A VERY NICE ROOM

by

Gali Rotstein

“It’s a nice room.” she said to the bell boy who had turned back to the hall to fetch her luggage. She had a set of three. He picked up two. They were unusually light, he tucked the second under his arm and picked up the third. He wanted to, so he imagined, that they held only a few silk gowns, like those worn by Jean Harlow in the film he was studying during the day, before bell hopping at night. As he carried the cases into the room, he envisioned the garments unraveling, and slip sliding over each other, frame by frame. She watched him set the cases down. He was a beauty, she thought. He asked if she needed the turn down service as he turned on the bedside lamps.

“That would be lovely,” she said. “I’ll be down at the bar.”

“Will that be all, Miss?” He asked. Mature women did not like being addressed as Ma’am, and he was certain she was not a Ma’am. She radiated vitality. He noticed that her caramel brown eyes, set against that long main of silver-white hair, glowed as if they were electrified from within.

“Yes that will be all, thank you.” she said and slipped a traditional Noshibukuro envelope holding a twenty-dollar bill into his palm. He smiled and thanked her with a bow of his chin. She smiled, recalling that he had chosen not to address her as Ma’am. The door closed behind him with a gasp.

It was 9 pm. She showered and massaged lotion into her shins, thighs, buttock, and shoulders, down her long graceful arms to the tips of her slender fingers. She admired her body in the mirror. Willowy, she thought. When she was young a friend had described her skin as the top layer of chocolate that has just melted in the sun. Her skin still felt like that under her touch, only a thinner layer of chocolate. The moisturizer’s fragrance was wonderful but she did not rub it into her decolletage so that it wouldn’t clash with the perfume she would dab between her breasts, behind her ear and over her jugular, before she headed down to the lobby.

It was 10:00 pm. She stood at the bar. The steel grey satin sheath draped her body like a stream. A fine platinum chain circled her neck and trailed the length of her bare back. It ended at the small where her spine began its curve with a transparent green Muzo emerald. She felt its weight against her skin. Its warmth, her own. She would order a Lillet on the rocks with an orange twist. She didn’t drink alone. The room was dim. Chopin floated out from the shadows. The emerald deserved to be a ring, she thought. She would call her jeweler tomorrow.

At 10:30 she stood under the marquee. It was a cold night. She didn’t hear the footsteps or feel anyone had approached her until she felt the shearling fur on her bare shoulders.

“Come,” he said, “let me escort you in.” She met his gaze. “It’s a very nice room.” He said.

Copyright 2020 Gali Rotstein All rights reserved