Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [17]
I rose and took the keys that I had laid on the foyer table when I had walked in. The door shook for a few seconds after I slammed it. I got into the Benz and headed onto the Belt Parkway. My life was a mess and wrapping around a tree at a speed of over 120 mph would have only emitted a small sound of displeasure from me. But they say if it’s not your time you ain’t going nowhere. I pulled into the Hilton because God wasn’t ready to take my sorry ass.
The short Mexican lady at the front desk asked if I had a reservation; I told her no. Instead of paying $159 for the night, they charged $259 to my corporate American Express card. I took the white pass key with the Hilton logo emblazoned on one side and a magnetic strip on the other up to the room. The hotel cashier asked me if I knew how to use the keys. I smiled because I spent more time in hotel rooms than in my own bed. My rule of thumb was to never sleep in a woman’s house unless she could give you the keys to the front door. A woman giving up the keys to the front door doesn’t mean that she loves you or anything like that. It just makes the insanity plea work both ways. Like I said before, there are always rules to the game. I put my keys down on the small table in the hotel room next to the chair that I hung my jacket on. I picked up the remote next to the TV and lay down on the bed, my feet on the floor. I flipped through the stations, going from reality shows to dramas. The pay-per-view selections were of recent Hollywood duds. I settled on an Asian porno flick. I selected buy so that the $12.95 would be charged to my room. The first scene was two Asian women eating each other out in bed. After they had finished doing each other orally, the dildos came out.
“Fuck!” I turned the TV off and got up from the bed. I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door as if the smoke alarm had gone off in the room. I took the elevator and went to the first floor. The hotel bar was located to the left of the main lobby. I needed a drink like a motherfucker.
There were about ten people in the bar. Three middle-aged white men sat on bar stools, their wrinkled suits providing evidence of a long, exhausting day at the office. They each sat with a chair between them as if they were afraid of spreading their tiredness. There was a group of four young people sharing a pitcher of beer and Buffalo wings. NYC College of Technology logos were imprinted on their gray sweatshirts.
I ordered a Hoodlum and took it to a table with two chairs located three tables away from the college students. I was angrier with myself than Julie. Julie was my rock and my salvation. Life at home was becoming totally unbearable but I needed to stay put until I could leave for good. The Hoodlum tasted like the Hilton was following in the footsteps of Delta. In this case, the bartender had skimped on the alcohol. I thought about going back and asking for more alcohol but my butt felt like lead. The dramatics of the day were taking their toll on my body. It was the replay of my day that had taken me away from my reality. I didn’t see when she came in and I was startled when she spoke.
“You look like the only one here who doesn’t need to be carried to his room. Do you mind?” she asked, pointing to the chair opposite me.
“No,” I said, looking at the blonde white woman pulling out the chair. She rested an apple martini on my table. She was dressed in a sheer white blouse with no bra, her perky breasts pointing at me. Her short denim mini-skirt disappeared under the table, allowing me only a fleeting glance at her legs.
“What’s your story?” She wiggled herself in the chair as her eyes looked through me.
“Life and all its complications.” The ice had melted in the drink, leaving me with water that tasted like unsweetened iced tea.
“My life is the opposite of complicated. I’ve been married for six years to my high school sweetheart. We have two children;