Hotel California lyrics: here
Part 1: Here
Part two of a short story drawing inspiration from the lyrics of the classic Eagles song:
*****
I turned the key in the door of
room 6. The nauseating carpet print continued into my chambers, where it met
tired walls. I had expected mirrored ceilings and tacky decor, but was
pleasantly surprised. A simple and typical set up; double bed adorned in less
than promising bedding, uncluttered desk, bedside table and lamp, an outdated
television, floor to ceiling blackout curtains across the one window and a
small bathroom. All the necessities and nothing fancy. I lay my duffle down and fell onto the bed; it
creaked and I sighed. My coworkers were out forgetting their troubles and I was
trapped in this room alone with only my troubles to think about.
I set my keys, wallet, and phone in
the draw of the bedside table. Between them and the customary hotel bible,
which was still wrapped in the plastic it had been purchased in, I set my
wedding ring. I thought of Miriam and tried to remember if I still loved her. I
had left for the conference mid fight, but it didn’t feel bad. Most times were “mid-fight”
now. Just the way things were.
From the drawer I drew the TV
remote. On/off and channel or volume up/down were my only options. With a press
of the red button the TV hummed to life. No guide button, no channel map. The
default channel was all static so I clicked to the next. I didn’t recognize the
show but I couldn’t help but notice the kitchen being portrayed in black and
white looked very much like that of the house I had grown up in, and that the
woman in front of the stove with her back to the camera looked very much like
that of my mother. My own mother had passed away from cancer when I was still
in grade school. Not wanting to spend an already depressing night being
reminded of old sorrows, I flipped to the next channel. Looked like some kids
sports movie; a bunch of little boys on a softball field. The less-than-encouraging
shouts of an angry father could be heard from the bleachers as a young man went
up to bat. Again, next channel; I didn’t want to think of fathers either. Were
there no news or sports channels out here? A woman in a hospital
room, some maternity show. A doctor shaking his head in the foreground. The woman
on the hospital bed was out of focus, but crying. Her frame looked like that of
my Miriam. Like strikingly so. Eerily so. Quickly, next channel. A couple
fighting, shouting, glass bottle breaking on the floor, a door slamming. Too
close to home, next channel. A soap opera-y set with an alluring blonde
speaking, presumably to some lover. The camera panned out to show the back the
man. He had my build, my hair line. Suddenly that channel too went to fuzz. I
flipped backward and forward; where the other shows had been there was now nothing
but hissing black and white specks. I threw the remote to the floor, in both anger and fear. Nothing good on anyway.
I picked up the phone and dialed
the front desk. “Tiffany? It’s room 6, the TV’s broken. I’ve been traveling all
day and I just want to watch the news. Can anyone reset the thing and get it to
work? I’m paying for the room and you gave me a crap TV.”
“So sorry, sir. I’ll send our maintenance
man right over. We’ll fix it so you can
enjoy your stay."
"Thank you."
"Tonight’s band arrives shortly if you want to spend some time
in the courtyard while we get your television working again for you. Perhaps
you can come down to the bar, have a drink on us in the meantime?
I hung up. No further persuasion
needed. A drink of any kind or cost was not something I would ever pass up,
particularly not after a too long day such as the one I was having.
I settled in on the seat of a worn red bar
stool and ordered a Jack and Coke. The wordless bartender slid it my way. Soon
a second followed. No one else was at the bar, but I was comfortable solo.
Outside through french doors I
could see that the band had arrived as was setting up in a gazebo beside the
pool’s patio. In the room’s corner a few guests had gathered around a card
table. They looked up at me for a moment, their eyes saying they didn’t care if
I joined them and didn’t care if I didn’t. I went over to inquire as to what
was being played.
A man with an unkempt beard that
looked older than he was set a well-polished .44 special on the table. “Roulette.”
Apparently, the Russian variety. Alarmed,
I looked to the bartender who looked back blank-faced as if to say “Relax. Let
them.”
Disturbed, I got the impression
that that sort of thing had gone on there before and that no one was worried
about it, but my long day hadn’t yet been long enough and my drinks had been
too few for me to dance with my own destiny at a card table with strangers in
the desert. I left before they could
begin their game against fate.
A familiar tune played out in the
courtyard. People were appearing out of
the desolate night and swaying to the rhythm. The last thing I remember, third
drink in my hand, I wandered out onto the tiled patio to join them.
A woman sipping pink champagne grabbed
my hand “Dance with me…”
And the rest I forget…
