Surrendering His Heart

by David Horne

  “She’s a monster,” Carl said of Ashley.

  George sighed and said, “A harpy.”

  The observation made Carl pause a moment. He looked to the bartender. She paid no attention to their conversation. Carl watched the woman’s curved tight denim.

  “The personification of a storm,” he pointed out.

  Of course, the writer knew the creature’s origins. It never occurred to George; he just thought Ashley’s chubby face looked like a harpy.

  “That’s a good analogy, man. All I’m saying is how she’s only interested in taking care of herself. She doesn’t care about you. Or anyone else. I bet she’s still single too.”

  “I don’t know much about Ashley’s personal life.” George needed the conversation to circle back around to Carl’s observation of his affair with Dunlop. “How are you getting back to the hotel?” he asked.

  Carl pulled keys from his pocket and dropped them on the bar counter.

  “You’re not driving,” the bartender said. She scowled at Carl.

  “I got it,” George scooped up the keys as Carl finished the last drink. “Let me get you home.”

  The drive back to Comfort Hill Hotel was short. But it gave George time alone with Carl. “Can I ask how you know about me and Room 214?” It was best to leave Dunlop’s name out of the interview. If Carl didn’t know the man’s name, it was better left unsaid.

  The antique Saab had leather seats that lost their battle with sunlight and split from exposure. The cushion against George’s back was lumpy.

  “I saw you two one night go into his room.” Carl waved it off like it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it, man. I know what it’s like.” He smiled at George. “Just ask Andrada some time.”

  In the parking lot, George held the keys and escorted Carl back to his room on the third floor. Seeing the front desk dark and closed was cathartic to George.

  Carl kicked off his shoes. On the table in the center of the room was the laptop Carl spoke of often. He walked by the machine and touched it reflexively.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mr. Room 214 wandered downstairs close to eleven-thirty Monday night. It wasn’t that George didn’t enjoy company, but the man barely had conversations with George. It was as if George had something addictive and Dunlop needed a lot of it often.

  The lobby was quiet and smelled of lemon furniture polish. George spent the beginning of his shift scrubbing the grooved wall panels in the foyer and lobby. He made his way into the main hallway but ran out of furniture polish.

  “How are you tonight, George?” Dunlop asked. He leaned against the counter. George put away the rags and recycled the aluminum can.

  “I’m okay, John.” He gave a long once-over to the man who had spent a considerable amount of time on his knees worshiping George’s cock. The thought, despite himself, gave a little stirring in his pants.

  “I think this place is going through some changes.” Dunlop’s observation piqued George’s interest.

  “How do you mean?” It was better to not press. Sometimes information needed pumping; sometimes it took slow and precise movements.

  “I’m feeling a very negative vibe since I arrived here.” He gave George a very long and lingering look. “I think I was l a lot like you once. I dedicated my life to work and family. But then I started to push back against the establishment. After I turned fifty I divorced my wife whom I didn’t love.” He looked into the middle distance, watching his past. “Now I’m happy and I feel a little healthier, mentally.” Then he turned the conversation away from the introspective.

  “Your manager has been very nice to me.” And that was as far as he went with a description of Ashley. “But that business the other night in front of the guests and the staff, that was unacceptable.” Dunlop looked down the hall. “There're some things you just don’t do in business. You certainly don’t discipline or scorn employees when customers are available. And you don’t want to have other staff around when you’re getting your ass handed to you.” He pressed his lips together, staring at George. “Ashley should’ve known better.”

  “I feel like with everything going on around here the place is falling apart.”

  “Are you interested in staying if the place gets sold?”

  Dunlop wanted an honest answer. If the sale fell through, would he be to blame? The fact the man treated the purchase of a hotel as something as simple as buying milk at the grocery store helped ease George’s frazzled nerves. He gave the best answer he could. “I don’t know.”

  “I think I know how to make you feel better,” Dunlop suggested.

  The offer transported George from the front desk. The atmosphere in room 214 was fresh with the night air. Dunlop had opened the windows to the night. The warm breeze filtered through the second-floor suite. Only one light on in the made it a soft pallet for their rendezvous.

  It wasn’t a matter of kissing Dunlop. The man had no interest in being affectionate with another man. The man to put his hands on George and his mouth on his cock, but he didn’t want to kiss George openly. Dunlop, clearly apprehensive about intimate contact with a man, needed to experience not just the meat of the sexual experience but the compassion that went with it.

  “You want a drink?” Dunlop asked. He had something brown in a glass and poured another for himself. Rather than warn Dunlop guests weren’t permitted alcohol in the hotel, George accepted the glass. It was smoky and strong. It went down like pure maple syrup and burned his throat in its wake.

  “It goes well with these.” The prescription bottle had a limited rattle as if only a few jewels danced around the inside of the container.

  While it was one thing to drink alcohol, the drug of choice for cheap addicts, George wasn’t interested in sharing whatever pills Dunlop just popped into his mouth and washed down with the sweet liquor.

  He stared at George. Dunlop near the bed, the breeze pressing at his back, he looked at George. His eyes behind the prescription glasses caught sight of George’s groin—the drug of choice for this man who took for granted the concierge and what the man had to offer.

  “I want you to touch my cock,” he told George. It wasn’t a command. It was a thought expressed aloud. George had wanted to explore the man their previous encounter. But Dunlop wasn’t available last time. Now he wanted more.

  George felt the hard liquor still burning in his throat. Dunlop was already drunk, and the pills compounded the man’s focused but lethargic movements. He removed the baggy plaid shorts. He unbuttoned the short sleeve shirt but left it on.

  Dunlop had body issues. George suspected that the first night they were together and the man hadn’t undressed during their time. The years of living greedy took its toll on the man. A heavy stomach, thinning and receded hair, and a sallow countenance from years of fluorescent lighting replacing nutrient sunlight made Dunlop a man of business pale.

  Dutifully, and out of sexual curiosity, George went to Dunlop. He expertly reached down between the man’s legs. A handful of a stiff but slightly turned cock felt warm and quivered in George’s hand. A soft tangle of gray pubic hair nestled at the base of his cock. The testicles were so tight to the shaft they were nearly nonexistent.

  Dunlop wavered some. For a moment, George thought the man was going to pass out. He moved closer to the man. His right hand stroked the man’s erect penis.

  Handling Dunlop’s cock was natural. George pressed into the man. Wedged against the bed at his knees, Dunlop wasn’t able to back away. George wrapped his free arm around Dunlop’s back. The material of the shirt was silky under his hand. George leaned against the man. He embraced Dunlop and continued to stroke the man’s penis. It was a profound experience for Dunlop.

  “Relax,” George whispered close to the man’s ear. The fresh scent of lavender shampoo and cologne tingled his nose. Dunlop’s free hands touched George. It wasn’t so much sexual as it was exploring the freedom of sharing. He felt the man’s soft hands roam over his sides and chest. Fingers
lightly touched George’s face. He smiled at Dunlop reassuringly.

  The rhythmic pulse George maintained with his right hand fastened around the thin penis began to pump faster. Dunlop let out a moan. The sound encouraged George to move his hand more quickly. Dunlop pressed his body against George’s side. He felt the man’s hands lace around his back. Fingers gripped the edge of the black vest.

  Experience and the weakening of Dunlop’s knees told George the stroking would immediately achieve the end of the act. Dunlop held George close. George glanced down to steer the loaded penis in a direction that spared his slacks of the eruption when Dunlop finally ejaculated. Semen spilled over George’s hand, and Dunlop shuddered against his body.

  The man’s hands moved over George’s body, exploring his flat stomach and taunt back. George waited a few moments before releasing the still flexing penis.

  George moved away from Dunlop. He went to the kitchenette to wash his hands in hot water and soap. The shirt and vest needed straightening.

  When he returned to the bedroom, Dunlop lay on his back on the bed. The shorts around his ankles, the flaccid penis burrowed into the tangle of hair, the man sated and asleep. The light snore of a gluttonous man who got what he wanted from George floated out the window.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Well after one in the morning, George returned to the front desk. The security doors for the front allowed current guests with passkeys to enter. Anyone from the outside had to wait. Typically, George made rounds throughout the hotel a few times in the night. It only took fifteen minutes to walk all three floors of the hotel.

  He’d spent more time with Mr. Room 214 than he anticipated. Dunlop was interesting, but George didn’t know what would happen once the sale finalized. How would the relationship develop? He wasn’t sure if Dunlop was anything more than a fun distraction; or if the man saw George as something more than a toy.

  When he returned to the lobby, a person was lingering in the shadows by the front pillars outside the foyer.

  Quickly George unlocked the door. After a minute, the man entered the lobby. There was something familiar about him. A thirty-something man in a flannel shirt and blue jeans wandered through the open space. He didn’t approach the front desk immediately. For a moment, George thought he would dash to the elevators.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, as any night auditor would do.

  “Uh, yeah.” The man finally made his way to the counter. He had an oily way about him, shifty and thin. His beard was thick with weeks of unshaved stubble that went overgrown along his neck. “I was looking for you.”

  There were a collection of movies George had seen in his lifetime where the delivered line was followed with either a gunshot or an ax buried in the head of the victim. He stepped away from the counter in a relaxed manner that didn’t project his thoughts to run. Instead, George wanted to make sure the suspected killer had a full image for the security camera.

  “Me?” he asked innocently.

  “Yeah, Ashley, I think her name is. She told me to come by and hang out with you for a little while. You were gone for about an hour.” He had a look that suggested he would report George’s absence to Ashley the moment he had the chance.

  George chuckled passively. “I had a problem with a toilet. Room 212 has low flow problems.” He swallowed. “What can I do for you?”

  “She just said to check out the place. I guess she wanted to make sure I liked it around here.”

  “What did Ashley say you would be doing?”

  He shrugged. “I guess your job. Are you leaving or something?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said frowning. There was a sour stirring in his belly. “What was your name again?”

  “Sorry,” he said, reaching across the countertop to shake hands. “Raymond Day.”

  George noticed the dirty fingernails immediately. The name sounded familiar.

  “Have we met before?”

  Raymond looked around the empty lobby. Scratching his head, he said, “No, I don’t think so.” Looking back at George he added, “I used to work here a few years ago.”

  George needed a clearer head. He circled the desk and went through the lobby. Outside the fresh air of late-night June washed over him. Raymond stepped outside and stood next to George. He fished out a cigarette and lit it.

  “You can’t smoke here,” George told him. “There’s designated smoking at the edge of the parking lot over there.” Raymond didn’t follow the pointed finger.

  Instead, Raymond looked at George, possibly expecting a joke. George took the job seriously and expected guests to follow the rules.

  “You been drinking tonight?” Raymond asked him before pinching the lit end in his fingers and pocketing the cigarette.

  George was unable to respond to the comment because of the catch in his throat. He turned around and went back to the front desk where the tall counter was a barrier between him and the stranger.

  “What did Ashley say you would be doing around here?” he wanted to know. The more he heard, the more he thought of soothsayer Carl’s predictions.

  Raymond shrugged again. He didn’t pay much attention to George. He continued to watch down the wide hallway of the first floor expecting to see guests or ghosts. He wandered back to the main lobby and dropped on a sofa. He leaned to the side and lifted his boots.

  “Please don’t put your feet on the couch,” George asked him. Raymond either ignored him or didn’t hear the request.

  Instead, he said, “There’s not much to do around here at night.”

  “Not really. There is a lot of work that needs to be done at different times throughout the night.”

  “You don’t listen to music? Or watch TV?”

  “I find that music makes you tired and there’s no television behind the front desk.”

  “There’s one over here.” Raymond pointed to the wall where the flat screen television usually broadcasted local weather or home improvement television stations. It was impossible to see from the front desk.

  “You can’t watch TV and get your work done too.”

  “I bet I could turn up the game and hear it at least.”

  Raymond didn’t understand the concept of night auditor and the respect one gives to guests who slept through the night. If Raymond worked at the hotel before, he should have known the value of good night sleep.

  “I’m not really sure why Ashley would tell you to show up in the middle of the night.” Now George was embarrassed with the arrangement. She didn’t make it easy for anyone to understand the sideways logic when she kept changing the rules.“How long did she ask you to stay tonight?” Already, George began a list of questions to ask her when she arrived in the morning. For now, he had to deal with a man who still had boots on the furniture in the lobby.

  “Do you at least have coffee?” he asked.

  When George showed Raymond to the storage room, the man filled the cup three-quarters full of coffee and topped it off with four spoonfuls of sugar.

  “All this stuff for the hotel rooms?” he asked.

  George managed to maneuver Raymond out of the storage room and back through the little gate to the guest side of the front desk. He leaned against the counter and yawned.

  “What did you do when you worked here before?” George wanted to know.

  “I was one of the cooks. Back when this place had a full kitchen. There used to be a lot of guests in this place one time.”

  “The hotel hasn’t had a kitchen in ten years.”

  “That’s right.” But he dropped the invitation for expounding on the topic.

  It was going to be a dull night.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was impossible to sleep after work. The dread that brewed in George’s stomach made it difficult to relax. The sudden appearance of Raymond made it difficult to concentrate on anything as trivial as snoozing. Returning to work the following day, Raymond wasn’t around. Instead, Ashley gave him a glaring presentation. George didn�
�t go into the men’s room immediately.

  Instead, he followed Ashley to her office.

  “We have a problem,” she told him. She dropped into the leather chair behind the desk.

  In front of her were a hotel ledger and the deposit bag.

  “Why aren’t you in your uniform?” Ashley snapped as if George’s appearance wearing a t-shirt and blue jeans was a shock.

  “You called me into the office,” he told her without trying to sound bitter. “I didn’t have time to go change.”

  “You need to stop changing in the men’s room on the first floor.” Ashley started filing through the ledger on the desk. She did not look at George when she added, “I’ve had complaints about you changing in there every day.”

  George felt the interior of his cheek sting. His teeth broke the skin.

  “The night deposit is short,” she announced. She slid the ledger toward George across the desk. He took a step closer to the desk to look at his handwriting on the document. “You’re short $100. What happened?”

  “I don’t understand,” he told her. “I double count every day. I’ve never missed a deposit.”

  “Well, maybe you were too busy last night.”

  “I had someone show up here in the middle of the night and tell me you said to train him.” George never raised his voice to Ashley. He never challenged her. But his integrity was never turned or tarnished.

  “Oh good,” she said, off-handedly. “Raymond showed up. I expected him to be here this morning.” She frowned at him. “You left without letting me know anything.” Too distraught by the experience with Raymond, George left without speaking to Ashley directly.

  “I was surprised. You never told me the guy was coming in.”

  “I don’t have to answer to you, George. You’re just the night auditor.” Her demeanor shifted from distaste to disappointment. Ashley’s calculated transition brought her back around to the original point. “Frankly, I’m not surprised your deposit is short. Your duties have been weak lately. I noticed you’re spending too much time socializing with guests and not as much time on your regular responsibilities.”