. I walked to the hotel and hurried up to the health club. I took a
shower. Got some clean clothes out of my locker and went down the back
stairwell to start a long shift.
The Trouble with Tribbles.
(3:05pm)
Elliot Redden monitored the security base. Elliot stood 5 feet 7
inches tall and fairly well built except for a round beer belly he kept hidden
with his suit jacket. He had a narrow pointed nose, cleft chin, small deeply
set brown eyes, and thin pursed lips. He spoke with a deep New England nasal
twang and learned to make his words hang in the air and whine. He embodied
cynicism--if anything could go wrong-- it always would. The best one could hope
for, according to Elliot, was to get a few laughs in the process. He sat at the
desk, signed keys in and out, took phone calls and kept the loading dock
unobstructed for deliveries and trash removal. The office had an indoor window
that looked out over the loading dock and dumpster. He dispatched the roaming
security guard(s) where needed.
Elliot engaged Lenny from room service in a heated argument. This is
what they did; it is what they lived for. Lenny was an East Boston Italian with
wavy black hair and wore full-rim black eye glasses. He matched Elliot in
everything but cynicism. Lenny agreed, If everything could go wrong it would,
but, with a little duct tape or some money secreted into the right hands at the
right time things could be still be saved. Debates had heated to the point
where on at least one occasion the two had to be separated.
I grabbed a radio and a set of keys from the box on the wall above
Elliot’s head. I checked the monitors and saw Anna setting up her bar in the
ballroom.
“Captain Picard would rather “dialogue” than slide the phaser’s
setting past “stun” to “kill.” Captain Picard had the entire flotilla of
Starfleet at his disposal and yet somehow finds it difficult to beat a
third-rate alien species like the Pakleds. In the first season of The Next
Generation, Captain Picard wore a Starfleet dress uniform that really was a dress,
leading to a comment on his legs from Counselor Troi’s sluttish mother with
whom Picard always seemed to avoid establishing first contact. And Picard’s
uncanny ability to identify hot alien babes led to Commander Riker hooking up
with an extraterrestrial shemale whose species reproduced by inserting their
gametes into a husk.” Lenny said. His cheeks flushed; he pushed his glasses
back up the bridge of his nose.
“Kirk would have cried like a little girl at the first sight of the
borg” Elliot said. The word “borg’ lingered in the room like a European soccer
TV. Announcer and the word, “GOOOOOOOOALLLLL.”
Both had rolled their office chairs and rolled closer to one another.
I stepped in between them. This was awkward as I noticed my crotch was eye
level to them both.
“Guys-guys-guys,” I interrupted.
“I’ve listened to this same damn argument for weeks now. I’ve made a
list of the pros and cons in both of your talking points, and I have even done
some extensive research on my own. I have come to a clear and convincing
conclusion. I am ready to declare the winner.
They looked at me both with arms crossed. Trisha, the gift shop girl,
waited at the door to sign out her keys so that she could get upstairs to work.
Elliot ignored her and closed the door in her face. He looked up at me.
“You may continue to enlighten us.” He said to me.
“First, there is no way in the Blessed Name of Ceti Alpha V that
Picard would ever have passed the Kobayashi Maru scenario as Kirk had
done. BUT on the other hand there is no way that Kirk could have ever
matched wits with a super being like Q; Picard did and more than once. So, with
that being said, there is only one logical answer, one logical best captain of
all time." I gave a dramatic pause before I continued.
"The best Captain to ever take the helm of the Enterprise
is...and I must say I’m ashamed that self- proclaimed Trekee’s of the stature
you both claim failed to see it, THE BEST OF THE BEST, THE ONE AND ONLY—CAPTAIN
KHAN NOONIEN SINGH! I walked out the door and up the hall way.
I couldn’t help myself and mimicked William Shatner’s famous
scream and echoed it as I walked all the way down the hall: “KHAAAAAAN
KHAAAAAAN!-!”
“His resolve was blown as quickly as the rest of him.”
(4pm to 6pm)
The hotel was sold out, and guests crowded the lobby.
Sofi leafed through a brochure about the freedom trail with a young
Montreal couple. She switched from French to English with ease. She explained
that Paul Revere must have followed the same painted red trail on his ride. I stood
next to her and admired her smooth skin and her warm and indolent demeanor. She
brimmed with charm. She talked to me and talked some more. She had had no real
friend to confide in for over a week and chose me to be her ear. It worked well
because I liked to listen. Her voice flowed in a French cadence that had a
melodic rhythm to it. She told me details about her first week. She stopped
occasionally to help guests with questions.
A large, man in an un-tucked Yankees replica jersey lumbered across
the hotel lobby with his family. His
eyes widened and his pace slowed when he saw Sofi. He gawked at the concierge.
His wife walked beside him also dressed in replica Yankees jersey. Hers was
tucked in. Her pace didn’t slow, and she continued on to
the guest elevator. A little boy and a little girl weren’t paying attention and
walked into the back the large man’s legs. The little girl lost her
balance and fell back on the seat of her pants. She started to cry. He picked
her up in his arms and hurried to catch up to his wife. He got to the elevator
just as she let the doors close on him. The elevator bell went “Bing!”
Two well-travelled business men I recognized approached the concierge
desk. They were frequent guests. They asked her for directions to the airport.
I knew that they knew the route to the airport better than most local cab
drivers, but who could blame them for wanting to talk to her?
I asked her again how her co-workers had treated her this first week.
She said she had been given flowers, Chocolates and Cookies from several
men of various departments in the hotel. The women in the locker room gossiped
and chattered about her. This was not what she wanted. So, she filled a basket
with the candy and attached it to her locker with a coat hanger. She made a
little sign for the basket: “Free” written in English, French, Spanish and
Creole. “Smiles, Sofi.”
With the men, she had politely managed to keep her distance and an
open mind. But the problem with keeping one’s distance is that someone is
always trying to shorten it and the problem with an open mind is someone is
always trying to put things in it.
She said everyone was so nice but one exception: A well-dressed
dark haired man, medium build, in his late twenties who passed the concierge
desk every day. He walked with a slight limp, didn’t wear a name tag and
he had a nice smile. She noticed that he paid her no attention at all. She
thought that maybe he was gay until she saw him interact with the other women.
The next time he came through the lobby. He stopped and looked her way and for
no reason she could tell, shook his head in disgust. Only her mother had ever
given her such a look, and that was when she stomped in a muddy puddle with her
new Sunday school dress on.
Who did this stranger think he was? What had she done to elicit such a
response? The next day she gave him her best smile. She straightened her
clothing just before the time he was to pass. Still he walked right by looking
straight ahead, and shook his head as if someone had just cut him off on the
highway or taken the seat of an elderly person on the bus.
She could no longer stand his derision. She waited for him. She wore
her best dress and spoke in her most pleasant voice,
“Excuse me; my name is Sofi.” She said. “I did not get your
name?”
Butterflies circled her stomach, when he stopped. He turned and looked
directly at her.
“That’s because I did not give it to you.” He said.
He walked away.
She was speechless, stunned then outraged. Who was this asshole? How
dare he treat her this way? She had done nothing to him. Where is common
courtesy?
She watched as he shared a laugh with the girl in the gift shop.
He stopped at the front desk and delivered coffees and donuts. The red
head with large breasts blushed at his approach.
Sofi needed to find out who this asshole was. What department did he
work in? His suits were not hotel issued. He had no name tag. Was he a manager?
She needed to know. She’d give him a piece of her mind. She did not care if he
were even the owner. There was no need to be rude.
She carried angry thoughts about him home with her. She filled her mind with made up scenarios
about how she would handle him, how she would get him to apologize. She’d make
him see how wonderful and nice she was. He’d feel terrible and tell everyone
what a jerk he had been. Then they’d laugh and become friends. Oh this bastard
with the nice smile, who was he?
She talked more at me than to me; I couldn’t get a word in. Instead, I
playfully messed up the organized maps and brochures on her desk. She slapped
my wrist and re-organized the brochures and continued talking and helping
guests.
I thought about warning her but didn’t think it would do any good. I
noticed the time and told her I had to go. She gave me a peck on the cheek and
a great smile and off I went. It was time for my detail.
Anna from Banquets.
(6-7pm)
Anna from Banquets promised to give me a ‘distraction’ to help take my
mind off my break-up with the waitress. I headed down the escalator into
to the lower lobby, and stopped outside the glass ballroom entrance door and
watched her. She wore the standard hotel issued black banquet uniform.
The uniform designed to make a member of the staff blend in.
Anna bent over to open a box of cocktail napkins. I glimpsed pink
panties rising peaked above the waist line of her black pants. She stood up on
her toes and reached her arm up over head and hung wine glasses in a rack. Her
black jacket and under shirt pulled up and exposed a tiny blue butterfly tattoo
on the small of her back. She knelt down and bent over the foyer carpet. She
folded a white linen cloth for the bar top. The color of her bra matched that
of her panties. The banquet uniform failed. She in no way blended in.
I scanned the foyer to make sure no one was around. I approached from
behind. I placed both of my hands on her waist.
I put my mouth to her ear and whispered,
“You know, I think you're the most beautiful woman in the
hotel?”
“Really?” She asked.
“No, but I don't mind lying if it gets me somewhere." I
answered.
“Asshole!” She elbowed me in my stomach.
“And you wonder why she dumped you.”
She walked away. I checked out her ass.
She looked back at me just before she exited.
“Cocktails and appetizers start upstairs in the Palm Garden in five
minutes. Come talk to me in the back while I do prep.” She said.
She disappeared around the corner of the ballroom. I walked back out
into the lower lobby Most of the guests had arrived for the wedding reception.
Peanuts
Lisa worked in sales. She worked at the hotel when it first opened.
She was just 18 at that time. Brandon liked to take her to a supply room below
the gift shop. He would also on occasion visit her apartment in Back Bay. Lisa
had a difficult time saying no. She determined to Brandon that night that the
physical part of their relationship had to stop because she was getting serious
about someone. Sean from engineering courted her. Such an old fashioned word,
“courted.” She had tried for so long to meet a good guy. Sean brought her flowers and opened doors for
her. Sure he never had much to say but she figured she talked enough for two
people anyway; besides, she hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school. She dated
somewhat. Several hotel guys had made a run at her but none lasted longer than
a month.
Sean was awkward. He lacked confidence, words were difficult for him.
If had used a hundred in a day it meant that someone had asked him something
about motorcycles. But he could Repair, rebuild and refurbish anything in a
junkyard no matter how old, rusted or mangled. At the 1990 Christmas party the
general Manager handed Sean the ‘Associate of the year award’ for saving
thousands of dollars by being able to repair machines that most companies would
have had replaced. He stated simply that next to the hotel guest, when Sean
entered the building he was the most valuable person in house.
Sean replaced Brandon’s battery and changed his oil in the loading
dock late one night. He asked Brandon advice about girls. Brandon encouraged
Sean to ask Lisa out on a date. He told Sean that Lisa was kind, lonely and
best of all--easy, so to speak. Brandon wondered if Sean was a virgin. As Brandon and Lisa got dressed in the 4th
floor linen closet, Brandon asked Lisa to let Sean take her out on a date. He
told her that he had coached Sean on dating and that she would have a great
meal and a free oil change.
Sean took Lisa to the Hilltop Steak House. She had lobster bisque and
he had Rib Eye. They walked Revere Beach after. On the ride home they came upon
a broken down Chevrolet Silverado, with a huge airbrushed portrait of la Virgen
Guadalupe Hidalgo on the tailgate. An Ecuadorian man had his head under the
hood while his wife and three small children waited inside. The battery had
died. Sean had the car started faster than a light changed from green to red to
yellow back to red. Lisa may have fell in love with him before he got back
inside the driver’s seat of his pickup truck.
Weeks later Brandon asked Sean how things were with Lisa. Sean seemed
to have been waiting. He told Brandon that Lisa “great.” But that Brandon was
wrong about her being “easy.” He said that Lisa was a true lady and she thought
Brandon was a liar and an asshole and jealous because she had said ‘no’ to him
when he asked her out on a date. Brandon started to say something, but saw he’d
have better success talking to an engine block. So he made the right move; He
apologized. He told Sean had been
mistaken about Lisa. Had her confused about someone else.
Lisa answered the door when the bell rang. She had freshly showered
and dressed only in a fluffy white robe for her expected visitor. Brandon
stepped in and devoured her. They made love on the hallway floor. While he
moved on top of her and a white envelope appeared under the door. Someone had
slid a card through. He waited for the shadow on the other side of the door to
walk away and then he pulled the card all the way in and opened the envelope.
Lisa turned over. Brandon placed the envelope and card on the small of her
naked back. He described the card to her.
“It’s a Snoopy card. Snoopy is on top of his dog house typing on a
typewriter.”
“There’s a quote from Charles Shultz written inside.” He said.
‘All you need is love, but every now and then a little chocolate goes
a long way.’
“It’s signed, ‘Love Sean.’
Brandon pulled out, crouched and opened the front door. A sampler box
of chocolates sat on top of the welcome mat. Brandon grabbed it and got back
behind Lisa. He opened the chocolate. He used the chart inside the box which
indicated the flavors and found the chocolate coconut piece and placed it into
his mouth. Lisa asked for the caramel, and he found it and reached around and
plopped it in Lisa’s mouth. After, they lay together on the floor; Brandon asked
her why she told Sean he was an asshole and a liar.
“Well, hey, ya know, I kind of like him, and besides, what did you
want me to do? Tell him that you are right and that I’m easy?” She said.
“You’ve got a point.” Brandon said.
“Good,” Lisa said, “and please don’t ruin this for me…Sean just maybe ‘the
one.’ My biological clock is ticking, and I think he’s good with clocks.”
During one of our many talks of life during our rides to the Casino
that he believed the world is divided into three cities of conscience: The Good
City, The Gray City, and The Bad City. He explained that most people lived in
The Gray City, but every now and then, the average person likes to spend an
occasional weekend in one of the other two cities.
“Sometimes, a Bad Citizen will give in and stop in The Good City for a
just a meal or a quick cup of coffee until the urge to run out the door becomes
too overwhelming to ignore. Some people travel all the way from the bad city up
to the good city and go to Mass, and likewise others go all the way down to the
bad city to buy time with a hooker.” He said.
"Ok, so what city do you spend most of your time?" I asked.
"Fuck that. I figure you've got enough conscience for both of us.
But I do know that I'm desperate to get out of this place, this hotel is like a
jail cell, and I know that it’s fun to break something from time to time."
The Palm Garden
The quiet well shadowed atrium of the hotel where functions began was
named the Palm Garden. The sound of clattered dishes, chattered voices,
scattered laughter, and crackled ice cubes filled the room. Chopin nocturnes
played unnoticed from a grand piano at the room’s center while early guests
arrived.
Suits and gowns made their way to the cash bar and then, with drink in
hand, and continued to the appetizer table station where a large swan sculpted
from ice stood over pounds of cooked shrimp on ice accompanied with, napkins,
tooth picks and silver bowl filled with red cocktail sauce.
Anna stood behind her portable bar in the back near the kitchen and
restrooms.
“Oh, I’m so glad you are here.” She said and put a sign on the bar.
“Can you come help me with something in the kitchen?” she took me by the wrist
and led me towards the kitchen door. She turned left instead into the
Men’s room with me behind her. She bolted the lock and pushed me up
against the door.
She pulled me closer towards her until our lips were almost touching.
‘What are you doing?’ I managed to say closing my eyes, anticipating the warmth
of her lips against mine. But the kiss didn’t come. I opened my eyes. I thought
she had vanished until I felt my zipper being tugged and saw her dutifully on
her knees. “Here, let me help you with that.” I said. She was right, I was
completely distracted.
Someone tried to open the door. It banged against the metal bolt right
near my ear.
“Hello?” someone on the other side of the door said
I just about jumped out of my shoes and I grabbed for my pants. Anna’s
teeth dug a moment, and all I could think about was a scene in “The World
According to Garp:” Garp’s wife – driven into a crappy affair from what I
recall by Garp’s own infidelities – bites off another man’s penis while giving
him a blowjob, when Garp himself unexpectedly comes home and accidentally
drives into the back of her car. My situation wasn't as dyer; however, there
would be teeth marks.
I recognized Sandy the banquet supervisor’s voice.
“Damn, Security screwed up again and forgot to unlock the door. I’ll
get them.—Banquet’s to Security; can you come open the Palm Garden restroom?
Guests are arriving.” Sandy said.
Anna, grabbed my hand and kept me from pulling up my zipper.
“What are you doing?
“We’ve got time, come on.” She pulled me into a stall and grabbed.
“What! Sandy is right outside, everyone is going to see. We could get
fired, I hate this place too, but I need this job, and you do too.” I said.
Plus, the noise, teeth and having my pants down to my ankles while the
banquet supervisor is jiggling the door handle made my dick give new meaning to
mutant ninja turtle. (Subtract the word mutant).
She let me go and went to the mirror and fixed herself.
“I knew you were all talk.”
I fumbled to fasten my belt “Ouch” I said as I felt myself for blood
from where she had bit.
“Does Mr. Softy have a boo boo now? Oh, well, maybe I will give you
another chance later…but maybe not.” She unlocked the door and disappeared.
Jack arrived. He had responded to the un-lock the door call from
Sandy. He walked into the restroom to find me alone.
“Dude, I called you on the radio to come open this, why didn’t you
answer?” He said.
I told him what happened with Anna. I left out the “Softy” Part.
"Brandon called, he's gonna be late. I already punched him
in." Jack said.
'No shock there." I said.
I walked out of the back to the entrance and came face to face with
James the Banquet captain.
James stood maybe 2 inches taller than me. He had dark hair, a dry wit
that left me wondering often when he was being serious and when he was kidding.
We greeted the arriving party of about 200 with a smile and directed them to
the bar and appetizers. James announced to those who would listen that the main
reception would begin in promptly 30 minutes in the Grand Ballroom. I envied
his professionalism, text book etiquette and old school manners, but I’d hate
it if I ever had to work for him. James spoke without moving his upper
lip. He removed a fork from the table in front of us and polished it with a
green table napkin and then returned the fork to the table setting he had taken
it from.
“For what they paid for this reception and for what might be the most
important night of their young lives, at the very least, they are entitled to
clean white table linen and spotless silverware.”
He inspected me head to toe. He un-fastened my name tag and
straightened it to his satisfaction and then refastened it.
"First, what I’m about to say to you goes no further than this
room.” He said.
"Agreed," I said quickly.
"Second, under no circumstances are the two of you to be alone,
again, while working together---Ever." His breath smelled a perfect level
of peppermint.
"Well, that should be easy," I said looking at the crowded
room.
"Third—"
"There is a third?" I asked.
"There would be thirty if I could think of them," James
growled.
He turned and used his long index finger and started to do a head
count of the guests in the Palm garden, and didn’t say another word.
"Oh, come on, we really gotta piss"
(8pm)
The wedding had moved back down the escalator
to the grand ballroom. I stationed myself at the ballroom entrance and directed
street traffic and all non-wedding guests away from the ballroom and mostly to
the restroom upstairs. This would be the bulk of my job for the next few hours.
Some people act differently when I tell them they can’t go in. It becomes a
question of strength: The willingness of the mind to make the ride up the
imposing escalator against the inner urges of the human bladder. Jack joined me
at the door, still no sign of Brandon. A couple of guys, college kids by the
looks of them, wandered in from the outdoor bar. They tried to get pass Jack.
He didn't even acknowledge them.
"Upstairs and to the right." I said.
"But, dude, I know there's a restroom
right down there. I had my prom here last year."
"Thanks for the business, but this is a
private function. Upstairs and to the right is another restroom"
"Oh, come on, we really gotta piss"
"In the time you stood here, you could
have been done up stairs already." I said.
A tall light brown haired girl in a short black
skirt and a shorter well-proportioned blond in a sun dress exited ballroom
ladies room together and walked up the stairs. Jack held the door open for
them. We watched them walk toward the out-door bar.
"Hey! You let those girls in" College
guy two said.
"You're a moron, beat it. And don't even
bother going up the escalator anymore. You've lost bathroom privileges for
being stupid." Jack said.
College guy one started to say something, but
college guy two sized up Jack and pulled his friend away. Of course, when they
were a safe distance away, say like 20 yards, we heard the brave comments we
were familiar with:
"Dumb ass security losers, enjoy your
minimum wage jobs assholes."
"I hate this fucking place." I said.
"Fuck them; we'll get out of here, besides
there is always that."
He nodded toward the revolving door as a party
of five women entered and went up the escalator. A heavier woman in front wore a bride’s veil
on her head. Half way up the escalator she looked down and noticed us looking
up.
"Hey! You guys are cute! Wanna come sign
my tits!" She waived a giant penis shaped pen with a feather on it. Her
friends all laughed and hooted. I just smiled. Jack made one step toward the
escalator and I caught him, and pulled him back.
Mutant Ninja Turtle vs. Anna from Banquets the
rematch.
(11pm)
I peeked inside the ballroom. “The electric
slide” had just started. I’d have that stupid thing stuck in my head for rest
of the night. It made me think of my ex who loved to dance to it. Some couples
choose songs like “Time in a bottle” or “Only fools’ rush in” as ‘their song.’
Kristen and I had “The electric slide.” Blah….
The ballroom lights had dimmed down for slow
dancing. I found Anna behind her bar serving drinks. I went in behind her. She
didn’t say or do anything. A guy in a tux, his bow tie un-done and shirt tails
un-tucked ordered a Sombrero, a Jack and Coke and 3 bottles of Beer-brand
didn’t matter. Anna’s hands moved with a fluid dexterity. Drink glasses,
bottles and ice appeared with the same precision of a skilled magician working
the cups and balls trick. Tuxedo guy pulled out some cash. Anna informed him
that drinks for the bridal party were complimentary. Tuxedo guy flipped through
the bills in his wallet. Anna smiled. Tuxedo guy passed the dollar bills and
found a ten and tossed it in the tip bowl.
Anna turned to me. “works every time.” She said
referring to her smile. She looked at my crotch. “Well, almost every time.” She
said, and turned back to serve an elderly women a Canadian Club and a soda.
The ballroom lighting dimmed to the music. Anna served drink after drink. She held bills
up close checked denominations and made change. The bar was set up like a
squared fort in a corner of the ballroom. I got close to her so that my waist
was next virtually touched her waste. I leaned my upper torso away from her and
put my right elbow on the side counter, and then I rested my chin on my right
palm. Anna continued to serve drinks like a robot. Occasionally dance lights
flashed and lit up the room for a second.
Sweat glistened on her forehead when the strobe light flashed.
Tuxedo man had handed out drink tickets by the
fistful and it showed. The ballroom teetered on the edge of transforming from a
night to remember into a night to forget. The fate of the wedding pictures had yet to be. Would they be proudly
displayed on a mantle place and cherished in a photo album; or would they be
stored in a box and kept in the basement? Tuxedo guy pulled a teenage girl in a
loose fitting purple gown up onto a table for the last gyrations of “The
Macarena.”
James
the banquet captain entered the room. The legacy of the wedding pictures would
be saved. He waived his hand in front of his throat and the bartenders closed immediately
to restock. He walked to tuxedo man and signaled that he was needed by the
bride. He helped the young woman in the gown off the table and back to the seat
next to a white haired elderly woman who immediately chastised the young woman.
James then walked to the DJ and said something into his ear. The slow over
played groan of Clapton’s “Wonderful tonight” began. The lights dimmed. I made
my move.
I goosed Anna’s ass. She was proud of her ass
and deservedly so. She set porcelain cups along her bar and poured coffee into
them. Her lack of response to my intimate touch impressed me. I handed her a
bowl of filled with little plastic creamers with my right hand and smiled. She thanked me and smiled back. I ran my left
finger tips along her waist line. My left hand disappeared into her pants. My
palm warmed pleasantly. I challenged her to stop me. She organized a cup of
straws instead.
Anna had to be around 5 ft. 7 inches tall. I
stand a shoe lace under 6ft. 2 inches tall. This allowed me the perfect angle
for access. I eased my hand inside her pants but not her underwear. I cupped
and rubbed her butt. She pulled away.
And I thought I had won. But instead she reached into the ice box below and
refilled her ice tray. She put the ice tray back on the bar and not only
returned to her previous position, actually had the nerve to tilt her ass up
and offer me a better angle. In other words, she taunted me. “Ok then.” I
whispered into her ear.
Singh walked in to the ballroom. I watched him
squint until his eyes adjusted to the lack of light. He smiled when he saw me
and walked over the bar. He provided the distraction I needed. If anyone looked
my way they’d see me engaged in a conversation with Singh and a bartender
wiping down her counter top. As I spoke to him I reached my hand inside. Her
panties were silk and her skin warm. She taunted me She arched up a little and
cleaned her counter top and folded her white bar towel. She dared me to go
further. The DJ started Marvin Gaye’s
“Sexual Healing.” “Are you kidding me?” I thought to myself. I went for it--
all of it.
Tuxedo guy returned laughed at the coffee and
ordered another round of drinks. Anna reached for drink glasses. I moved my
hand to the music and she poured a beer on to the counter missing the glass.
The robotic bartender malfunctioned. The
ballroom dance lighting flashed on and off.
Tuxedo guy and Singh got a clear view. I removed my hand. Anna poured
tuxedo a new beer. He put another ten on the bar between us.
“Well, alright!” What a friggin wedding!” He
said, and walked away. Singh smiled with
an over bite mouth full of teeth and shook his head.
“Ok, Punky, I’m going home, you sure you ok for
place to sleep?” He asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m working all night, I’ll crash
in the linen closet for nap if I have to, and I’m actually going to see an
apartment tomorrow in Somerville on the Beacon St. It’s only a summer lease,
but my buddy’s sister is a realtor a got me a great deal.”
“Ok, Punky, if you need some cash to cover
first and last let me know.”
“No, brother, I’m good. Thanks though. I don’t
know what I’d do without you.”
“We punkies stick together,” he said and turned
and left.
“You have really nice friends.” Anna said.
“Yes, I do.” I squeezed her hand.
“I have to get some more lemon, I’ll be back.”
She said.
Anna ducked under the bar and headed to the
back aisle of the ballroom. But I wasn’t finished with her yet. I followed.
I grabbed her and opened a fire exit door off
the back of the banquet aisle. I pulled her inside and closed the door. Steps lead up and out to Columbus Park. There
was an ash tray on one of the steps as this was a popular spot for the nicotine
addicted banquet members in need of a quick puff.
I turned her around and posted her against the
wall. I pulled at her black pants and started to undo my belt. Just inches away
on the other side of the door, I heard the sound of banquet staff. They loaded
carts with trays of deserts and coffee and talked loud enough to be heard over
the music echoing from the ballroom.
“What are you doing? Anna said in a frantic
voice. No, Not here—later, I promise.” She said.
I kissed the back of her neck. She gripped my wrist and turned back and
faced me.
“Too many people here, I have to get back to
the bar. Come on--” She pleaded.
I took her hand and placed it.
“Holy shit, ok, so no more Mr. Softy. You win
you win, you proved your point, but I have to get back.”
I stepped back. She tucked her shirt in her
pants, and then grabbed hold of ‘me’ and kissed me hard then turned and walked
out the door. I stayed behind to catch my breath and let things settle. Paul
the bar back opened the door and walked into the stairwell. An unlit cigarette
in balanced on his lower lip.
“I didn’t know you smoked.” Paul said.
“How’s it going Paul, Yeah I actually don’t
smoke. I was just checking the door to make sure it was shut.”
He
flicked his lighter and lit his cigarette and grinned.
“Yeah, Anna said she was looking for lemon, But
all she could find was a banana.” He said, and laughed a gargled smoker’s
laugh.
The line was so lame that I actually laughed
too.
Cinderella in ink.
(Midnight).
Jack called to me on my radio.
“Code 69 in the Palm garden.” He said.
I knew what that meant.
I went around the back aisle and walked along the wall that separated
the Palm Garden from the 1st floor guest room hallway. It happened
always in the same spot. Jack stood out of view behind a fake palm tree. Little
Oscar the overnight Peruvian housekeeper was huddled low next to Jack. They looked
down at something. They each grinned and dry laughed. I approached and they
both looked at me at the same time and both gave me the “shhhh” sign at the
same time.
I heard the sound of heavy breathing and quiet moaning. I looked over
Oscar’s shoulder. Together they lay down on the carpeted floor. They weren’t as
near as attractive as the two prom kids from last week. 18 has its advantages. He
struggled to get traction with his shoes on the floor. They kissed with loud
sloppy sounds. Her eyes closed tight. He reached his hand under her dress and
pulled down her underwear. They got stuck on her rug burned knee for a moment
then continued down and onto the carpet and ended up next to the white veil.
I recognized them.
“Holy shit.” I whispered to the disdain of Jack. He shushed me.
Jack waited and watched. He knew exactly when to act. Tuxedo Man
mounted. He reached his hand under to guide himself in. Jack stepped out from
behind the tree and stood over them.
“EXCUSE ME FOLKS THIS AREA IS CLOSED! YOU HAVE TO LEAVE!”
Jack said. He tapped the wall with his radio for effect.
“AHHHHHHHH!” The interrupted lovers yelled in unison.
Oscar twirled in laughter behind the fake tree.
Tuxedo man flew off and back. The woman sat up topless. She had names in black inked scribbled across
her breasts. She crossed her arms over her chest. I took off my suit jacket and
stepped out and reached my hand down, and I helped her up. I handed my jacket
to her and she covered herself with it. Jack picked up her blue panties with
the tip of his radio antennae and tossed them to her.
Tuxedo Man staggered down the escalator and out the door to the night
in search of a cab.
The not so grand inquisitor
(2am)
They called him Lefty. He was intelligent, loud and obnoxious. What
disgusted was that I had come to recognize his smell over the last year. He
smelled worse than any human or animal I have ever been in the company of.
I heard his voice, gruff and muffled. His hand trembled and raised to
his lips the last swallow of his Russian (in name only) locally brewed low
grade Vodka. He’d made a spot for himself under the tables at the food
stations. The long table cloth turned into his tent. In the winter on certain
nights the temperature would get down to single digits. So I’d let him and one
or two friends stay. I’d rouse them up at 5am and get them out before the
morning workers started to arrive.
The driver of the Good Samaritan van who offered the homeless rides to
Pine Street on cold nights told me lefty had been a successful business man.
Then he walked in on his wife in bed with his Sponsor. He started hitting the
bars pretty regularly after that. Some punks jumped him in an alleyway outside
his favorite bar. They knocked him un-conscious or he passed out or both. The punks
poured gasoline on him and set him on fire. A passerby called for help. Most of
his left hand had been burned. Graphs became infected and his hand was
partially amputated. He claimed that God had taken his hand for striking his
wife.
He didn’t remember what’d happened to him. He received a pension check
at the beginning of the month and a disability check in the middle of the
month, his prolonged suicide enabled.
He sobered somewhat by morning. We conversed outside on a park bench.
It was the strangest most unexpected conversation I can recall. Lefty, it
seemed, was very well read.
“The kiss represented the triumph of love and faith, on their own
terms, over rational skepticism.” I argued to him.
“Then what about those that love and faith killed? There are more
addicted to that shit than anything sold in liquor store or up in Boston
Common.” He countered.
He spit out pink tinged fluid onto the grey cobblestone in front of
us, and reached for a bottle that was not there.
“It’s all about the choice between freedom and comfort. At least in
the bottle I get a little comfort in exchange for my freedom. You, you get
about as much comfort as that boat anchored to those stones”
He pointed with his half hand
to a small boat that bobbed on the dark harbor water.
Lefty wasn’t daunted by other people’s belligerence. He respected
those undaunted by his own. He made it a game. If he forced you to call the
cops or to manhandle him, he considered it a sign of weakness and a victory in
will. In a sense, he was the ultimate passive aggressor. A call to the police was pointless anyway.
They washed their hands of the issue and left us to handle Lefty and his crew
at our discretion.
“Just don’t kill the fuckers.” One Cop said to
me.
A real asshole, we nicknamed ‘Nasty Clause’
stuffed rolls of paper towels and toilet paper down all of the toilets and then
flushed. He flooded the main lobby
restrooms. Nasty Clause had a white beard stained with food and vomit tangled
and matted down to his pot belly. He claimed he now owned the land the hotel
stood on through some sort of Nasty Clause declaration of homestead.
“Or, if you do kill them just toss them into
the harbor when no one is around—that’s what the Cambridge guys do.” The cop
said.
I didn’t ask if he was serious and I didn’t ask
if meant Cambridge police or Cambridge hotel security; I didn’t want to know.
Once, as we were escorting him and his friends
out the back glass double doors, I asked Lefty how he could do things that
clearly required two hands. His left arm
ended in a stump just below the elbow, with a kind of vestigial thumb —and yet
he’d wear shoes with laces — never Velcro.
I asked him how he was able to tie them.
“What do you mean, how?” he growled. “Like
this!” Then he bent over, and with his stump and his left hand, untied and
retied one of his sneakers.
“And I can still swim as fast as I did back in
high school.”
“Where do you swim?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“What do you mean, ‘where do I swim’, I swim in
the damn Charles. I’d swim out there in the harbor, but there are too many
jelly fish.”
He told me to fuck off and went on his way
across the park to the back of Columbus statute where he took a piss and then
sat down on a bench and looked back at me. He raised his left hand and gave me
the invisible middle finger. He laughed and I couldn’t help but laugh too.
He stopped coming around. It took me a while to
notice. But one day I bumped into the Samaritan driver eating his lunch in
Faneuil Hall. He told me Lefty had died. He said that the paper stated that he
hit his head on some rocks while swimming under the Longfellow Bridge and
drowned. But the driver said that there was a different story being bantered
about in Pine Street.
“They found him bound with chains attached to a
cinderblock. Someone said that he did it to himself. But someone else said a fat guy with a beard
had dragged him down and tossed him in that way. The driver made a sign of the
cross and blessed himself.
“Either way, he’s with God now; his body and
mind are healed.” He said.
Thai Chicken
Satay with Peanut Sauce, in a non-gay way, of course.
(3:30am)
I found the door opened that I had left locked. He stood naked in the
back room using a hand towel to wipe oil off his thighs. Every inch of him was
defined muscle. His back was smooth and perfect too. Sweat pants, white socks,
a Patriots t-shirt and bikini brief underwear lay in pile at his bare feet. He
had the Playboy magazine bunny ear logo tattooed (I kid you not) on his
well-defined left butt cheek. He had head phones on listening to what sounded
like Prince he didn’t hear me come in. He bent over and ruffled through a black
Nike bag. He pulled out a towel and stood and turned around full frontal to
face me. He jumped back startled and pulled his head set off. A near perfect
smile filled his face.
Yes, if you must know, the front of him matched the two words Bowie
used to describe the genitalia of Ziggy Stardust in the song of the same name.
(Look it up—words right before “snow white tan.”). He looked like a young Burt
Reynolds-- before the moustache.
This moment reconfirmed what I suspected. I was not gay. I stayed as
flaccid as a water balloon with a nail puncture. Though, I will admit, I was disappointed that
I wasn’t. I mean, what are the odds of finding a 20 something Burt Reynolds
look-a-like all naked and oiled bending over in a back room? I mean, what the
fuck, did the naked young Goldie Hawn look-a-like get lost and end up with the
gay security guard across town at the Four Seasons instead?
I didn’t get a chance to eat earlier and my
stomach growled. He smelled delicious. I gave serious thought as to how I could
cook him in the large kitchen oven upstairs. I was so hungry.
“Hi, I’m Dan. I’m a friend of Brandon’s. I used
to work here; Brandon lets me use the health club shower after I finish work.”
He said.
I shook his oily hand and then my hand was
oily. “Brandon told me to expect you.”….A sweet aroma swallowed the air, I
tried to place what it smelled like and then it came to me exactly.
“Thai Chicken Satay with Peanut Sauce.” I
blurted.
He looked confused for a second and then his
smile returned.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m covered in peanut oil.
Fucking drenched in the shit. I can never get it all off. Brandon said you were
cool and that you and I are a lot of like. But with Brandon I can never tell if
he means that as a compliment or an insult.” He said.
I realized that I had been looking at him.
“You aren’t gay are you?” He tightened a towel
around his waist.
“Me?”
“Nah, not me, how about yourself?”
He worked the night stripped naked, covered in
oil in front of strangers, gay men no less, and still could manage the feeling
of nakedness alone with me. I took a weird sense of comfort in that.
“No, but I make my living that way.” He said.
“Yeah, Brandon mentioned it.” I said.
He took someone’s security suit coat off a hook on the wall in the
back of the office; I hoped not mine, and put the suit jacket on his peanut
oiled skinned torso.
“I worked security here just like you are doing now. I’m the one who
brought Brandon in. Oh man, the shit him and I used to do….anyway, one night
some of the guys from banquets were going out to work to celebrate this dude’s
birthday and asked me if I wanted to come along. This girl I’d been trying to
get into bed was going, so I went with her. We ended up cross-town near Fenway
at this Gay club. I couldn’t lift my hand to scratch my nose without some dude
putting a drink in it. I got fucking shit faced. They had a Turkish Wrestling
contest. I stripped to my briefs and they poured peanut oil on me. Fucking
lights, fucking people going nuts, music so loud the bass line is shaking the
floor and dude gets in the ring in his fruit of the looms; he’s had this long
ass handlebar moustache. Dude looked like Freddie Mercury on roids…”
I realized it was 4 am. He still needed to shower. I gave him the keys
to the health club. I pointed at the clock, and he nodded.
He continued, “I woke up in my bed the next morning, no fucking idea
how I got home. I smelled like peanuts, my room, my clothes…I was so
disgusted…then I saw the money…fucking tens, twenties, even hundreds, and lots
and lots of ones… stuffed in all of my clothes…my underwear, my sox, all my
pockets of my jeans…I counted over 800 bucks in cash…and I had a check for 500
creased and folded in my shoe. I stuffed
the money in the pockets of my jeans and tossed it all in the washing machine
and then the drier. The money smelled just fine when it dried. I went to work
that night in this shit hole and opened doors and kicked out drunks I gave my
notice in the morning.” He fit flip
flops on his feet.
“I called the manager the next week. And well, yeah, oil and men
is…well yeah. But I’m starting my last year in college in a few weeks and I’ll
pay most of my tuition up front in cash. This afternoon I’m taking my
girlfriend to Martha’s Vineyard. So, am I gay?” He smiled?
“Whatever? I’m definitely gay for Franklin, Jackson and Hamilton.”
He grabbed his bag, and walked up the hall dressed in a black suit
coat with a towel his around waist.
I shut the office door and rolled the chair back. I put my feet up on
the desk. I was just about to fall off to sleep when Jack walked in. He grabbed
the spray bottle filled with the pink liquid cleanser and the roll of paper
towels.
“Hooker gave me a blow job in elevator 3. I got it all over the mirror
and buttons.” He turned and left.
I told myself that I was going to write a book about all this someday,
but that no one would believe me.
Pink Sky at the compass of
dawn.
(6am)
In the morning I made my way down to the end of
the Wharf. A large compass rose is
engraved in stonework and the stonework is set into the wharf. I stood in
center of the compass and oriented myself of the cardinal directions—North,
East, South and West—. I pivoted and turned slightly north and faced west. The
Sunrise was the color of faded grey and burning pink. I preferred the ocean
when it's gray and rainy. My mother said I’m like this because of my Irish
blood. A gray morning had the feel of
promise and waiting. The pink concerned
me. “Pink sky in the morning means sailor's warning.” I tried to remember if
that is how the old saying went.
A seagull circled low in the air. A breeze
lifted off the ocean and rattled the ropes and metal fastens of the tall white
flag pole to my right. When the breeze calmed the odor of urine filled the air.
Both my feet were now directly on the eastern tip of the engraved windrose. I
faced toward Spanish shores I’d estimated to be 3,645 miles away. The flag pole
rattled from the easterly wind. I’d learned that this is called “Levant;” it
blows in from the western Mediterranean Sea. Legend says that Levant is where
rain is born. I read a lot on the overnight shift. I promised myself I would be standing in
Spain one day facing back to Boston with or without my compass.
I recognized the sound of his walk. His shoes tapped the stone behind me as he
approached. Without turning I said. “Are
you just waking up or just finishing or still on going?”
He stood by my side and faced toward Spain with
me. He said nothing. He handed me a cup of tea made the way I liked it. I
looked at his face and he looked scared. I had never seen him look this way. I
waited. A seagull chased a pigeon away from a piece of a discarded bagel.
“I think I am in love.” He said.
“Ok… and?” I said.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“What are your options?”
“I think I either have to marry her…. or kill
her.”
“I always did figure you as an Old Testament
and Deuteronomy kind of guy.” I said.
Rain splashed the wharf; yet over the harbor no
rain fell. Instead the pink decomposed what little was left of the night.
“Does it hurt?” I asked and sipped my tea.
This is going to be a little uncomfortable
(June)
On their second date Brandon tied her naked to
a kitchen chair. He told her that she
was being ‘disciplined’ for having accused him of having a girlfriend while
being out with her at the same time, and for a motorcycle ride she had taken
with Mike from the audio-visual department earlier that day. He made sure she
couldn’t get free from her bonds. Then he told her he needed to go for a ride
to clear his head and to give her time to think of an apology. She realized he
was serious when he didn’t come back after about 2o minutes. She bit her lip to
keep from crying. It didn’t work.
Brandon drove to the hotel, parked out front in
the circle and ran up the escalator and into the gift shop. Trisha had been
accepted into UMASS earlier that day. He high fived her at the news and then
helped her lock up the shop. He secured the sliding glass doors and shut the
shop lights while she counted her receipts and cash. He eased her fears about
college home work by telling her he could get me to do it for her. He complimented
her on how well she dressed. Then he took her to the back closet of the gift
shop where he lifted her skirt and bent her over a pile of unopened boxes of
souvenir Boston t-shirts. He finished more quickly than usual as if he had to
be somewhere. He used a new t-shirt to “clean up.” He left without a kiss good
bye, headed down the escalator, got back in his car, and drove to East Boston
for a slice of pizza. He returned back to the hotel and parked and walked down
to the end of the long wharf and watched the sunrise. He drove home. He had
been gone four hours.
A puddle had
pooled on the floor below her chair. Misted salt of cried tears caked her
eyelashes. Brandon walked past her and into the bathroom. She heard a faucet
turn on. He came back with a knife and cut the rope away from her wrists, and
then her thighs and then her ankles. She attempted to flail and strike at him
but her arms fell to her side. He scooped her up and carried her to the
bathroom. He lowered her so slowly and gently into water she felt for a moment
that she was floating. He poured bath soap into the water. A pleasant scent of
rosemary and mint filled the room. He used a bath cloth and a bar of soap and
washed her, all of her. Somewhere along the way she fell into a deep sleep. He
dried her softly and carried her to bed. Sofi woke for a moment as he
undressed. He saw her eyes open and he kissed her and whispered to her. He held
her all day while the rain fell. At sunset she begged him to marry her.
She told me much later, that his descriptions
of these events to me were pretty much true; except, she said it was he who
begged her to marry him.
“Follow all company policies and procedures. Welcome and acknowledge
all guests according to company standards; anticipate and address guests'
service needs; assist individuals with disabilities; thank guests with genuine
appreciation.” --- Loss Prevention Officer Job Description
Don't grab hold of the water.
Water blasted soot and bird shit off the interior cement wall of the Aquarium
garage. The noise woke me. No one had come to get me. No one would. I folded my
hotel blanket and tucked it and my pillow in front of me under the front
passenger seat. I reached under the other seat for my back pack. I reached
inside for my German language text book. I opened the text book and the photos
fell out. I spread them across the back seat. Everyone behaves badly--given the
chance.
The blurred pictures came from a disposable camera. Brandon had wrapped
the camera and given it to me a present for my birthday the weekend before. I
thought it an odd gift until of course later that night. I held the pictures
one by one. I could still make out Ashley’s pear shaped figure and true-red
headed Connie from the front desk. Cindy,
a tall and petite brunette, and Tara who had just celebrated her 18th
birthday the previous week joined in. The five of them stripped naked on a dare.
Then they jiggled, giggled and jumped into in to pool and splashed.
Brandon orchestrated the naked- after midnight -interdepartmental
meeting -between the female staff of the front desk and health club and the
guys from security to welcome me back to the single world and wish me a happy
birthday. An early summer heat wave helped with the nudity. The overburdened
the hotel air-conditioning system that night reduced to being as effective as a
large a noisy fan. Brandon gathered pool chairs and stacked them.
He looked pleasantly like a teenager who had just successfully cheated
on all his finals, passed with honors and was about to celebrate by bedding the
kid sister of his friend. He was in full color, and I fed off of him like a
vicarious vampire. We tend to choose people who appear to give us with the very
qualities we think we’re lacking. When we find friends who are competent in
areas which are new to us, it can feel amazing and alluring. And it can lead to
skinny dipping with pretty girls in a hotel pool in the middle of the night.
“What could be a better way to beat heat and boredom than naked
cannonballs off triple stacked lounge chairs into the pool at 3am?” He said.
We watched the girls laugh and hold their knees up to their chest as they jumped. “You better tell me which one you want.” He said.
“Why?” I asked. “Because,” he said, I intend to fuck the others.”
We watched the girls laugh and hold their knees up to their chest as they jumped. “You better tell me which one you want.” He said.
“Why?” I asked. “Because,” he said, I intend to fuck the others.”
But then the overnight manager interrupted our fun. He radioed for ‘Security
to respond to the pool area for a possible disturbance and noise complaint.’ Brandon
swore and cursed. We quickly dressed soaked in our suits. The girls cheered us
on and rushed to the locker room to dry and got dressed.
We approached the overnight manager. Our hair dripped wet, our shirts
water stained and our suits disheveled. We told him that health club had been
cleared and secured. From the smirk on his face, we knew that he had our jobs
if he wanted. We walked away. Our shoes sloshed. Brandon made sure the next day that a photo of
the girls in all their naked wonder and a parking garage pass for the entire
month found their way to the manager’s mail box-- anonymously of course. Brandon
said that if the manager kept the picture and used the pass then he would be
just as guilty as we were. Needless to say it worked. The manager would cover
for us many nights to come, and we would do the same for him.
“If I’m still here in five years I’m going to kill myself.” He said.
We were alone in the general manager’s office.
Brandon used the general manager’s computer to print out his resumes.
“Better yet, here is the deal: If by the time we are both in our 40,s and one
of us gets out and the other is still stuck here, counting keys and telling
someone they can’t park in the loading dock.
The other will sneak back and kill the other.”
Security had a key that opened every door in the hotel except the
general manager’s office. “We have to get out of this place. I have to
find a job.” He said to me. “I can’t be one of these people, and neither can
you. We are too old to put up with this
shit. They treat us like damn children. I mean, you and I are almost 30, and
these assholes write us up for not having name tags on. It’s like we are in
fucking high school.”
“I can learn to live with guilt. I don't care about being good.” Maybe
there’s something wrong with you that makes you act this way. I guess that I
must have this sickness too.
The Pursuit of Holiness.
Muffled music echoed from the lobby all the way
down by the loading dock. It was Friday night just after eleven and Rachael’s
lounge was open and at peak occupancy. I punched in at the blue time clock
outside office. The door to the office was closed and locked; there was no one
was inside. We had few rules in the Security department. One was that the
security base was to be never left unoccupied. If it were unoccupied it usually
meant that there was an emergency or that the person who was supposed to be in
the base just ran to use the bathroom or down to the cafeteria for a drink. I
waited. I waited five minutes. I knew that Brandon, Rich, Billy and Amy were
working. So, where were they? I looked inside the locked base a little more
closely and noticed the food: plates of un-eaten steak and lobster. Steam still
rose from the steak. The music from Rachael’s bellowed. I unhooked the lock to
the little window to the office, took my sneaker and reached in and caught
handle with it. I opened the door from the inside. Breaking into the office
this way was something I figured out on my own. It impressed Brandon. I grabbed
a radio and called out to find out where everyone was. “Base to 4?” I called
into the radio. Brandon responded with one word, “Kitchen!”
I grabbed keys and hurried down the back hall and up the back stair to
the kitchen. I thought they were involved in a fight with some coked out roided
drunks also known as Rachael’s regulars. Friday night at Rachael’s was good for
at least one fight. There had been bad ones. Several required police and a
couple required ambulances. These thoughts ran through my mind as I burst
through the double swinging doors into the kitchen and headed straight towards
the lounge. I just about made it to the lounge when someone shouted, “Hey!”
I looked back. They stood in front of the kitchen fridge. Richy removed grey cartons of eggs and handed
them to Brandon and Billy. Richy was what you would think a security supervisor
would be, straight laced, a company man, rules, clocks and regulations strong on
order short on wits. He had a military buzz cut and bad black eye glasses. He
was hired to be an enforcer in a department that was seen as having discipline
issues. Brandon had made it a goal to
corrupt and destroy Richy. This took about three months. But he stopped short
of the destroying him in part because he actually started to like him- once he
became corrupt.
Richy and Billy and Brandon each carried 3 cartons of eggs.
”Um, what are you guys doing with the eggs?” I asked. They ignored me.
They looked serious and filed single file out of the kitchen to the freight
elevator in the back. I followed. They marched onto the elevator and I followed
them. “Press ‘7’,” Richy said to me and I did. Brandon and Billy were smiling.
I knew something bad was about to happen. “Are you guys bringing eggs to the
girls in the concierge for brunch?” I asked. They just smiled and watched the
elevator light. “We are going to do what needs to be done.” Brandon said. Billy
laughed. The elevator stopped on the 7th and last floor. The door
opened and out went the 3 men in suits carrying cartons of eggs. I followed.
They scurried down the carpeted hall way, careful not to trip over room service
trays left on the floor outside of the guestrooms. At the end of the hallway
they exited out into the back stair case and proceeded to go up to where the
elevator would not go. “Come on guys…what the fuck is going on?” I said.
At the very top of the hotel is a large room used for storage,
actually it’s just like a large attic. A hatch leads out on to the hotel roof.
A metal ladder attached to the wall leads up to the hatch. Billy put his eggs
down and climbed. He opened the hatch and went out to the roof. He got on his
stomach and reached his arms down. Rich and Brandon handed up all of the eggs
then they climbed up and out onto the roof with him. I had only been on the
roof once before to watch the fireworks on the fourth of July. I don’t like
heights and I especially don’t like heights in the dark. I climbed the ladder
and stuck my head out of the hatch half expecting a hammer to hit me on the
head. The top of the roof is covered in gravel. I had gone far enough.
The hotel is unique in its structure. It is one of the world’s largest
A-Frame buildings. It has steeply-angled sides (roofline). It begins at or near
the foundation line, and meets at the top in the shape of the letter A. In the
dark, arms filled with eggs, they walked the narrow plank part of the structure
roof. Either side was a straight drop to death. They did it in the dark,
carrying dozens of eggs. They made it to the very edge of the front of the roof
of the hotel. In front and below them stood the monster elevated six-lane
highway, The John F. Fitzgerald Expressway, also called the Central Artery. It
ran through the center of downtown, and close to 200,000 vehicles travelled on
top of this massive structure every day. It would later be demolished and
replaced by the infamous big dig.
The skyline lit up the night and three shadowed figures stood and
hurled eggs from edge of the top of the long wharf hotel out onto the
expressway below. I could hear their giddy shouts. I watched transfixed by the
insanity of the moment. Horns sounded, brake lights flashed. There was
absolutely no fucking reason for what they did, and this was all the reason for
why they did it. I watched and suddenly found myself afraid of everything
around me – afraid of the air, afraid of the night afraid of that moment and
afraid it would end. They were pathetic insects throwing eggs at the belly of a
monster, and I rooted for them.
They ran back the way they came, laughing shouting. I waited for them
by the staircase. The voice called on the radio.
“Front desk to Security-Front desk to security”
Richy held up his finger to his mouth and shushed us,
“Security is on, go ahead front desk”
“Yes, we have a report that someone is on the roof of the hotel
throwing things onto the expressway, can you check it out and then come to the
front desk to take a report.”
“Security to the front desk, we will check it out”
I wrote the report. I stated that I carefully investigated the
incident and did indeed find empty cartons of eggs. But unfortunately I was not
able to view any suspects. It was also unfortunate that camera that covered the
roof had had a malfunction and no film was recovered of the incident. I met
with a small group of individuals who had exited the express way and made their
way to the hotel to complain about having their cars pelted with eggs. I
apologized profusely on behalf of the hotel and gave everyone vouchers to enjoy
our famous Sunday Brunch. I volunteered the engineering department to wash the
cars while the individuals enjoyed the Brunch. They left satisfied.
"When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn't make the
darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares still
walking. When we hold each other we feel not safe, but better. "It's all
right" we whisper, "I'm here, I love you." and we lie:
"I'll never leave you." For just a moment or two the darkness doesn't
seem so bad."
A
night of soft conspiracy
Sofi
called in the middle of the night to tell me he had ended their relationship
for no apparent reason other than to simply break her. She told me that she
knew how I helped lie for him the past several months by providing him with
alibis. She said that in some ways this
made me as loathsome as Brandon, and then she hung up. I called back, but she
didn’t answer. I walked the several blocks to where she lived. I thought about
my friend as I walked.
In the
time I had known him he had perfected the language, attitude and look he needed
to control most, if not all, of the women in his world. This included the
middle aged grandmother who gave him free lunch at the diner where she
waitressed and the young religious seeming wife of his downstairs neighbor who
once rearranged a vacation with her husband so she could be there to feed my
friend’s cat and water his plants while
he went with me to Atlantic city. He told me that not only did she bake great
cookies, but that she talented with her mouth. There were the many other “toys”
as he called him.
No one
answered the door when I knocked. I walked in anyway. I heard crying coming
from one of the bedrooms. I went in. She sat on a sheet-less floor mattress,
curled naked, with her knees to her chest.
Beside her lay an empty plastic yellow orange colored bottle of sleeping
pills. She gagged and wretched while I repeatedly stuck my fingers down her
throat until little pink plastic capsules coughed out of her body along with
the last remnants of her self-esteem.
I held
her while she cried and sobbed about his many infidelities and how she thought
she could change him. She had alienated
her family for him, and traded the life of comfort that her family had provided
for a mattress on the floor of a run-down 3rd floor apartment on the bus line
outside Davis Square just to be at his call.I ran to the 24 hour supermarket in
Porter Square for butter pecan ice cream. I spoon fed it to her in an effort to
soothe her throat and pain. We shared the ice cream, and then, we shared each
other. With her vomit washed out of my shirt and her tears all dried, I left at
day break. I returned every night for
the next several weeks.
A Bench near the edge
May 18th, 2001.
South
Station, Boston, Train side, early evening.
A woman
appeared at the end of the platform as promised. She wore a gray rain
coat, big black dark sun glasses and red lipstick. Slender legs
peaked out from the folds of the coat as she walked. She carried a little blue
suitcase and wheeled a larger bag behind her. She looked Mediterranean,
perhaps Spanish or Portuguese. She stopped in front of me and reached
into her pocket. She took out a nickel plated flask and sipped, and patted her
mouth dry with her sleeve. I stepped towards her. She was French, of course.
The platform shook like a little earthquake as a train arrived. Paper trash
fluttered off the track and back down. The train hissed. I looked at her and
watched her drink
"I
miss doing that" I said.
She wiped
her mouth this time with her hand. Her fingernails were polished. She held the
flask out to me and smiled
"been
a while for you has it?"
If I ever
had any doubt as to whether or not I loved her it was settled at that moment. I
did not. Then she said the strangest thing I think I have ever heard.
"What
if I told you that fear isn't real?"
The old
familiar odor emanated from the flask's silver spout. I looked up at the
clouds. Droplets of rain sprinkled my forehead.
"A
man without fear is a man without hope." I said.
"Nietzsche
or Freud?" She asked.
I laughed
at myself. I looked at her face to face now, and she was beautiful.
"Father
Everett" I trembled.
She inched
her hand along my arm and into my hand.
"Just
be here and now. Forget about the past." She said softly, soothingly.
I reached
and took off her black sun glasses. I was reminded of the day we met in
Columbus park, the day we went to church at St. Leopnards.
"I
once spent a year in Philadelphia; I think it was on a Sunday"
"Groucho?"
she guessed?"Close" I said, "W.C. Fields"
"Philadelphia
was a long time ago" She said.
She eased
her body snugly under my arm. We walked to a bench and sat there near the edge.
She placed her blue suit case down and opened an umbrella. She handed the
umbrella to me and I held it above us. It was a complicated operation:
umbrella, flask and girl. Water beaded on the rails then spilled onto the
gravel rocks between the tracks.
"How
is he?" I asked
She rested
her head on my shoulder and sighed.
"He
is distant, distracted, self-centered, gambles and spends time at Asian massage
parlors, and thinks that I don't know, and....he is my husband now" She
said.
"Glad
to know some things haven't changed" I said.
"And
you,how have been your last 2 years?" She asked
She opened
her blue suit case. Inside I viewed lace panties, and a full bottle which she
used to refill the flask.
"I
don't know how my last 2 years have been but judging by what's in your bag my
next 2 hours are looking promising."
"She
paused and said, "my train is leaving in 20 minutes"
"Then,
maybe not"
"Why
the Move to New York?"
"There
is a position he took, entry level at a Firm" She said...."You should
call him there, he'd like that. I’d like that."
"We
haven't talked since Atlantic City, but maybe I will. Good for him, I'm glad
for him, really...His dreams are coming true. What is the name of the firm?
Have I heard of them?"
She rested
her head against my shoulder and then turned and kissed my cheek. "It has
an Irish name like the Gatsby writer." She said. Two names. I thought for
a moment ...."Cantor-Fitzgerald?" ....
"Oui.
That’s the one." She pecked my cheek as we watched people board.
"I
will miss you, she said. And you know that he will too."
"Perhaps."
I said.
We dream on and on: the best hotel, the perfect family, the resort
life. And our dreams escape us almost as vividly as we can imagine them… That’s
what happens, like it or not.
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