Song of Susannah - Stephen King [37]
She paused for a moment just inside the lobby, pulling the scrimshaw turtle out of her pocket and getting her bearings. To her left was a parlor area. Two women were sitting there, chatting, and Susannah stared at them for a moment, hardly able to credit how much leg they were showing under the hems of their skirts (what skirts, ha-ha?). And they weren’t teenagers or kollege kuties, either; these were women in their thirties, at least (although she supposed they might be in their sixties, who knew what scientific advances there might have been over the last thirty-five years).
To the right was a little shop. Somewhere in the shadows behind it a piano was tinkling out something blessedly familiar—“Night and Day”—and Susannah knew if she went toward the sound, she’d find a lot of leather seats, a lot of sparkling bottles, and a gentleman in a white coat who’d be happy to serve her even if it was only the middle of the afternoon. All this was a decided relief.
Directly ahead of her was the reception desk, and behind it was the most exotic woman Susannah had ever seen in her life. She appeared to be white, black, and Chinese, all whipped together. In 1964, such a woman would undoubtedly have been called a mongrel, no matter how beautiful she might have been. Here she had been popped into an extremely handsome ladies’ suit and put behind the reception desk of a large first-class hotel. The Dark Tower might be increasingly shaky, Susannah thought, and the world might be moving on, but she thought the lovely desk clerk was proof (if any were needed) that not everything was falling down or going in the wrong direction. She was talking to a customer who was complaining about his in-room movie bill, whatever that might be.
Never mind, it’s the future, Susannah told herself once again. It’s science fiction, like the City of Lud. Best leave it at that.
I don’t care what it is or when, Mia said. I want to be near a telephone. I want to see to my chap.
Susannah walked past a sign on a tripod, then turned back and gave it a closer look.
AS OF JULY 1ST, 1999, THE NEW YORK PLAZA–PARK HYATT
WILL BECOME THE REGAL U.N. PLAZA HOTEL
ANOTHER GREAT SOMBRA/NORTH CENTRAL PROJECT!!
Susannah thought, Sombra as in Turtle Bay Luxury Condominiums…which never got built, from the look of that black-glass needle back on the corner. And North Central as in North Central Positronics. Interesting.
She felt a sudden twinge of pain go through her head. Twinge? Hell, a bolt. It made her eyes water. And she knew who had sent it. Mia, who had no interest in the Sombra Corporation, North Central Positronics, or the Dark Tower itself, was becoming impatient. Susannah knew she’d have to change that, or at least try. Mia was focused blindly on her chap, but if she wanted to keep the chap, she might have to widen her field of vision a little bit.
She fight you ever’ damn step of the way, Detta said. Her voice was shrewd and tough and cheerful. You know dat too, don’t you?
She did.
Susannah waited until the man with the problem finished explaining how he had ordered some movie called X-Rated by accident, and he didn’t mind paying as long as it wasn’t on his bill, and then she stepped up to the desk herself. Her heart was pounding.
“I believe that my friend, Mathiessen van Wyck, has rented a room for me,” she said. She saw the reception clerk looking at her stained shirt with well-bred disapproval, and laughed nervously. “I really can’t wait to take a shower and change my clothes. I had a small accident. At lunch.”
“Yes, madam. Just let me check.” The woman went to what looked like a small TV