Some Like It Warm

The Hotel Metropolitan stood as a monument to what the city used to be - grand and beautiful and artistic. It was not far from the bay, in what was once the entertainment district. Posh restaurants, theaters, nightclubs - and speakeasies, in their time - had lined the surrounding boulevards. To the south, nearer the waterfront, had been warehouses and industry. To the north, the more genteel avenues of brownstones where the city's elite had lived during the winter social season.

It boasted 22 floors - two more than the Plaza, which had been the whole point. It was an amalgamation of marble, polished wood, objets d'art, discrete and exotic potted plants, and frosted glass. When it had opened, over a century ago, it had seemed to represent everything that the growing, bustling, exciting city had symbolized. But that had been before two World Wars, a Depression, a massive flight to the suburbs, and an interstate highway system that had left the old downtown area isolated and forgotten as chain restaurants and big box stores and sports bars sprang up like mushrooms along the city's outskirts.

Now it stood like a dowager, clinging to its name and reputation, trying to scrimp on maintenance and cleaning and hoping nobody would notice. The surrounding areas had decayed, become dirty and crime-ridden, and then in recent years experienced the beginnings of gentrification. Busy, young professionals had gradually colonized the area, and it was no longer unthinkable to go there after dark.

It was late October, and there was a chill in the air. Dusk was coming earlier, and pumpkins had sprung up on stoops and in windows across town. Lonny and Laurie Morgan, both 25, had come to the city on their honeymoon. They had dated all through college, gotten jobs after graduation, worked hard and saved for a few years. They had not wanted to get married until they could afford the wedding, and the honeymoon, of their dreams. And now, here they were.

They were booked into one of the brand-new, chain hotels out near the airport, and since arriving in town a week before they had seen a football game, taken a bus tour, attended the theater, gone to the zoo, a comedy club, a nightclub, and a costume party. They had shopped all up and down The Avenue, and had eaten and drunk better than they had ever imagined.

Now it was their last night in town, and they had come downtown. Deep-down they were rebels, or at least that's what they told themselves, and they were looking for something out-of-the-ordinary, something they had been told could be found here.

Their Lyft dropped them right in front of the Metropolitan's main entrance, and as they stepped out onto the cracked and stained sidewalk they looked all around, nervous at being here in the heart of Old Towne after dark. As they climbed the hotel's worn marble steps and went through the tarnished doors they felt out of place, as if there were eyes on them from all up and down the street. They were sure that everybody in the lobby would immediately turn to stare at them.

In truth, though, the lobby was almost empty. A large bellhop, who almost certainly doubled as a security guard, eyed them for a moment or two as they came through the door but then went back to his cell phone. One desk clerk worked at her computer terminal while another talked on the phone. Neither even looked up as the Morgans walked self-consciously past. In the corner, near a fireplace that had been converted to gas at some point, a well-dressed, elderly man made his laborious way through the newspaper. A glass of some amber liquid sat on the side table next to his chair.

They walked through the lobby and past the bank of patiently waiting elevators, then down a sweeping marble staircase. Back when the Metropolitan had been built, it had been considered gauche to have the washrooms in plain view. Instead, they were hidden away on the floor below the lobby. At the bottom of the staircase was a spacious lounge filled with old-fashioned, plush chairs and settees and wholly-unnecessary end tables. At either end were the entrances to the men's and women's toilets.

Directly across from the staircase, however, was a nondescript, unmarked door. As soon as the Morgans went through it, it was as if they had stepped into a different world.

A narrow stairway led down to the building's basement level. It was lit by cheap light fixtures every few feet. The stairs consisted of old, scarred hardwood and a threadbare runner. The walls were covered with aging, occasionally stained wallpaper. From the dim space at the bottom of the stairway a woman's voice wafted up to them, singing an old, romantic ballad.

The original owners of the Metropolitan, influenced no doubt by the grand mansions of the Gilded Age, had envisioned the hotel staff actually living on premises. A number of small apartments had been constructed in the basement, and they were connected to the rest of the hotel by these stairs. The idea had been a complete failure, of course, but a decade after the hotel had opened Prohibition had provided the owners with an escape from their miscalculation.

After the partitions had been knocked down to create a large space from all of the small apartments, the owners had had the perfect place to open one of the finer speakeasies in the city. Patrons hadn't even needed to enter the hotel itself to purchase illegal liquor. Access could be had via a narrow set of stone stairs, originally intended for staff use, which led down from the alley behind the hotel.

When Prohibition had been repealed, the need for secrecy ended and the Staff Entrance, as it was known, continued as a historic downtown watering hole. Its fortunes had sunk over the years along with those of the hotel and the neighborhood, but it was still there.

When the Morgans stepped into the dim room from the more brightly-lit staircase it took their eyes a moment to adjust. This was intentional, as it gave everybody in the bar a moment or two to check out the newcomers. They took in Lonny, tall, skinny, bushy brown hair, scraggly beard, dressed in a maroon Henley, black jeans, and boots. They took in Laurie, a short, curvy redhead, with generous breasts and hips. She wore a red dress that showed off cleavage and complimented her lips and eyes. Strappy, black heels and a black choker completed her outfit.

Once their eyes adjusted, Lonny and Laurie scanned the room. It wasn't opulent. The floor was basic wood, as badly in need of refinishing as the stairs. The walls, also wood, nicked and gouged and occasionally scorched in places, were decorated with historic photos. Most showed patrons, some famous, from ages past.

A bar and a small stage occupied the right wall, and old, deeply recessed booths stretched the length of the left. High-tops and tables were scattered through the space between. The chairs, while sturdy, were mismatched. Two bartenders and two bored-looking cocktail waitresses dressed as if they were from the Roaring Twenties seemed to comprise the entire staff.

From the stage a middle-aged women continued to croon Jazz Age standards in a voice that sounded remarkably like Diana Krall. Lighting was uneven. A spotlight shown on the singer, whilst cannister lights illuminated the bar so that staff could do their jobs. Widely spaced fixtures gave those at the tables just enough light to eat and converse.

The old-fashioned barstools were mostly occupied, some by single men, others by buddies or couples. A couple of the tables were occupied by parties of older men and women, others by couples having dinner, as you could order from the hotel kitchen from here. Almost all of these folks, having given the Morgans the once-over when they arrived, had now turned back to their own business and were ignoring them.

The booths, though, were different. Lit by only a single candle each, they were located in by far the darkest part of the room. Each was occupied by somebody whose time and company were for sale. Most advertised online and were simply here as a convenient, public place to meet their clients. Others were clearly here to work the hotel lounge crowd. This is what Lonny and Laurie had come for.

Lonny's first inclination was to take a table and have a drink, to bolster his courage. He didn't want to be too obvious and head over to the booths immediately. Instead, he thought it best to scope the place out and get used to it before making his move.

Laurie had other ideas, though. She knew if they sat down, shyly glancing over at the booths while pretending not to be interested, they'd probably lose their courage instead of bolstering it. When Lonny went to the right, she tugged at his hand. When he stopped and turned to look at her, she set off to the left, virtually dragging him behind until he gave in and walked with her.

They were not looking for just anybody. They were looking for a particular woman, somebody they'd heard had remarkable talents and who didn't advertise online at all. She was only available to regulars, and to friends of regulars. She could usually be found in the far booth, if she wasn't with a client - or at least that's what the Morgans had been told. They had been assured that she rarely took a night off.

As they crossed the room, Lonny studiously avoided looking into any of the other booths. Laurie was more curious, though, and glanced at one, and then another. They were occupied by women, men, and some who seemed trans. Some were mature, others seemed quite young. One well-groomed woman who seemed to be fortyish even had a large German Shepherd on the floor next to her booth. As the Morgans passed the woman looked up and made eye contact with Laurie. She smiled, and reached down to slowly stroke the dog's head. The animal excitedly looked up at Laurie, who only smiled weakly and hurried on.

They stopped before the last booth, the one in the far corner, the one closest to the door and the stairs that led up to the back alley. The woman who sat at the booth looked young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. She was petite, though it was hard to guess her true height sitting in the back corner of the booth as she was, and trim. She wore a black leather jacket and a low-cut gray pullover that exposed the slopes of her generous, pale breasts. Her honey-blonde hair was cut in a shag that framed her face but seemed just a bit outdated.

She didn't look up when they stopped in front of her booth, until Lonny clumsily cleared his throat. When she did give them her attention, they could see that she had the most startling, crystal-blue eyes they'd ever seen. They were so blue that they almost seemed to glow in the dim light.

"Can I help you?" she asked, mouth quirking up into a smile that revealed even, white teeth and perfect dimples.

"Are...uh...are you, uh, Mary?" Lonny asked, stammering.

"And who's asking?" she replied, still smiling pleasantly. Lonny didn't immediately answer. Between that smile and those eyes and her face, with its smooth, pale skin and almost perfect bone structure, it was hard for him to think. Really, it was like coming face-to-face with a famous model or actress.

"We're... we're the Morgans," Laurie finally said. "I'm Laurie, and this is my husband, Lonny." She paused, and then added, "We're newlyweds. We're here on our honeymoon."

"Congratulations. I hope you're having a wonderful time," the woman said with genuine warmth, her smile unwavering. "How can I help you?"

"We've heard about you," Lonny blurted. The woman flicked her eyes to him, but said nothing.

Laurie could see that this wasn't going as well as they'd hoped, so she cut in, "We fly home tomorrow. This is our last night in town, and we...we'd really like to spend it with you."

The woman looked at them for half a beat, making eye contact, still smiling as if she had nothing in the world to hide. As if she were a completely open book.

"That's interesting. Are you involved with law enforcement, government, or the press in any way?" she said, her voice the tiniest bit louder and slower.

"N-no." Lonny quickly assured her.

"Are either of you operating any audio or video recording devices?" she asked.

"Absolutely not!" Laurie answered while Lonny vigorously shook his head.

"You're really just newlyweds who'd like my company on the last day of your honeymoon?" she continued, still enunciating clearly.

"Yes, honestly, that's all we are." Laurie confirmed.

"In that case," she said, her voice just a little more relaxed, "I am Mary." Then she added, gesturing to her booth. "Please, join me."

"Forgive me," she said as soon as the Morgans had settled in on the bench opposite her. "Somebody like me can't be too careful." Lonny and Laurie both nodded quickly as she continued. "Now, can I ask how you heard of me?"

The Morgans glanced at each other quickly, and Laurie took Lonny's hand before turning back to Mary. "I'm an ER nurse," she explained, "at Memorial Hospital in Syracuse. One of my mentors, well, ever since I was a student nurse, has been Carmilla Sheridan. She's one of my best friends."

"Carm!" Mary exclaimed, spreading her hands widely. "Oh, I love Carm. She's one of my favorites. How is she?"

"Great, she's just great," Laurie said, nodding. All three of them were smiling now that the tension had eased. "When I told her we were coming here for our honeymoon she got very interested. She told us that she comes to the city at least once per year, and she asked a lot of questions about what we were interested in doing. I mean, she gave us a lot of great advice!" She paused and looked at Lonny, who nodded enthusiastically in confirmation.

"Anyway, she attended my bachelorette party. Toward the end of the evening - we'd all had a lot to drink, as you can imagine - she got me alone and asked me some pretty personal questions, you know, about fantasies and stuff. Then she told me about you and how we should definitely spend an evening with you if we wanted an absolutely perfect, unique experience. She wouldn't give me any contact information other than to say where you could usually be found."

"Thank you," Mary said, looking genuinely pleased, "for the kind words, and for bearing with me. I never accept new clients unless they come with a recommendation from a previous client. I'm sure you understand." Both Laurie and Lonny found themselves nodding again, as if they were the worldliest couple and this was common knowledge to them.

"So," Mary continued, "now that we're all here together, let's get the two of you a drink and you can tell me what you have in mind."

She raised her hand briefly, as if she were half-heartedly hailing a cab, and a waitress made her way over. When she arrived, Mary turned back to the Morgans and asked, "Beer, wine, whiskey, or mixed?"

"Oh, uhh, beer." Lonny stammered.

"Wine, I guess, or a mixed drink. Nothing with whiskey, though," Laurie said.

Nodding, Mary turned to the waitress, a young blonde who looked like she was probably a college student, and said, "Lucy, please bring the gentlemen a smoked porter, and the lady a cosmopolitan. Oh, and an order of bacon-wrapped dates for the table."

The waitress nodded and hurried off, and Mary turned back to them. "I hope you don't mind, but I'll need a credit card. The house needs to get something out of this arrangement. I'll warn you that the bill will be a bit steep, but it's worth it. Joseph, the bartender on the left there, is one of the undiscovered gems of the city, and Abraham in the kitchen is just as talented."

"No, no, we get it," Lonny assured her, as he fumbled his Discover card out of his wallet. It was the only card the Morgans owned.

"Excellent," Mary pronounced in a pleased voice. "Now, while we wait for the food and drink, let's get to know each other. Tell me how the two of you met, and what you love most about one another."

For the next few minutes, Lonny and Laurie told Mary the story of how they met - the disastrous blind date, then bumping into each other again months later, laughing about the whole thing, and deciding to give it another try. They talked about what they loved about each other, and how and when they each new the other was "the one". They reminisced about the great times they'd spent together, and, after some hesitation, the great sex they shared.

When the food and drinks came, Mary handed over the Morgan's credit card and told the waitress to start a tab. Then she turned back to them and solicitously asked if she'd ordered correctly for them. She told them that the smoked porter was a special autumnal limited release from a local brewery and that the cosmopolitan had been made with Dom Wina, a Polish artisanal vodka.

They assured her that everything was amazing, and in fact, it was. The porter was rich and malty; it began just a bit sweet, and then the smoke came in on the back end. Instead of overwhelming the other flavors, though, it complemented them and brought them all together. Similarly, the cosmopolitan featured a beautiful blend of sweet and sour which almost, but not quite, covered up the serious punch of the vodka. And the food was just as good! The salt and fat of the bacon combined with the sweet chewiness of the dates to form another perfect blend on the tongue. All in all, it was some of the best food and drink they'd ever had.

They ate and drank and chatted for some little time, and when the conversation began to die down, Mary said, "Thank you so much for letting me get to know you! It was such a gift. Now, tell me what you've got in mind for the evening. What can I do for you?"

There was a brief silence as the Morgans looked at each other. This was the moment of truth. Were they really going to go through with this? Then they turned back to Mary and Lonny took a deep breath and said, "We want an around-the-world threesome, and we want it warm." Then he grinned crookedly, as if he wasn't sure that he'd gotten the terms correct.

"Are you sure?" Mary asked, her smile never wavering.

"Yes," Laurie confirmed, reaching over to take Lonny's hand again. "It's been a fantasy of both of ours for a long time. In fact, it's one of the things that brought us together."

"Excellent," Mary replied, "and thank you for trusting me with this experience. You're both beautiful people, and this is going to be an amazing evening! Just so that you understand, though, since I don't get my payment up front, there's no backing out once we start."

Lonny and Laurie both nodded, looking at her solemnly.

"In that case," she replied, "please allow me to show you upstairs." She motioned again, and another waitress appeared at their table. This one was brunette, perhaps a little older and a little more serious than the previous server. She also looked like she spent more time working out.

"Mina," Mary said, smiling, "please have room 1941 charged to the Morgan's credit card for the night and then close out their tab." The woman nodded and hurried away. A few moments later she brought the credit card and receipt for Lonny to sign, along with a key. He looked questioningly at Mary, who palmed the key and explained, "You pay the house up front, and me later. This way there's no need to check out at the front desk once we're all...satisfied."

Nodding, he added what he hoped was a decent tip for the waitresses, scribbled his signature, and pocketed the card and his copy of the receipt. As Mina headed back to the bar with the house copy of the receipt he finished his drink and tried not to think about the total he had just agreed to pay. He told himself that they had worked long and hard for this night, they had budgeted for it, and it was going to be worth it. At least he hoped so.

As they all rose to leave, the Morgans could see the rest of Mary's outfit - black, stressed jeans and Doc Martens. They were also startled at just how petite she was. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, and maybe not even that. At 5'3", Laurie was used to being the shortest person in the room, but she found herself looking down at Mary.