Second Best
~ Preston A. Lodge The Third's arrival in Colorado ~
by
A. G. Prentice
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman. The rights to those characters and to the show belong to the creators of the show, to CBS and the Sullivan Company.
Author's Note: This story mirrors the last three chapters of Nights in White Satin.
Tuesday May, 31st, 1870, Denver, Colorado.
Preston A. Lodge the Third stepped down from the passenger car of the train, assuming an air of confident and dignified superiority, unwilling to let the rigors of his journey out West faze him. He was determined to succeed in this new venture, this whole new life he was about to carve out for himself, and no amount of soot, dirt and wrinkles on his clothes could stop him!
He was about to turn thirty-three, and it was high time for him to step out of the tall shadows of his father and four older brothers. They were all well-established, highly successful businessmen, all married to beautiful, proper ladies from the upper crust of Boston, New-York and Washington society. But he, Preston, felt that it was up to him to shake up the complacency his family was nestled in by being the bold one, the one who would embody the American spirit of risk and adventure, and give the Lodge name a new luster. He would use his own financial resources and the business acumen acquired while working alongside his father and eldest brother for the past seven years to forge his own empire. He certainly counted on his well-off relations right here in Denver and his socializing skills to start on the best foot. He would succeed and show his skeptical father what he was capable of!
But first things first, he needed refreshment and a good hot meal after five long days on the train, and a less than pleasant service between St. Louis and Denver. Hailing a streetcar, he asked to be driven to the best hotel in town, then sat back on the upholstered seat with a grateful sigh. He took advantage of the brief ride to take in his surroundings: Denver was not quite as big and impressive as he had envisioned, yet the still rough aspect of the town filled him with the eagerness of the hungry wolf spotting the young and innocent lamb, impatient to sink its fangs into the tender flesh. Preston could barely wait for the moment that he would begin raking in the dollars. So many opportunities seemed right there at his fingertips!
As his transportation stopped in front of the steps of the hotel and a bellboy rushed over to offer his assistance, Preston was still lost in his daydream, so that when he looked up at the elaborate entrance of the edifice, he had the distinctive impression of being struck by a vision of his future. A hotel! Oh, wouldn't that be grand? Now that was something no one would ever expect from him, yet a formidable way to stand out! His heart accelerated as his mind's eye envisioned marble staircases, crystal chandeliers and luxuriant Persian carpets, walls adorned with master paintings and he couldn't help but grin widely at the prospect. The cautiousness his father had tried to instill in his boys, at the same time as a strong taste for competition, had never felt more like heavy chains to Preston than right at this moment when everything seemed possible as long as he stood his ground. Buoyed by this certainty of a bright future ahead, he strode to the front desk with a definite spring in his step.
Harold Whitaker, the chief clerk, instantly perked up at the sight of the gentleman approaching his counter. Like most travelers who came to the hotel straight from the train station, his appearance was quite a bit ruffled, yet there was no denying he came from money, not only because of the high quality materials his stylish suit, tie and hat were made of, but there was that air… Harold had seen enough patrons come and go to tell who was well-bred, and who came from a less sterling background, in one single glance… Like the couple in the nuptial suite, for example. Now those two were an amusing mystery, one most employees had been indiscreetly speculating and whispering about in the kitchens, the laundry room, and even right under his nose. The woman was a physician – how incongruous! – whose accent unmistakably pointed at a privileged background in New England, but who had been living long enough out west to have the uppity edge of that accent rounded off.
Her husband was another story. For someone who was definitely one of those mountain men who populated the Conquest of the West's mythology and seemed more inclined to wear buckskins rather than regular, proper clothes, he was polite, even impressively courteous… well if one discounted the couple of times that young Samuel Fincher, one of the bellhops stationed in their corridor, had most likely interrupted their romance… The most striking feature of the couple, however, wasn't the social gap between them, but their mutual devotion, their burning passion for one another that was as plain as the nose on one's face. They weren't the first, neither would they be the last newlyweds to spend their honeymoon in the hotel, but even to the pragmatic Harold, this couple was sure to stand out in his memory for quite a long time.
When the newcomer cleared his throat with a hint of impatience, Harold shook himself from his musings, realizing nervously that he had made a potential client wait and risked turning him over to a rival hotel. Plastering on his well-practiced, most obsequious smile, the clerk recited with the required cheerful formality:
"Good day, Sir. How may I be of assistance?"
"Good day," Preston brightly answered, quickly dismissing this first tiny incident in his glorious plans as nothing worth getting upset over, as his father would have for certain. "I'd like your best room."
Harold debated for a second whether to announce to this demanding young man that the presidential suite in question was presently occupied, and that was one second too late, for the obviously sharp-minded gentleman picked up on his hesitation. "I see, it's already taken… Well, never mind," he muttered, his lips pursed in vexation.
Once more, Harold feared that the man might seek the luxury of the best suite in another hotel, so he hastened to say, "We have other extremely fine suites, Sir, to accommodate all your needs. We take pride in offering nothing but the best to all our clients, the best view of the mountains, the best cuisine, the best services…" He swiveled around to take the key to the room one-o-six, which was actually the Presidential suite's twin. The suite one-o-seven, occupied by the honeymooning couple, had been deemed the best one because it received the best exposition to the sun, as well as possessed the highest level of privacy, being situated at the end of the corridor before its bend, with only one direct neighboring room, yet still separated by the tiled wall of the wash room.
Seeing the doubtful look upon the man's face, the clerk went on, "The second best room just happens to be still available…"
"Second best?" Preston repeated, frowning as if insulted.
The clerk swallowed nervously, feeling like he had made a beginner's blunder. "I can assure you, Sir, that this suite has very little to envy to the presidential one. And… in order to make up for the inconvenience, let us offer you your first night here, supper and room service included." Harold felt his palms sweat at his own words, wondering whether his manager would approve of such prodigality toward a patron who wasn't a regular, when he hadn't received any explicit instructions for special treatment. He suddenly doubted his own sixth sense when it came to winning the customers' loyalty and then reaping the benefits of a laudatory word-of-mouth… Doing his best to regain his confidence, he gave a firm tap on the call bell to summon a porter to show the new guest to his room and transmit the special instructions for the night to the other members of the staff.
Preston almost refused, yet the offer was too financially interesting, and he thought he could actually enjoy making that impertinent clerk squirm and sweat some more by making full use of the free room service. He didn't intend to stay too long in the hotel anyway, as he hoped his meeting with Ezra Leonard that evening would prove to be fruitful both in term of business openings, but also in quickly locating suitable lodgings. Grinning maliciously, he followed the porter up to the second floor. The room was indeed large and comfortable, though not nearly as luxurious as the best hotels back east. He also noticed with disdain that the indoor plumbing was minimal and didn't allow for taking a hot bath unless someone was to haul primitively heated water into the tub. There was a large kettle on the hob in the chimney, yet, it would take forever heating enough water that way.
"Humph… How does one take a proper bath here?" Preston asked the porter testily.
"Not to worry, Sir. We can draw you a hot bath in two shakes of a lamb's tail. You just gotta ask!"
Preston cringed all the more at the young man's vernacular, but refrained from commenting. If he was to settle out there, he'd better get used to those types as soon as possible, as long as he didn't let his own standards decline.
"Well, I certainly hope so, as I need a bath right now."
"Sure thing, Sir. D'ya need me to send up the barber, too? Maybe have your suit pressed, too?" the bellhop offered, in the hopes of getting a generous tip for his zealous diligence.
Preston stroked his slightly prickly jaw pensively, thinking it wouldn't do to show up at Mr. Leonard's doorstep all scruffy with a rumpled outfit, and nodded his consent.
As promised by the staff, it was only a matter of minutes before Preston was settled comfortably in the tub, a complimentary glass of French champagne in his hand. If this was the hotel policy of making up for any kind of inconveniences that might befall their customers, he wasn't about to complain. This gave him a renewed boost of confidence, as he pictured himself actually enjoying the move so far away from Boston and building the financial empire he was dreaming of… He then tried to imagine his father's reaction, but all he could see was Preston Sr.'s skeptical smirk. But then again, Preston mused, there was no pleasing the old man. It was more important was to make quite an impression on the good people of Denver and its area, to earn the respect and trust of powerful allies, and why not joining the Statehood for Colorado movement, start a political career as well…
"Senator Lodge," he sounded out wistfully, extremely pleased with the result.
With that thought, he emptied his glass and got out of the water so fast he nearly slipped, in his eagerness to get ready in time for his forthcoming meeting with the mining magnate Ezra Leonard. Yet, the brief surge of adrenaline in his veins didn't dampen his spirits one bit.
He would succeed, he was sure of it!
Upon returning from his visit to Mr. Leonard, Preston didn't feel like going down to the smoking room in the hotel, as he had first planned to, to meet and socialize with some prominent businessmen. Leonard's knowledge of the state of affairs in the Colorado territory had been invaluable indeed, yet not quite in the way Preston had expected. Leonard had strongly discouraged him from starting any business right here in Denver. For a moment he thought that maybe Leonard was merely trying to protect the interests of wealthy and influent partners for his own agenda, and even now, as he sipped on the Bourbon he had requested to be brought to his room pronto, he still had doubts regarding Leonard's true intentions. But the more he thought about it, the more what Leonard had said about starting a bank where competition was scarce, better yet inexistent, made sense. The only reason Preston had not considered it as face value right away was that he had been raised into believing that competition was one of the major driving forces of economy alongside free entrepreneurship. But starting where everything needed to be built, being the one to lead an entire community to prosperity? Now that was some challenge! One that was scary and exhilarating at the same time… The tremendous charge was daunting, to say the least, and the question whether he would be up to such a wager kept pricking his thoughts.
Ezra Leonard had read Preston's mind and figured out his deepest ambitions as easily as he could decipher the economic jargon on the financial pages in the newspaper. Yet, he had not laughed them off, nor had he dispensed his advices in a patronizing, even condescending way as Preston Lodge the Second was so prompt to do. In fact, Preston had felt welcomed at dinner, and Leonard's son, Caleb had played a large part in making him feel like he was worthy of approval and admiration. In fact, Caleb's wide-eyed curiosity and enthused comments had awakened in Preston a vague longing none of his nephews ever managed to elicit, that of finding the right woman who would give him a son. One he would raise differently from the way he had been brought up himself. This was compounded by having Ezra taking to calling him son with an unexpectedly pleasant familiarity, and insisting that his new young friend call him on the first name basis as well.
His hotel room now felt far too large, empty and cold in spite of the fire that had been lit in the chimney. It was late spring, nearly summer even. When he had left Boston, the nights there were already being occasionally stuffy. But as balmy as the temperature had been during the day, there was now a definite chill coming from the nearby mountains since sundown. For but a split second, Preston felt gripped by the childish anxiety one experienced when confronted to entirely new faces, places and atmospheres with no familiar objects, landmarks or people there to reassure him. Of course, he shrugged off that silly feeling as soon as it appeared. A Lodge should never allow himself to fear anything or anyone. The unknown was only to be considered in its exciting dimension and its adventurous potential. Nothing less. He had nothing to fear. Nothing at all.
Right then and there, Preston suddenly changed his mind about going down to the smoking room. He picked up a few Cuban cigars from their box, in case he might need to share one or two with whomever he might make the acquaintance of down there. He certainly intended to keep his eyes and ears peeled for any bit of information that could give him a clue about where to set up his business.
As he jogged down the stairs, he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, struck by the sight of a woman standing near the base of the staircase. She was obviously distinguished, as shown by her attire, but also the way she carried herself, and a light whiff of her floral perfume wafted up to tickle deliciously his nostrils. Her face was turned toward the front desk, so Preston couldn't see whether she was beautiful or not. Yet, what little he did see was already charming, from her thick, reddish gold hair put up in an elegant braided chignon, to the gracious curve of her cheek, jaw and neck. She felt familiar to him, evoking the numerous ladies he had come across at home. But though he couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was that gave him that impression, he knew somehow that the woman wasn't some decorative female who would turn out as a nagging old biddy when getting up in years. No, experience from years of disappointing courting had taught him how to tell women who had little to offer from those worthy of attention, rare women worth fighting for… Women who were the prestigious trophies of an implacable race to win their hand.
He had flirted with countless pretty young women during his days as a bank manager apprentice, at first without seriously looking for tying the knot, but as he had grown more mature, he had found less and less interest in prim chit-chat and superficial banter. The women he had met were for the most part from decent families, and as such had received some basic education, yet they woefully lacked wit and fire. And those of a more disreputable background were hopelessly ignorant, something Preston could never tolerate no matter how physically attractive the woman was. He dreamed of someone cultured and spirited, a woman who could be his perfect match, truly, not just any match deemed suitable enough by both parties' families. He deserved better.
He was well aware, like any other eastern citizen, of the many tales from the frontier about Indians, wild beasts, trigger-happy cowboys and axe-wielding mountain men. He had also heard of those bold, independent and beautiful women who knew how to shoot a gun as well as they could bake an apple pie and stitch up patchwork quilts. They were also, more often than not, depicted as being rather generous with their favors, though Preston suspected this part was mostly made up. At least, he hoped so. A feisty and passionate woman was sure to appeal to him, but he would never consider consorting with someone who lacked the most elementary morals!
Was the woman a few feet from him an adventuress hiding her scheming ways behind a mask of genteel respectability? Or had she already been conquered by one of the pioneering businessmen he was about to mingle with? From where he stood, he couldn't see her left hand.
His heart accelerating, he took a step down, ready to offer his arm to escort her to her room and use the short stroll to learn all he could about her, maybe invite her out to see a play, or have dinner in the fanciest restaurant – provided, of course, there was no husband. But then again, what kind of husband would leave their wife standing alone in the hotel lobby, deserted at this hour? He followed her gaze, but only saw one man leaning casually over the front desk and talking to the night clerk. The man had hair much longer than what was fashionable, and as he concluded his business with the hotel employee, he turned toward the staircase, his loosened tie and his nonchalant, bow-legged gait sure-fire clues that he was no gentleman, but clumsily trying to pose as one. However, Preston's mocking smirk turned sour as the strange man smiled to the woman and she, in turn, extended her hand to him. A hand whose fourth finger sported a sparkling diamond ring and thick wedding band. The man, instead of taking her hand, wrapped his arm around the woman's slender waist with undignified familiarity. Preston half-expected her to swat his arm off her, or at least scold him but to his dismay, she did neither but instead leaned into her lover's embrace and let him lead her up.
Suddenly, Preston realized that if the couple were to look up, they would catch him staring at them. He couldn't let himself be embarrassed in such a way so he did an about-turn, quickly re-ascended the stairs and hid behind a large potted exotic plant. Totally absorbed by one another, the pair walked past him without so much as a suspicious glance in his direction. He sighed with relief, only to feel like all air had been sucked out his lungs as his mind registered the stunning beauty of the woman. No – beautiful wasn't the proper adjective to do her justice. Actually, no word could adequately qualify such a mesmerizing combination of angelic features, absolute radiance – oh, the way she was looking at that man! – the almost regal stance just a few seconds ago, at the foot of the staircase… Though he couldn't clearly make out the words, at they were talking in hushed tones, he could hear the lilt in her sweet voice… What other graces was she hiding from the public eye but showed willingly to her lover?
Once they were far enough, Preston took another peek at them from a gap between two large leaves. The sight that greeted him turned his stomach on two counts – the couple was standing in the front of the far-end room right next to his, and the man was blindly unlocking the door, while being locked in a passionate kiss with the woman. Even from a distance, her enthusiastic abandon was unmistakable. There was no doubt whatsoever about the nature of their next actions once they had disappeared inside…
A surge of boiling hatred and envy scorched Preston's heart and thoughts. How unfair! How unnatural that match was! What in high heaven had happened to bring such opposites together…? Preston tried to get himself back under control. Think, man, think. Either she is a brainless creature corrupted by one of those questionable characters, or… Hard as he tried to make sense out of that situation, nothing did make sense. He kept remembering the obvious signs that they were indeed married, not just engaged in some disgraceful affair, and obviously head over heels with each other… What a slap in the face!
Defeated and bitter, Preston momentarily forgot all about what his plans had been for the evening, the shock of what he had just witnessed even blotting out the happy anticipation he had experienced earlier regarding his business and political ambitions. He drank a couple more glasses of whiskey, then slumped into bed, surrendering to a drunken slumber – his last thought being the disgusting idea of the beautiful woman next door surrendering to what was surely some primeval, rough mating…