-12-
For the second time that evening, Harry holds open the heavy doors of the Bailey's for Ruth. Head held high, she passes through them wearing her bright pink fuzzy slippers. "Thank you," she says with as much dignity as she can muster.
Both settle in front of the reception desk. Either the staff are paragons of etiquette or perhaps simply inured to the eccentricities of their guests, but no one bats an eye at her footwear. Minutes later, forgoing valet service, Harry passes one of the two room cards to Ruth before he begins to head towards the lift, a short distance past the cosy seating area with the red wing-back chairs and matching love-seat.
She veers off a bit, heading towards the wrought-iron spiral staircase, her hand once again inches from the gleaming handrail. "Ruth," he says, shifting the overnight bag in his hand, "our room's on the third floor. We should take the lift."
She eyes the bag in his hand. "All right," she says somewhat reluctantly. "But I'd really like to try out the stairs at some point."
He nods. "I'd like that, too. But going down, if you don't mind. Not as as young as used to be, you know."
"You've never heard any complaints from me, have you?" she says standing next to him once more, her dimples flashing.
"Well, that's certainly encouraging, " he says, smiling back at her.
Together, they stand in front of the wood doors of the lift, the brass plate above it gleaming. Soon after, the lift pings and the door slides open. Stepping in, they take note of the small compartment, one of the oldest lifts in the city. Despite its size, the lift is charming: the wood, a warm reddish hue, is polished within an inch of its life; the gleaming brass handrail is a perfect complement to all the wood; and the mirrors add even more sparkle to the compartment as well.
"Nice, " Ruth says, nodding her head in appreciation.
"Yes. It is." The wooden doors close then a minute later or so, open again. They step out into the hall. The floor creaks.
"Oh." She says, stepping over the same spot. It creaks obligingly. "Lovely."
"Yes. It's got character, all right. Something you know about," he says, smiling at her.
"Harry, " she says demurely, but her eyes sparkle.
They turn. Another pair of heavy wooden doors with glass panels greets them, its shiny brass handle beckoning to them. Harry opens the doors, and they pass through, nodding their heads in appreciation once more.
"Everything's so lovely." She says.
"I'm glad you approve." Then turns his attention to the numbers on the wall. "Right," he says. "This way."
They walk down the hall, the floor creaking now and then. He stops. " This is us." And slipping in the card, opens the door.
"Oh, " she says, peering over his shoulder, "Perfect. Just perfect."
"You approve?"
She looks up at him. "Of course, " she says, giving his arm a little squeeze. "Thank you." And she gives him a peck on the cheek as well. He beams.
In seconds, she is sitting down on the queen-sized bed. "Comfortable, too."
He joins her, bouncing a bit. "Hmmm, Good. I like a bed with give. Don't you?" Then catches her eye.
She laughs.
He bounces a bit more then reaches for the shopping bag, now on the floor at her feet.
"Oh no. You can't have it, " she says, snatching it back. "Well," she amends, "you can. But not now." And she holds it just out of his reach.
"Why not?" he asks, his hand snaking a bit towards the bag.
She smacks his hand. "No. You will simply have to wait." Then keeping the bag with her, she goes over towards the bathroom. "Oh, " she says. "Look."
He joins her. "Perfect, " he says, his arm slipping around her waist. "For two, that is."
xoxo
Not long at all, shopping bag thrown in closet, clothes strewn over the bed, both are relaxing in the claw-footed tub. They face each other on either end. "Oh," she says, as she trails her hand in the oil scented water, "this is heavenly."
"Ummm..." He extends his leg. His toes soon brush against her leg. Then slowly, his entire foot begins to rub her leg. And beyond.
She giggles. The water sloshes a bit.
"Come here," he says.
"There's no room," she says.
"There is if you sit on my lap, " he says.
"Then there'll be even less room."
He gestures to his lap." Ruth. Here. Now."
Giggling again, she crawls over to him, the water sloshing some more. And soon finds that he is right: they have all the room that they need.
x0x0x0x0
She emerges first, a towel wrapped around her, another towel wrapped turban-style on her head. Going over to the closet, she reaches inside the shopping bag.
"You going to to show me what it is now?"
She jumps a bit, her hand whipping behind her back. "Harry! You scared me half to death!"
He smiles mischievously, the towel wrapped around his waist. "I'm a spy, remember?"
"Go away," she says, stepping back from him, hands still behind her back.
"Go away? After ..." And he looks towards the bathroom. "After...that?" And he smiles quite proudly.
She shakes her head. "I mean it. You can't see. Not yet."
"See what?" He asks, trying to look around her back.
"Stop," she says. "Really. You'll ruin the surprise. "
"Ok, "He says, raising both hands in defeat. And as he does, the towel slips and falls to the ground.
She giggles. Then walking backwards, her hands still behind the back, goes into the bathroom. The door locks behind her with an emphatic click.
"You really know how to take the fun out of things," he calls after her, before picking the towel off the floor.
xoxoxoox
When she emerges once again, the towel is still around her, but her hair is now dry, hanging in soft waves about her face.
"What going on?" he asks, sitting under the covers, remote control in hand. "I don't see any surprises."
She comes closer. "You don't?" she asks just before dropping her towel.
The remote falls out of his hand. She stands there almost nude, wearing nothing but the pendant he gave her and the bit of material she is wearing. He leans in closer, staring at the thong. "What the..." He leans in closer. It's what he thought it was: a map of the Underground in living color. Including of course, its ubiquitous warning now placed in a strategic spot. "'Mind the gap?' " he reads incredulously. "Mind the gap?" And he stares some more. Then he begins to laugh. When he catches his breath, he gasps, " Mind the gap! I thought I already had!" And laughs even harder, his hand now clutching at his stomach.
"I bought one for you, too." She says serenely when he takes another breath.
"What?" Then pauses. "You didn't."
Her hand whips around to the front. He stares at the matching pair of boxers.
"Put them on," she commands, her face stern despite the light in her eyes.
He shakes his head.
"You have to. It's my birthday." And she stands there patiently, holding the identical pair out to him.
He stares over at her. Then at the material in her hands. Then back up at her.
"If you dare to tell anyone, " he says moments later, snapping the waistband of the boxers up around his waist, "I will -"
"I know, I know." She says, giggling like a schoolgirl. "...have to kill me. "
"Well," he says, reaching for her, "I'd settle for La petite morte, my dear. "
Mais oui, mon chéri. And she reaches for him as well. "Just as long as you mind the gap."
He pulls her down onto the bed. "Tell you what. I'll mind yours. If you mind mine. "
x0x00x
thanks for your input regarding "my dear." Most it seems, like it, so it stays!
(merci beaucoup, mes amis!)
:)
