Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 1, around 26:34 (as the Hargreeves bicker about entering the Obsidian Hotel through the same revolving door), then around 35:52 (when they settle into their rooms).
Suggested soundtrack: Sherman Myers - Say you love me
April 2 2019, 01:18 pm
Inside the revolving door on my left, I can hear the Hargreeves struggling to get unstuck. I've opted for the one on the right - on my own - which pretty much sums up my relationship with them. Impassively, I watch them almost pile on top of each other out of the turnstile, onto the doormat. And quietly, with my hands in my pockets, I join them under the high ceilings of the lobby.
As they rant at each other, the eyes of the few people present at this hour turn toward them, scrutinizing. The gaze of a couple in furs sipping cocktails behind tinted glasses, that of an old bellhop pushing a loaded cart. And that of a bearded man in a velvet jacket - resembling Hemingway - who immediately unfolds his newspaper near the coffee machines.
Nothing has changed at the Hotel Obsidian, as if time had not affected this place. The tall pillars of metal and glass emit a blue light that contrasts with the amber chandeliers. The carpet, azure with orange star patterns, the horseshoe-shaped console housing the telephone switchboard, the circular banquettes covered in yellow velvet, the dimly lit atmosphere. To the right, behind the concierge desk where a chubby little pug pants, a radio blares the vintage swing of Sherman Myers.
"Oh... Obsidian Hotel...", Klaus muses, barely back on his feet. "I missed you, you slutty old dame." I could almost smile: he's definitely not holding a grudge. "Absorb her. Absorb her into your bosom."
I shake my head, and - as he continues his tour guide routine, listing the historic roster of famous guests who once walked these halls - I lean against one of those surreal pillars, which almost adds a futuristic touch to this otherwise outdated interior design. My eyes wander over the lounge bar, discreetly tucked beneath a mezzanine that houses a small shopping gallery and a row of pool tables.
Just like in the past, the place gives me a strange feeling, one that returns to me so vividly that I stop listening to Klaus's blather. A sensation that's both enveloping and unsettling, a sublime suffocation. The impression of being outside The City, likely because the opaque windows don't allow any view of the avenue. Or perhaps because what happens in this place remains forever a secret? Paradoxically, I already feel safe, even though a strange, dark-skinned guy in an Australian light cavalry uniform is staring at me while smoking a long pipe.
"Come on." Klaus pulls me from my thoughts, and my eyes land on Viktor, whose expression is, to say the least, dumbfounded. "This place is weird", he tells me as Allison leaves to make a phone call, and I can only nod in agreement. "This style was in vogue around 1920 in The City, it seems." "Some people still seem to appreciate it."
He too has noticed the couple in furs, the woman momentarily setting aside her cocktail to whisper something to her companion behind her dark glasses. They seem to have stepped out of a 'film noir', woven with fate, betrayal, and ambiguous morality. Viktor raises an eyebrow as we follow the others.
"Did you used to come here to get high too?" At least it's asked with honesty. "No. I just came here a few times to pick up Klaus in pieces. I never even stayed the night."
And I'm not sure we can sleep here tonight, because there's a major problem none of us have raised: we have no way to pay. We don't have anything, in this time, except what we're wearing. And I sigh: I'm not eager to witness what is likely to be a negotiation disaster, and I expect us to have to set sail and look for another option quite soon.
"If Klaus manages to get us any rooms, let me know," I say, somewhat resigned. "As for me, I only have one dollar left, and I plan to spend it on a decent coffee."
As he joins his siblings to the right of the lobby, I head left toward the bar, which seemed to almost beckon me. With its angular countertop lined with bottles of liquor, and its dark wooden stools reflecting the amber pendant lights. Between the gin and the whiskey is a lobster tank, its occupants lolling and bubbling listlessly. On the other side, available at any hour of the day or night, is a buffet.
Behind the beer tap, the bartender is no less bald than the last time I saw him, expertly pouring a bourbon for a customer in a fringed black leather jacket. I only glance at him briefly, with his raptor-feathered hat set atop a bandana and his black sunglasses, but he reminds me of some kind of hybrid between Iggy Pop and Jon Bon Jovi. I take a seat on the stool to his right, placing my single dollar on the counter, hoping that the Hotel Obsidian really won't question the date printed on it.
"I'd just like a coffee," I say, ignoring the indistinct, familiar buzz of the Hargreeves at the concierge desk behind me. "A coffee, coming right up!"
The barman doesn't even glance at my dollar, and heads over to the chrome-levered percolator. With a swift motion, he empties the portafilter, releasing a divine aroma of ground coffee that instantly delights my senses.
"You and your crew are making quite an entrance," my neighbor remarks factually in a smoker's voice, and I finally take a good look at him.
With his long hair, bone bracelets, and feathered necklaces, he seems to blend a punk-rock look with Native American influences. He must be around fifty, though it's hard to pin down his exact age. I give him a vague smile. Timeless eccentrics like him appeal to me.
"We've just come back to The City."
It's not a lie, but he wasn't asking questions anyway. I can almost sense his satisfaction at seeing new faces on these starry carpets, and I ask him:
"Are you a regular here?" He twirls his glass of fine golden liquid between his fingers and simply replies, "I've been wandering this corridor and lobby for ages." I smile. "Just like all of them, it seems."
I glance again at the old Australian soldier in the haze of his long pipe and the Hemingway look-alike who keeps crossing and uncrossing his legs behind his newspaper. On the stairs, two ladies are chatting while holding white cats in their arms. And Iggy - since I can't really call him anything else - watches me even though I can't see his eyes behind his sunglasses.
"It's not your first time here either." I frown. "Indeed, but it was a long time ago. How do you know?" He straightens a bit on his barstool. "I told you: I've been wandering this corridor and lobby for ages."
I'm a bit taken aback, but his demeanor and voice are friendly. Just like the entire hall and probably the hotel itself, my interlocutor seems woven from this strange alchemy, straddling the line between unsettling and reassuring.
"It's not an era I regret," I tell him honestly. "I mainly saw this place as a high-end brothel and an opium den." He remains still for a moment, then says, "The Lakota say that secrets are like stones: some are heavy, and others are precious."
At his wrist, he twirls one of his bone bead bracelets, one of which is carved in the shape of a buffalo. The percolator hisses, and soon the bartender slides my coffee over to me. The cup is white porcelain, with a single triangular sugar cube and a small spoon adorned with a fan and chevron pattern.
"The Lakota are full of wisdom," I say, bringing the black nectar to my lips. "I'm willing to give this hotel a second chance."
Suddenly, the aromas seize my senses. One sip, then another. Damn, this coffee is a marvel compared to everything I've had in Dallas: now I remember why it's so good to be alive. And I kind of understand what Klaus meant when he suggested us to 'Absorb the Hotel into our bosom': for the first time in days, amidst this outdated swing and dim lighting, I begin to feel at ease. I sigh with contentment, but shrug and say:
"I mean. If my mates manage to get us some keys."
The bartender rests his cloth on his shoulder, then places both hands on the countertop and nods toward what's happening behind me.
"It seems like they might."
I glance briefly behind me and see Viktor waving at me. So I finish the last of my coffee in one gulp before stepping down from my barstool.
"Thank you for this moment, mate," I say sincerely to 'Iggy'. "Tokša."
I don't speak Lakota, but I guess he's wishing us to meet again soon. I smile, tuck my hands into my pockets, and as I head towards the elevator where Diego is standing, he raises his glass of bourbon as if to make a toast... and finally sips it.
01:41 pm
"NO WAY, Klaus". "But why? There's a couch in Allison and Viktor's room! Or you can take my place in the bunk bed, I managed to beat Five and get the top bunk. It's a thousand times more comfortable than when we used to sleep on Priscilla's benches, or crammed together twelve or thirteen on rugs."
I lean against the deep green, leaf-patterned wallpaper of the hallway.
"That's exactly the problem. I've had enough. Two years of hippies, buses, ashrams..." "Now you're sick of me again." "No! But now that I know what it feels like to have my own room again, there's no going back, see? Really, none at all. Plus, Allison snores, and Luther farts."
We fall silent for a moment, allowing the ladies with the cats to pass, and Klaus concedes in the face of my Hargreevophobic outburst:
"I can't deny that. But come on, it's still infinitely better than sleeping alone..." I sigh. "That's your point of view, not mine."
And I know exactly why. Klaus has always struggled with solitude and silence. Being alone in a room at night is something he only resorts to as a last option, when he can't avoid it. Even now that he's better at keeping ghosts at bay. In that sense, the hippie era suited him very well. But I'm craving a night or two of peace and quiet, after the days we've just had. But he leans in, adopting a mischievous and conspiratorial look.
"Got you. You just want to be able to walk around naked without being disturbed." I protest. "Damn it! That's also YOUR thing!" "Oh no. I'm extremely modest. I never show pepperoni casually." "That's just about the only thing. Anyway. I'm not sleeping with a horde of Hargreeves!" "Rinny, this is an argumentative fallacy. There are only two Hargreeves in this room." He points to Viktor and Allison's room, and I grumble. "Two is already way enough to trigger a new apocalypse."
I cross my arms, my expression probably more closed off than ever. I know I shouldn't be picky given our slim resources in this version of 2019, and because Luther had to part with the precious watch Reginald gave him when he was thirteen, as Number One. The watch which - strangely and suddenly - secured us these accommodations for a week, with an unbeatable all-inclusive package that covers car rental, spa access, laundry service, and hairdresser-barber. But honestly, my reaction is visceral, probably because I'm exhausted. Klaus raises his palms to the ceiling, waving 'Goodbye' and 'Hello' with a look of perplexity.
"So? Where are you going to sleep? Do you have a plan, other than the broom closet under the stairs or Mr. Silvercrumb's puppy-bed?" "It's Mr. Pennycrumb." Hell, no. Besides, I hate pocket dogs like this one. "I... I could..." I hesitate. "Have you seen the keys board in the lobby, Klaus?"
Slightly taken aback, he lets his hands fall to his sides and frowns, while the white-cat ladies pass by again, still chatting about something we can't make out. I give him a pointed look.
"Aside from the two damn shabby dorms you've been given, absolutely no room is occupied at the moment. Not a single one. There are a few names in the register, but all the keys are still in their place." I glance at the two women with their backs turned to us, their cats's thick tails curling around their torsos like white plumes. And I add: "...despite all the strange people we keep running into in the halls."
Klaus gestures for me to lower my voice, then pulls me to the end of the hallway, by the door of a closed room.
"Rin... Rin... You've got to follow the rules. At Hotel Obsidian, no one will ever ask you questions, no one. So you shouldn't ask any either. There's a shitload of private lounges here, and I can tell you that what goes on inside makes booking rooms pretty much unnecessary."
My eyes narrow. I'm only moderately convinced, and in any case, these disturbing mental images aren't my priority.
"Look, I don't care if these people are here for... Illuminati auctions, opium-snorting all-nighters or orgies. There are dozens - if not hundreds - of vacancies in this hotel! Back in the day, you had no qualms about invoking the 'winter truce'".
At these words, his expression shifts completely.
"Oh? Are you asking for a consultation from your favorite squatter-expert? Maybe I'll end up enjoying your little whim".
I smirk.
"Maybe. At least temporarily, because I fully intend to get re-hired at Rodrigo's hardware store and have enough to pay by the end of the week."
He sighs dramatically, as if exasperated by my eagerness to work, and my gaze hardens. I worked during the first apocalypse, the week of the second, even in an America and an era hostile to me. Of course, I'll do everything I can to get hired again. That's my resolution, and I might even try this afternoon. I suppose it gives me a sense of control over the situation.
"I need to work, Klaus. To earn my living, housing, and food." "I know, I know. Everyone has their own addictions." "But in the meantime... for a few nights... Yes, I'll take your 'squatter-expert' services because I need a good night's sleep."
He regains his smile and quickly checks that the hallway is now empty.
"All right. The golden rules of a successful squat are." He clumsily lists on his fingers: "Right timing, non-intrusion - the door must look perfectly closed and intact - minimization of signs of presence... quick mobility if you get noticed... and always having a light source - but here, the neon lights on the facade ensure there's always light everywhere."
Even though his tone is humorously professional and light, his advice painfully reminds me of the time when he had to constantly move to escape the retaliation of the Mothers of Agony gang, and had almost run out of abandoned hideouts in The City. But he doesn't let me dwell on those dark hours and pats me on the shoulder, with a lower whisper:
"You could enter any of those magnificent suites, without even touching the latch. Unseen and unknown: invisible and intangible, undetected. All you'd need to do... is make the bed neatly in the morning - no hair on the pillow - not drink anything from the minibar, and avoid walking in heels. But you've never borrowed mine."
He thinks for a moment.
"In fact, I'm not even sure if housekeeping comes by if the rooms are unoccupied." I smile a little impishly. "Anyway, I guess the hotel staff wouldn't ask questions, since that's the principle here..." "Exactly, you got it! Miss Scarlet could murder Colonel Mustard in one of these rooms, and this place would turn a blind eye. So having a little stowaway passenger... That's so exciting!"
He chuckles and gives me a knowing look. And I whisper: "In that case, while I'm at it, I should pick a somewhat classy room", which makes him smile with glee. "See? You have a knack for the Bohemian life. Stop trying to conform all the time." I shake my head: he knows it's a lost cause. "I'll owe you for your consulting services." "Brilliant! I have plenty of ideas about how you can repay me."
I laugh softly as he heads off towards his Hargreeves dormitory, which is probably already smelly and perhaps even partially destroyed. At least, I bet Five will have taken advantage of his absence to snag the top bunk. But even though I love seeing him so enthusiastic - happier than he's been in a long time - I'm always wary when he says he has 'ideas'
"Of course, I reserve the right to veto!" I shout to him across the hallway, and he bursts out laughing before disappearing.
I remain alone by the potted plants at the end of the corridor, smiling giddily. The euphoria of being back in 2019 is starting to take hold of me as well: the thrill of resuming our lives, even if it's not exactly where we left off. I look around me, at the entrances of luxurious suites. Left door or right door? I observe the small nameplates on the dark, shiny wood, and one name catches my eye.
The 'White Buffalo' suite...
I blink, curiously seized by a kind of call I don't fully understand. I hesitate, and think back to the bracelet 'Iggy' twirled while sharing with me some pearls of Lakota wisdom. Then I smile and decide to follow my intuition. I turn my head and watch the cat ladies disappear into the elevator.
And so - turning myself intangible for barely three seconds - I sneak into what will be my luxury squat, for the next few nights anyway.
Notes:
You've probably noticed while watching the show, even though it never elaborates on them: there is something unsettling and profoundly connected to the nature of the hotel, about the characters we see wandering around in there. Rin has noticed this and has met one of them, whether by chance or not.
I just love writing about the Hotel Obsidian, its atmospheres, its retro swing, and its 'guests'. If The Umbrella Academy once excelled at one thing, it was its atmospheres, reaching their peak with the Hotel and its mysteries.
Writing Klaus at the beginning of Season 3 is also very enjoyable, as his mood is quite cheerful until the theme of 'mothers' takes over. Anyway, if you've watched the show, you know that Five... will eventually really get the top bunk.
Tokša ! Any comment will make my day!
