"New York, New York. It's a wonderful town. The Bronx is up and the Battery's down..."
-4-
The cab pulls up to the Plaza on 5th and Central Park South. And almost but not quite, competes with their smiles.
All glass and lit up, the hotel's entrance beckons to them like a beacon in the night. Red carpet over the marble steps lead up to the centre entrance flanked by two more just like it, except their gleaming steps are bare. Above the main entrance is a stained glass panel displaying a large P in the center surrounded by vines of green and red holly, perfectly matching the holiday season.
"Who's paying for this again?" Ruth whispers, staring at the hotel from the cab's window.
"The kids." He whispers in her ear, then adds just before he gets out. "You know, showing off, like kids often do when their parent comes into town."
"Harry." She says, shaking her head. But she's smiling,
Two doormen hustle to their cab; one takes their luggage and garment bags while the other helps them out of the vehicle.
Harry reaches into his pocket and presses some money into one of the doorman's hand. "Too bad," he whispers again, "that gratuities are not really that." She looks at him quizzically.
"You know," he says. "Included. Free."
She shakes her head, still looking up at the stained glass. "We can't expect our children to pay for everything now, can we?"
He smiles then joins her as she follows the doorman inside. The exterior is even more impressive than the exterior. All red and gold and marble, their eyes take in the curved grand marble staircase in front of them also carpeted in red. Its railing is an open filigree design, gold and and ornate as well, as is the rest of the lobby. Harry looks over at Ruth who's looking at the huge Christmas tree, decorated in gold and red and placed right next to the marble staircase.
He squints up at the enormous crystal chandelier directly above his head. Almost immediately, his head begins to ache again. "Opulent." He says, pulling his gaze from it.
"Well," she says, turning from the tree, "it's supposed to be. Modeled after the French Renaissance Chateau style, it was built in 1907..." her voice fades as his headache grows. ..."designed by Hardenberg, it-"
"I think," he says, his head now beginning to throb in earnest, "we're to check in. There." They follow their luggage now being handled by a bellboy, pushing their belongings on a wheeled cart, also shiny, also gold, towards the front desk.
"Welcome to the Plaza, Mr. and Mrs. Cousins." The clerk says, smiling at them. Ruth nearly rolls her eyes. "Someone needs to speak with the kids," she says to Harry under her breath. "Really. Enough is enough," she adds. Harry signing in, gives her the tiniest of nudges as the clerk studies both of them. Moments later, he slides their room keys, or rather cards, towards them. "We have 24 hour room service, of course. Anything you need, please, do not hesitate to ask. We are here to please you."
"Thank you," Harry says, and taking one card, gives Ruth the other.
"And I do hope that you find our hotel satisfactory." The bellhop says a few minutes later, just before he opens the door to the room. Jeremy, according to his brass nameplate, smiles at them like his teeth are made of gold, too. But they might as well be, Harry thinks, for all the money someone must have paid for such perfectly aligned and unnaturally white teeth. Mesmerised, Harry tries to pull his eyes away from them before his headache, just recently abated, kicks up again from the practically phosphorescent glare emitting from them.
The door opens. More gold. And red. And the room, not the largest in the hotel by far, is still sumptuous. Jeremy's noteworthy teeth forgotten, two sets of eyes, one brown and the other blue, lock upon the enormous bed covered in red. Right in front of them. The young man clears his throat.
Two sets of eyes jerk back to him. "And here," Jeremy says, going over to a door on the right side of the room, "is your adjoining room. As you can see," he says, "it's nearly identical to this one." He opens the door to the smaller room, although not by much. Another bed looms in front of them. Also red. Also huge.
The bellhop stands there expectantly. Ruth begins to rummage in her bag, but Harry beats her to it, tipping Jeremy who is all smiles again. Harry averts his eyes from the blinding teeth in the nick of time.
"I do hope you enjoy your stay here." Jeremy goes on, smiling even more brilliantly than before. "And of course, enjoy the complimentary champagne and chocolates of course." They follow his gaze and see on the Edwardian styled table in the corner a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Also gold. The chocolates are right next to the champagne and peek out from an open weaved basket. Gold, too. And then Jeremy all but winks at Harry. "Anything you need, just let me know. " He says to Harry. "Anything. At all."
Before Harry can react, the young man slips away. Harry glances at Ruth who suddenly appears to be quite interested in the wallpaper.
"Well." Harry says, clearing his throat, "Which bed shall we sleep in?"
Wallpaper forgotten, she jerks her head to him.
"I mean," he adds hurriedly, "which room do you want? To sleep in. I mean. For yourself." Suddenly, the wallpaper becomes a subject of interest for him as well.
But she barely looks at him. "Any bed is fine. I mean, room is fine." Her cheeks take on a pinkish hue. "The adjoining room is fine," she adds and quickly begins to head towards it. She turns back. "Oh, by the way, how's your bed? Pink cheeks deepen into a lovely shade of crimson. "Head, of course." She smiles nonchalantly. "Jet lag, you know." "
"Of course," he says. "What else could you have meant?"
She nods wordlessly. He does the same. They stand there for a few seconds, the bed between them, his head quite forgotten. Finally, she turns towards the adjoining room. "Good night, Harry." But she stops right outside the door, her hand on the doorknob." Sleep tight." She says. "And don't let the bed bugs bite."
"Bed bugs?" His eyes open as wide as they can.
She nods. "You do know, of course, that there's an epidemic of the lovely critters in Manhattan? Even in the best of hotels?" She pauses. "Well, good night." She says again and closes the door.
"Right." He says. He watches until the light peeking under her door is extinguished. In less than a NY minute, he goes over to his bed and strips the bed right down to its mattress. Bending down, he examines its seams. Twice.
"Right." He says again, glancing at her closed door. "Sleep tight." Shaking his head, he flops into the bed, fully clothed. He knows he won't be able to sleep a wink; yet he soon finds that he welcomes the subject of bed bugs, rather than what is just behind the door. But mere bed bugs are simply no match for her now sleeping, he presumes, in the other room. Or is she, he wonders, also awake and thinking about what is behind her door? Convinced he will be awake all night, he stares at the closed door, willing it to give him some answers. Any answers. But none are forthcoming. At least not this night. As he begins to drift off, his last conscious thoughts are of her.