Room Service

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Two acquaintances meet up in one city, hook up in another!
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To Jennifer,

My great friend Jennifer is one of those people who just lives a different life than the rest of us. There's always a story, always an adventure. She can go to the supermarket and find a long lost love, or go to the beach and find long lost treasure. She once told me of this chance encounter with a man she met. Followed by more encounters in different cities, ending with a steamy romance. This story is inspired by Jennifer and her never boring life!

- Bonne Hill

***

I first noticed him at the security check. I was in the wrap-around lines, standing like everyone else, holding my shoes in my hands, about to go through the x-ray machines. I glanced at the TSA agent as she waved the wand up and down on a man in a beige colored suit. Something triggered an extra synapse in my memory.

Did I know that man? He looked vaguely familiar, but certainly not someone I knew well. A moment later he was grabbing his shoes and briefcase and he was gone.

I made my way through security, gathered my stuff, put my shoes back on, and headed to the gate. I grabbed a coffee from a kiosk along the way, and found quite a crowd at the gate waiting for my flight. Seems that flights to big cities are always full these days. Airlines have reduced flights as a way of making sure flights are full and maximizing profitability while reducing costs. I don't blame them, but it doesn't make for fun flying.

Like many others, I was relegated to standing while I waited. And also like others, I used the time to make a couple of quick calls and drink my coffee.

The gate attendant began calling rows to board the plane, and the crowd began its slow surge toward the gate.

"We're ready to board Flight 64 to Chicago. All First Class passengers and rows nine through twelve, please come forward. You may now board," crackled the voice on the PA.

My seat was way in the back, so I knew I had some waiting to do. Sipping my coffee, I scanned the crowd. There were lots of commuters, making their way from one city to another for business, just I was doing. This trip was to train HR managers on new benefit options provided by the company I worked for. Yeah, glamorous, eh?

There were a number of vacationing families, as well. A young boy, maybe ten, had energy to burn, and his parents let him burn it as he ran in and out and around the waiting passengers. I watched the boy nearly take down an older man in a business suit reading the paper. Fortunately the man had a wall to help him catch his balance as the boy bumped into his legs.

I chuckled, but my laughter was cut short as I once again saw the mystery man in the beige suit. He had a trim build, slightly athletic, like a runner, and was olive skinned.

My memory was still not clear about who he was, though I was sure I had met the man sometime in the past. But where, and when? Maybe school? Maybe at work? I'd bounced around jobs for a few years until I found a home at a financial firm where I was a part of the account team.

Was he a friend? A former neighbor? I had lived in the same city ever since I graduated college, though moving across town a couple of times. The first move was when I got married. The second when I got divorced. Funny how that happens.

Then it hit me. It was work, but it wasn't my work, it was my ex-husband's work! I was pretty sure it was at one of those dinner or holiday parties I used to go to, hosted by my husband's firm.

Just then my row was called, so grabbed my bag, tossed the little coffee I had left in the trash, and headed for the gate.

I was just about to hand my boarding pass to the young male flight attendant at the gate when the intercom phone buzzed. The attendant answered it, then hung up.

"If you all could just wait for moment, I'll be right back and we'll get you on board," said the young flight attendant as she dashed away to ticketing desk nearby.

It wasn't a big deal, as I could see the passengers in line in the gateway ahead, so it didn't really matter if I waited here or down the gateway. I glanced around, and there, just two passengers behind me, was the man in the olive suit. He was average height, an olive complexion to match his suit, and dark hair, either very dark brown or black.

As I thought back to when I him, several years before, his line of sight crossed mine.

"Hello," I said in my 'friendly' voice.

He looked a bit surprised. "Hello," he responded with a questioning smile.

"I don't know if you remember, but I think you and I met at a holiday party a few years back."

His face twitched a bit, obviously puzzled, but you could tell he was reracking his memory tapes.

"I am pretty sure it was a Stearns and Johnson Accounting dinner," I said.

The man's face lit up. "Yes, that sounds right. My wife works there. Well, ex-wife. Christmas party, maybe?"

"Yes, I think we sat at the same table." It was coming back to me piece by piece.

"Wow, you've got a great memory." His smile was big and bright, very different from his look just moments before. He didn't have a scowl before, but he had definitely had been sporting a serious look on his face.

"Do you still work there?" he asked.

"No, my husband did. Ex-husband."

"We're ready to start boarding again," announced the flight attendant on the PA.

"Nice seeing you," I said hurriedly, and turned to make my way on the plane.

The flight was pretty uneventful. I used the time to go over notes that I would use at my workshop. The one time I got up to stretch a little, I saw my acquaintance several rows back, stuck in the middle seat. I felt sorry for him. I feel sorry for anyone in the middle seat.

At the holiday party where the man in the beige suit and I first met, we didn't say much more than the required pleasantries. Office holiday parties can be awkward. Without spouses, office parties get crazy, but spouse-invited parties tend to be boring.

I remember thinking he was handsome, and that he and his wife seemed a bit of an odd match. What I couldn't remember was his name.

We landed on time and deplaned. Though I had my garment bag with me, I had a checked a bag which had all my handouts, so I'd have to go to baggage claim. O'Hare is always busy, and there's always a risk of bags getting lost, but our company's policy was to fly in a day early, just in case a flight was delayed or luggage was lost. So I headed down the long walk toward baggage claim.

Just then the man in the beige suit came walking by, chatting busily on his cell phone. He glanced over and saw me, and slowed his noticeably quick stride. I couldn't help but notice that he had just spent a couple of hours on a flight, but still looked pretty sharp, unlike many of the business men with wrinkled suits and baggy trousers.

I heard him sign off from his call. He then turned to me. "You're here on business, I assume?"

"I am. I'm here once a quarter for a few days." I paused for a moment, then, continued, "I'm Karen, by the way. I was Karen Stinson back when we first met, but now back to my maiden name, Mills."

"Hi Karen, I'm Tom, Tom Rivera. Was Rivera, still am Rivera. Nice to meet you-again."

As we neared the end of the long walk, I looked up at the large electronic board with baggage information.

"Do you have any bags?" I asked.

"No, carried mine on. Just doing a quick overnighter and back home."

"Well, it was nice to see you again," I said. "I hope you have a good day in Chicago."

"You, too, Karen."

And with that we went on our ways. It was kind of fun, really. When you first see someone you can't quite remember there's a little anxiety: who are they, what's their name, were we friends, or worse, were we lovers now forgotten? But then we place them, and then it's kind of fun, especially when the awkwardness has passed.

It's also nice in a big impersonal place like an airport, where it's constant cattle calls, nice to have a friendly human connection. The chat was short, and very ordinary, but it put a smile on my face. So, armed with my smile and soon after my bags, I grabbed a shuttle to my downtown hotel.

The rest of my day was all business. I set up camp at the client's office in an empty cubicle, and did an hour or so of busy work. I then had a meeting with a handful of HR folks who I needed to train on a benefits management system. They would help me the next day when we gathered sixty people for the big session. Our firm provides financial benefit services, like 401k's, executive insurance, savings plans, etc., and there's a web portal that we train our clients to use so they can become self sufficient in managing their own money.

The head of the company's HR department, a woman I would guess was 10 years my senior, maybe in her forties, asked if I'd like to grab a bite of dinner. Ordinarily I would opt out and just go to the hotel, but to be honest I was starving, and dinner sounded good.

We walked a few blocks toward the restaurant, which, nice of my client, was close to the hotel, so it would be just a short walk when were done.

She chose The Girl & Goat, a really cool little place with great drinks and eclectic small plate fare. It was full of young Chicago professionals, out for a drink, a date, or just some fun dining. We each had a drink and ate their Peter Piper bread. It comes with honey poblano butter and a very nice relish spread. I could have ordered another, but wanted to save some room for something else. I didn't feel adventurous enough for their signature "Pig's Face", but I did have a Copper River Sockeye Salmon that was out of this world.

We didn't talk a word of business, but rather mostly about my client's active yet unhappy social life, and only a little about my inactive and unhappy social life. We laughed about our experiences with cruel men and lovers, and enjoyed the great food, especially since our firm was picking up the tab.

Somewhere around nine we finished up our meal, passing on dessert and not wanting any coffee to keep us up. As we headed to the door, I was shocked to see Tom walking in with two other men in suits.

"Tom!" I blurted out, an involuntary reaction to seeing him.

He was startled, probably from the volume at which I called his name. For an instant I worried that he wouldn't remember mine, but he did.

"Karen!" he said with a big smile. "I don't see you for years and then you start following me around Chicago." We both chuckled, but seeing these were likely clients of his, I opted to just play along but not stop him for any length of time.

"Yeah, you keep thinking that funny boy."

His smile softened, as if to say, "Nice to see you." I returned the smile, waved, and headed out the door.

Outside I preemptively began to awkwardly explain it away to my dinner date: "He's an old friend whose wife used to work with my ex."

She asked something about his being available, which I just sloughed off. She then pointed me toward my hotel, and grabbed herself a cab to head home.

The rest of my time in town was far less interesting, with no more chance encounters or dinners out. It was strictly work, room service, and early to bed. The trip home was also pretty uninteresting. No familiar faces at O'Hare or Denver, though the memory of my flight out put a smile on my face as I thought about with the olive skinned man in the beige suit.

It was a couple of months later, as I was having a pre-work coffee in the restaurant at The Ashton, a beautiful historic hotel in Ft. Worth, while deeply involved with news on my iPad, when I sensed a presence. I looked up, and who was standing right in front of me, but Tom Rivera.

"Following me again, Karen?" he said is a play smirked.

"Oh, my goodness," I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Whenever I stay in a new place I suss out the best nearby coffee, pizza, and bar. I heard this place had a great afternoon tea, and places that have great tea rooms usually have good coffee, too."

"Really," I said, a bit perplexed by his detailed answer. "You do this everywhere you travel?"

"Pretty much, when I have the time."

"Are you just coming, or going?"

"Just came in to town."

"Would you care to join me, or are you meeting someone?"

"I would love to join you, if I'm not imposing."

"Facebook can wait, right? How often do can you have coffee with the person you're stalking?"

Tom sat down, and seconds later a server came by and within moments brought him a press of coffee. His olive suit was swapped this time for a dark gray one, very smart and handsome on his trim frame.

"Are you in town doing the training?" he asked.

"Yeah, good memory on you. What brings you here? Hey, you know, I don't even know what you do?"

"I'm an attorney, and I'm here to see a client."

"For an attorney you get around."

"Yeah, nothing too sexy. I have a pretty unique specialty, school liability cases. So pretty much my firm sends me around the country as a 'gun for hire' to other law firms who get in over their heads on big dollar cases."

"You mentioned your ex-wife when were in Chicago. Was it the travel?"

"No, no," he said chuckling. "It was her screwing around with her boss."

"Ahhhh, yes, that can do it."

"And you, you mentioned your ex. Was it your traveling?"

"No, I didn't take this job until after," I said, then confessed, "I think I kinda thought traveling would help me 'get away' from the pain of our breakup."

"Did it?"

"Not really. But hearing he got the crap beat out of him by the guy whose wife he was screwing did help me to feel a bit better."

We continued chatting for the better part of an hour, at which point we both needed to start our workday. I paid for our coffees, and we both headed out through the lobby.

"How's your day looking?" he asked as we began to part ways outside the front of the hotel. "Maybe catch a drink this evening?"

"The sounds good. Let's see how the day goes. Call me here this evening."

"Karen...?"

"Stinson."

"I'll call you after five Karen Stinson."

Well that seemed like the high point of the day for me, because it just seemed to spiral downward from there. I walked the few blocks to my client's office, only to catch and break a heel in a crack on the sidewalk, which meant I hobbled the last block with my shoes off. They were my Kate Spades, and while not the fanciest, I loved how comfortable they were, which is why they were the pumps I traveled with.

Once at the client, the day got worse. Their server was down for maintenance, which the HR department knew nothing about, but delayed our training by a little over two hours.

Things continued to degrade when my office phoned and I had to walk a co-worker through some possible solutions to major client problem. Handled properly, and things would be fine. Handled poorly, and my co-worker would be out of a job, and we might lose a big client. Fortunately we got it worked out, but not without a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. My Ft. Worth client had been gracious enough to let me use an empty office for and hour and half as we hashed things out long distance.

When everything finally got resolved, it was half past four, and I was exhausted. I hobbled back to the hotel, and as much as I wanted to have a drink with my handsome formerly-beige suited man who was now wearing gray, I just didn't have it in me to race to my room, shower, change, then put on a happy girl face. It would be another exciting night of room service and a movie.

I stopped by the concierge on the way in, heel in hand. I asked if they had a good shoesmith nearby, hoping there was possibly a shop close to the hotel that might be able to repair my Kate's.

"Certainly, in fact if you want to leave them here, we can send them over to gentleman who does overnight shines and repairs for us," said the very well put together woman behind the desk.

I looked like a ragamuffin, and I think the woman knew I had a rough day. Since being "cool" was long out the door for me this day, I leaned over, took them off, and handed them over.

"Is there something I could send up to your room for you, some wine, or maybe book you a massage in the spa this evening?"

"Oh, a massage sounds great, but I think once I hit that room, I'm not coming back out," I told her. Then, thinking for a moment, "You know, maybe a little wine."

"Red, white, or sparkling?"

"Something red would be nice."

"Can I show you a wine list?"

"No, whatever you send will be fine."

"We have a wonderful Napa Pinot I think you'll like. I'll have it sent right up."

During most days on the road, if I'm not out with the client, I head back to the hotel, change into my workout clothes, order something from room service, then get in 20-30 minutes of quick cardio before I'm back in the room. I usually eat, check email, take shower, then lie on the bed until I get sleepy, which sometimes is a few minutes, and sometimes a few hours. Tonight I would pass on the cardio. That, combined with having some the wine, and I could expect to be asleep in no time.

As I came into the room, barefoot and exhausted, I literally threw the key on the small mahogany table near the door, and just dropped my briefcase. I walked over to the bed, swung my leg up with a hop and just plopped myself down, butt first. I took a deep breath, let it out, and closed my eyes, feeling all of my clenched muscles begin the slow process of unraveling.

RRRRIIIIINNNNGGG! The phone began a dreadful electronic buzz ring, and of course I bolted straight up. Instinctively I grabbed the phone.

"Karen Stinson," I said without thinking, back to my daytime business voice.

"Hey Karen, Tom Rivera," said the voice on the other end, quite upbeat I might add.

Crap. I had forgotten about Tom. Too much shit going on that day. I guess I couldn't have cancelled any earlier anyway, as I had no idea where he was staying.

"Oh, hey Tom," I said clumsily.

"We still on for a drink?"

"Tom, I don't think I can muster the energy. I just got in after a horrible day. I don't think I'd be any fun. I'll probably just get some room service and fall asleep to a bad movie."

"I told you this morning, I always find the best coffee, the best drinks, and the best pizza where ever I go," he said, still upbeat even though I just shut him down. "You had the best coffee this morning. The best drinks are too far from the hotel, but if you'd let me, I can have a killer pizza in your room in about 20 minutes. We can have a slice or two, raid your mini bar, and I'll leave you to your movie in under an hour. "

"Oh, that's very sweet of you, but-"

"And if you say yes, I'll even promise to give you a foot massage."

"Foot massage?"

"Yeah, foot massage. I bet your feet are tired after a long day in those beautiful heels you had on."

"Had is the right word. About 3 minutes after you left this morning I broke one of those beautiful heels."

"Even more reason you need a foot massage."

There was an awkward silence as I pondered what to do.

"I look like crap," I protested.

"I seriously doubt that."

"I might be a little cranky."

"Aw, the pizza will cure that."

He was pretty convincing. "I bet you're a pretty good attorney in a courtroom, aren't you?"

"I've won my share of cases."

"Okay."

"Okay, what?"

"Okay, pepperoni. What are you waiting for, I'm hungry."

"Sounds like we need a glass of wine, too," he said, almost giggling like a kid.

"No!" I exclaimed. "I got that. Already have a bottle on the way."

"Then I better hurry."

"Room 815. And bring some Parmesan."

I figured I'd at least change out my skirt and into the one pair of pants I brought. I usually have one pair with me, typically for the plane ride home if I have time to change. But I wouldn't be changing just yet, evidently, as just then there was a knock at the door.