Heartbreak
By Shahrezad1
Disclaimer: I own neither Hey Arnold nor anything belonging to Elvis.
Well,
since my baby left me,
I found a new place to dwell.
It's down
at the end of lonely street
at Heartbreak Hotel.
You
make me so lonely baby,
I get so lonely,
I get so lonely I
could die.
And
although it's always crowded,
you still can find some room.
Where
broken hearted lovers
do cry away their gloom.
--Heartbreak Hotel, Elvis
Arnold's finger skimmed down the phonebook page, headache already starting to pulse through his oblong skull. He should have been used to it by now—commercial flights always made him nauseous and unbalanced, an after-effect that was a regular companion in his line of work.
His hand froze halfway through the list of locations as a pain suddenly pierced behind his eyes, lancing any concentration he could have attested to. When he was finally able to pry his lids open, green eyes watering and red, he found his finger had landed upon a single name circled in red.
Heartbreak Hotel. Blinking rapidly, he pondered for a second where he'd heard that name before, then abruptly shrugged. Brainpower was too much for him right now; he was on autopilot, and all that really mattered right now was the subtitle below the hotel's name: Great Rates For Those Traveling Alone.
The taxi drive was long and painful and when the driver finally stopped before a genteel-poor hotel building, tucked into a small side-alley ominously titled Lonely St. upon its identifying green sign. Still, the location was near the address on his invitation, and while the street seemed to be chock-full of cars of all sorts and styles, the area was calm and quiet.
Then again, that might have something to do with the fact that it was almost midnight. Through the dim haze of pain he was wading through, Arnold crossed his fingers in the hope that a room would be open. Or he might end up sleeping on a couch tonight in some lounge.
He paid the driver and entered the rough, but still elegantly decorated building, single rough suitcase in hand. Immediately he was confronted with the service desk, at which a desk clerk sat reading what seemed to be a romance novel. Tears were welling up in the young man's eyes, eyes hidden behind large coke bottle glasses and shaggy black bangs. Just abruptly as the emotion had appeared it was gone again upon the clerk's realization that he had company. The book was stashed and the man, dressed entirely in black, bestowed a polite smile upon the traveler.
"Hello there, Sir. How may I help you today? Or, I guess you could say 'tonight,'" the dark haired man smiled slightly at the joke, but it was gone before it could fully form, a will-o-wisp of light in the darkened foyer.
Arnold sighed and nodded, fingers pinching the skin between his eyebrows as the headache that had been slowly developed suddenly roared again to life, "um, I was wondering if you had a room free. I'm going to be here for a few days, so…" he ended his sentence lamely with a shrug, suddenly at loss for words.
The clerk had already turned away, frowning as he shook the screensaver free from the computer screen before him, "well, we've got several events going on right now in town, so scheduling is a bit tight. A lot of people are rooming for several days, so it might take me some time to find a room that's open tonight or tomorrow."
"Fine, fine," the blonde man muttered quietly to himself, before raising his bloodshot eyes back up to the short attendant, "um, do you happen to have an Ibuprofen or Tylenol or something?"
"I'm in charge of keeping watch of guest medication, but I'm not allowed to give out simple remedies, in case if someone tries to over dose," the clerk shrugged his shoulders at the irony of his situation, before tossing a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a hallway off to the side, "you can probably get something that'll help in the lounge, though. There's a bar, and they're allowed to give out stuff for hangovers."
"Thanks," Arnold let out a sigh of relief and headed for the open doorway, before pausing, "I might be there for a little while…"
"I'll come get you when I'm done," his fingers flew across the keyboard and before the man had completely turned away, the exhausted traveler thought for a second that his nametag had read "Thaddeus G". Shaking his head at the tricks his mind was playing on him, Arnold turned away in favor of his new destination.
I must be imagining things…
The lounge was as elegant as the rest of the ground floor, furniture made up of dark leather armchairs, rich rugs, and deliberately placed lamps. Giving the room a calm, almost melancholy feel to it. As though its occupants were encouraged to moments of silent pondering. Only the bar remained lit this late at night, the rest of the room deserted. Behind the counter the bartender was busy drying a stack of mugs and glasses, hand towel tossed over her shoulder a bright contrast to the black slacks and button-up shirt wore, sleeves rolled up. Glancing up once, the strawberry blonde gave him a nod before returning to work.
"It's almost one o'clock, Sir. I'm afraid that the bar is closed."
He wilted for a second in his best suit, a dusty tan jacket and slacks with a haphazardly tied navy blue tie, before slowly straightening, "I…I'm not here for anything, Miss. The desk clerk just said that I could get some Tylenol or something here."
"Ah," a bland smile appeared on the woman's face, and with a single turn she'd pulled down a shot glass and a small bottle. Heaven in stark white plastic, "take a seat, then." The counter was patted lightly and with a sigh of pure relief he took a place on one of the cushioned barstools, glad to be finally off his feet.
"You have no idea how grateful I am," the traveler muttered as downed the small amount of water and medicine, "I've had this horrible headache for hours, and I can't seem to make it go away…"
The bartender frowned lightly, hands constantly moving even as she calmly eyed the tow-headed fellow, "Any particular reason it's decided to stick around?"
"It's probably all the flying," he answered softly, eyes closed in bliss as he held the now-empty glass against the heat of his forehead, "I just got back from a business trip, and then I got a letter from a friend, inviting me to his wedding. Four airplanes in forty-eight hours," he chuckled mirthlessly, "it's amazing just how much the airlines like to switch things on people."
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to apologize, none of it's your fault," he answered quietly, setting the shot glass down in favor of rubbing the top of his bulbous nose, and then on to the pinch that had reappeared between his eyes, "just bad luck. It's all okay, anyway. How often does your best friend get married, after all?"
"Not very often."
"Yeah," mumbling to himself, he slowly slid the miniature cup back to the tall figure standing neutrally before him, her long red-gold hair pulled up into a controlled bun at the back of her skull. Her bangs fought against the organization anyway, wisping lightly over blue eyes that in his haze of pain seemed only vaguely familiar, "um, could I have a little more water?"
"So you did want something from the bar, after all?" she answered tartly before exchanging the tiny glass for a large stein of crystal-clear water, even though she'd only just finished cleaning it.
Arnold blushed and choked, red filling his large cheeks as he stared down into the large mug, "yeah, I guess I did."
"Don't worry about it, Sir. It's only water. Easy enough to clean, all things considered," she smirked lightly before turning to put the glasses away, the pink ribbon wrapped around her bun revealed for only a second before she once again faced him, wiping down the counter with a second cloth she seemed to summon from thin air.
"So, your friend is getting married. Congratulations."
"Yeah. They've loved each other since they were kids, so we all really expected it," the smile he wore was bittersweet, before he shook off the expression for an optimistic beam, "it's like the ending to a fairytale, or something."
The bartender wisely said nothing for a few minutes, allowing him time to think before he once again spoke.
"It's just kind of…ironic, that's all. All the people I grew up with, it's like they've paired up and moved on, but to me…"
"Time's stood still?"
He blinked up at the bartender, as if finally realizing as his headache fell away that he'd even been talking to anyone, rather than just himself, "yeah. Especially since…well…"
"Well?"
"I'm an archeologist. I study the past, and when I entered that field, it was so that I could find…something. Something very precious," he fiddled with the mug's handle, avoiding the bartender's glance as she systematically turned off the lights around her, except for a single spotlight surrounding their position, "and I did find it. But it's like I lost something in the process."
He looked up to see her response and caught the tail end of an ironic smile before she fell once again into her neutral mask, her entire visage blank, from pierced ears bare of accessories down to her dark, formless clothing. The only individualized part of her was the tag displaying her name for the world to see: Geraldine P.
"I know exactly what you mean."
"What do you mean?" for the first time in their conversation, Arnold really began paying attention to the woman before him. Familiarity tugged on the edges of his mind, and just as he was about to make the connection it slipped away from him once more.
"This isn't called Heartbreak Hotel for no reason, Sir. A lot of people come in here searching for something, or lacking something," the look in her blue eyes, hidden partially by highlighted bangs, was pure unadulterated challenge, even as her actions remained cool and composed. She was challenging him to something. What was it? And why did she seem so familiar?
He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted without warning.
"Sir? I've found a room for you."
"Oh," blinking rapidly, the Archaeologist rose to his feet, discomfited as he was led to a sneezing, harshly-breathing bellhop, his eyes watering with allergies.
"If you…" the bellhop, dressed completely in black in what seemed to be the hotel uniform, breathed asthmatically before pulling out an inhaler and a handkerchief to mop his watering eyes, reaching for Arnold's bags at the same time, "…if you'll follow me, Sir?"
The exhausted traveler was led from the room, and in his wake he left the two coworkers exchanging a look. The bartender's was defensive, suddenly scowling.
"What are you looking at, Geekbait?"
" 'This isn't called the Heartbreak Hotel for no reason'? Geeze, Geraldine, you'd think you were hitting on a guest or something," the much shorter man scowled in frustration behind his bowl-cut hair style, "what is wrong with you?"
"The same thing that's wrong with you every time little Miss 'Get-Away-From-Me-You-Freak' checks in," was the sharp, defensive retort. Instantly she regretted it, "look, Curly, I'm sorry--."
"Just forget it," his shoulders suddenly fell, "you're right, and I had no right calling the kettle black. But honestly Helga, Arnold's problems aren't yours right now. You're just his bartender. And whatever past you might have had, it doesn't change the fact that you're an employee and he's a guest. Please try and remember that."
"Or what?"
"Or I might have to fire you. And heaven knows we need someone like you around here, so I don't want to have to do that," he stood, understanding and calm as he watching a myriad of expressions cross the woman's face, a woman who had once been his childhood bully but was now his friend. Friends in loss, in grief.
They didn't work at a place called the Heartbreak Hotel for nothing.
"Fine," she eventually muttered, sullen in her acceptance, "while I'm here we'll just be strangers."
"Good," nodding, Curly slowly turned to return to the desk. He still had to get the paperwork written out, and Arnold needed the keys. Something stopped him, however.
"But…"
The man, once so crazy in his youth, turned with studied seriousness to the strawberry blonde, her eyes cool and calm, "but what?"
"But I'm invited to Gerald and Phoebe's wedding, too, remember? And so are you. I promise to be on guard when I'm here, but the gloves are off anywhere else. Capisce?" walking passed her manager, she pulled her bun out with a deft twist, waterfalls of golden red cascading down her shoulders even as her hand tightened upon the ribbon within its grip, "toodles, Curly. See you tomorrow night."
--
AN: Happy Fourth of July! Celebrate it well!
This has bounced around in my head for a few months, ever since I borrowed the "All Shook Up" Broadway show recording CD from the library for the second wonderful time in my life. I love it too much to forget it. This specific scene was brought about by the song "Heartbreak Hotel," originally sung by Elvis. It will probably remain a one-shot until I get Sunny Side Up finished. And even then I'll only do something with it if it garnishes enough attention. Until then it'll be a relaxing side note in the stress that is my life. C'est la vie. Until next time.