I waited in between velvet champagne-colored ropes until one of the associates behind the check-in desk were free. A middle-aged couple were receiving their room key cards and directions to the elevator. They were dressed in what they probably considered their casual attire. The man wore tan khaki pants, a white button-up dress shirt, and brown loafers. The woman wore a bright blue sleeveless dress with a pair of matching blue flats. While I waited patiently for them to chitchat about the cool weather outside, I considered her shoes. I wondered if she had the shoes painted to match the dress, or if she had bought the shoes first and then tried to find a dress to match with it. Still in deep thought about the blueberry lady’s shoes, a warm and inviting voice prompted me to look up.
“Sir, may I assist you over here?”
There’s that famous Ritz-Carlton hospitality. One person waiting to be helped was one too many.
A tall man with slicked back blond hair walked toward me. He wore a black suit with his gold-plated name tag catching the lights overhead, and he gestured to the counter space on the end. I nodded, and once I left the line, he stopped walking and waited for me. He extended his hand toward me and began his required greeting; I knew how these things worked.
“Welcome to The Ritz-Carlton. My name is Cliff, and I am happy to assist you,” he reported as we shook hands.
“Thank you,” I replied and followed him to the end of the counter.
“I would like to check in please.”
“Very well. Do you have a reservation?”
“I don’t.”
“Not a problem at all, sir. We have a variety of room styles available.”
Cliff put a glossy card in front of me and pointed to the room options starting with their basic room. But even I knew that The Ritz-Carlton’s “basic” room was anything but. I looked at the pictures and listened to his brief run-down of amenities in each room. The junior suite included breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a bar credit for each night of my stay. That sounded like the best way for me to go right now.
“The junior suite, please,” I claimed and pointed to it on the menu of rooms. I reached for my wallet as he began moving the mouse around on a Ritz-Carlton mousepad. I set my driver’s license and debit card on the counter so he’d have them when he needed the info. Moments later, he thanked me for providing him with my I.D. before he picked it up. He typed some info in and then looked up at me.
“How many nights would you like to stay with us, Mr. Cooper?”
“Can I go ahead and reserve it through the weekend? So tonight, Sunday, and Monday. Is there an option for me to extend my stay on Monday?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Cooper. You simply need to let us know on Monday if you’d like to stay longer.”
“That’ll work.”
He took my debit card, swiped it, and then handed it back to me. Cliff explained the card would be on file, and on the final day of my stay the card would be charged. He explained that my food credits were good at any of their six restaurants and bars and included room service.
“Do you need any help with bags?” Cliff asked.
“No. I’m displaced at the moment and need to shop a little tomorrow,” I admitted. I glanced around the lobby hoping to spot a gift shop or convenience store type of place like many hotels have. “You don’t happen to have a little shop or something where I can purchase a few necessities, do you?”
“We do have a shop just on the other side of this wall.” Cliff gestured behind him. “The junior suite is well stocked with toiletries, snacks, juices, sodas, and bottled water,” he explained.
“I mainly just need a toothbrush and toothpaste … and a small sewing kit … or safety pin.”
Cliff nodded with a smile and told me that all of those items were already in the suite and could be found on a marble tray on the bathroom counter. I nodded my thanks to him, collected my room key card, and made my way toward the elevator. I pressed the silver illuminated button for the thirty-second floor once I got in the elevator and was whisked away to my room.
I tossed my key card and wallet onto the oval table by the door as I walked into the room. An urgent need had been burning and clawing at my skin since this afternoon. Learning of the similarities between James and Eli drove me to run. I jogged into the bathroom, and while I pulled off my clothes, my eyes scanned the tray of packaged toiletries.
“Ah-ha!” I stood on the cold tile floor naked and grabbed the small, off-white cardboard carton that had The Ritz-Carlton logo on it and ‘sewing kit’ printed under it. “There you are, fucker,” I murmured and tore off the cellophane wrap. My pulse began to race, and I could feel the adrenaline in my veins as soon as I spotted a few safety pins in addition to two needles.
“Two, four, six,” I counted out loud as I separated the needles and safety pins from the cardboard carton.
I laid them out on the counter and stared at them. I gazed at them with a hunger and desire that was almost scary. It was as though I were a homeless person and had been searching around trash cans for a salvageable cigarette. But instead of finding one partial cig, I had struck gold and found a partial carton, and now I was counting out how many times my needs would be sated.
I kept a safety pin in my fist and went over to the shower, reached in and turned the water on. Once the water warmed up, I stepped inside and onto the tiny white subway tiles. I eyed the gray grout and hoped it wouldn’t tattle on all of the moments of weakness that I’d be experiencing this weekend.
Sitting on the ice cold tile, I was only interested in one thing—relief. My chest ached. My head ached. And at the pit of my stomach sat several bricks. I needed to get away from the aches.
As the water sprinkled down, some strands of my hair fell forward over my eyes, getting in my way. Frustrated, I ran a shaky hand through my hair to the back of my head, slicking my damp hair back. I pulled my right leg in and tucked my foot under my left thigh, and then stared at the inside of my scarred thigh.
Hideous. Plain and simple. I was hideous.
