Based Upon Availability

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Based Upon Availability Page 24

by Alix Strauss


  It was always just her. She needed a program or group therapy meeting for normal people who wanted to connect with others. But those didn’t exist. And if they did, they were called mixers or events for single professionals with a cutoff age that Franny always seemed to just miss. She’d entered the dot-com dating movement with the rest of the world, read the personals in the back of New York Magazine, even joined the Ninety-second Street Y in the hopes of finding someone through educational evenings. All that came from her hard efforts was bad banter from men who weren’t really ready to meet women, didn’t share her goals or interests, or were divorced with kids and an ex-wife or two.

  The line of distinction ended with her single, childless state. Her independence. “The problem is, Franny, you’re too self-sufficient,” her sister had told her once. “Appear too put together and no one thinks you need help.”

  Dinner was surprisingly enjoyable, with comfortable conversation, tasty food, dishes Franny wouldn’t ordinarily have ordered: bean curd soup, chicken chop suey, rainbow pork, and prawns in garlic sauce. The kids ran around the table, grabbing fortune cookies and breaking them open, thrusting the tiny papers at the adults to read. Everyone made up sayings so the kids would understand them. When Simon gave his to Franny, she switched “A change in scenery will open more than just your heart” to “Cookie Monster says you love cookies.” Simon jumped up and down. “I do. I do.” And everyone laughed. Franny tucked the paper into her skirt pocket, she wanted to hold onto something. And this, if anything, besides her sex-soiled underwear, was at least a souvenir of the evening.

  An hour later, Catherine and Franny stood in the kitchen. As Catherine leaned forward to place a plate in the dishwasher, her diamond earrings reflected off the fluorescent light, momentarily blinding Franny. She caught her staring at them.

  “A present from David,” Catherine shared, her hand clasping each ear to make sure they were both still in the appointed spots. “An anniversary gift. He thinks I don’t know that his sister-in-law bought them, but to be honest, Ellen’s got better taste than he does. Sometimes I phone her and drop hints on what I want around holidays. They live in Connecticut. We were thinking of staying with them. They have a lovely house.”

  Franny nodded.

  “I think part of me married David because he had brothers. When you’re an only child, anyone with siblings looks attractive.”

  She nodded and thought of her sister who she suddenly missed intensely.

  “So, where are you going to stay?” Catherine continued, as they scraped plates, removing remnants of pancake and Peking sauce. Everyone had asked this question at different intervals throughout the evening. On autopilot she replied, “I’m not sure. Joy said I could stay in the housekeeper’s room. I’ve been trying to get in touch with my aunt, but they might be away for a few days. They live in Pennsylvania and they weren’t expecting me until Thanksgiving. And it’s kind of late to take a train.” She took another dish from Catherine. “I might stay with friends.” Though most had left for the long holiday weekend to see in-laws and family members. She could have gone home, but flying to Mississippi was costly. The train to Philly was much cheaper.

  The clock on the microwave blinked 11:30 p.m. Wes hadn’t called. She was tempted to prank phone him at 2:00 a.m. “Could you ring Mr. Bater’s room please?” Once he answered she’d say, “Dick Hurts?” If Joy was still up, and if they were closer, she could have told her about this afternoon, and she would have gone next, asking for Jenna Talia.

  She was still thinking about pranking him as Joy and Catherine made breakfast plans.

  “EJ’s?” Catherine suggested. “The girls enjoy it.”

  “First one there grabs the table…”

  “In the back,” Catherine finished.

  Both mothers smiled. They were like two people sharing one brain.

  “Nine a.m.?” Joy said, walking everyone to the door. One of the twins was asleep in Catherine’s arms, the other, wide awake and whimpering, thumb in her mouth. David juggled the bags, luggage, and kid paraphernalia.

  “Let’s just order in room service,” he added, trying to organize the bundles. “The kids will love it. Come over whenever and we’ll have a pajama party.”

  Everyone seemed to nod at the same time, like robots obeying a command.

  Franny could already visualize them talking about her as they lulled around in the hotel’s thick terrycloth robes, the kids emptying out the minibar, pretending it was a supermarket.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her go on a date or have a man over,” Catherine would say, her earrings catching the light from the chandelier.

  “Does she have friends? I never see her with anyone,” Chuck would add.

  “I feel sorry for her,” Joy would comment, cutting up Simon’s food and calling him back to the makeshift picnic area they had created on the floor.

  She watched them hover in the doorway waiting for the elevator. There were kisses and good-byes, the sound of a door opening, the twins’ cranky voices growing fainter.

  Now Joy and Chuck were staring at her, waiting for a decision.

  “I think time snuck up on me,” Franny said, looking from their faces to the floor. “It’s kind of late to call friends. Would it be okay to stay?”

  Chuck’s upper lip twitched ever so slightly, but he somehow managed a smile.

  “Of course.” Joy was already moving swiftly toward the housekeeper’s quarters.

  The room was small, dreary, and reeked of lemon Pledge. The mocha-colored blanket matched the carpet so well that it looked as if it was floating. The walls were a dull brown and the wooden dresser could have been from her college dorm.

  She stacked her belongings in the corner, trying to take up as little space as possible. She wanted to be invaluable, but invisible, like her seat-filling job.

  “Sorry if it seems, I don’t know, uncomfortable,” Joy said, getting Franny a fresh towel. “My aunt’s been saying she’ll redecorate for years now. It’s just that Simon’s set up in the guest room…”

  “No. It’s fine. I’m just glad to be here.” She sounded like an idiot. “I mean, this is really decent of you.”

  “Nonsense. What are neighbors for? See you in the morning.” And then she was gone.

  She changed into a T-shirt and jeans since she hadn’t packed any sleepwear. She opened a window, got into bed, worried that too much dust or dirt would come in, and not wanting to disrupt anything more than she already had, closed it. There was nothing to stare out at since the room faced the back, nothing that seemed familiar.

  She was still tossing and turning at 2:43 a.m. She was going to watch TV, but thought the set might be up against the wall to Joy’s aunt’s bedroom and was fearful of waking them. Frustrated, she sat in one of Simon’s tiny chairs in the kitchen, a white sheet of paper staring blankly in front of her. Finally, she wrote the words “Future Plans” at the top. The writing looked foreign to her at this hour. The words did too, as if they were misspelled, even though she knew they weren’t. The pen wasn’t hers, the paper didn’t have her name on it, even the kitchen seemed somehow dizzying. She added “Join a book club.” Then “Find a movie group. See more off-Broadway plays. Fill house with fresh flowers. Eat better—only organic. Learn to cook a new dish each month.” She ended with “Meet men. Have children. Make a better life.”

  She was up before anyone and by 8:00 a.m. had stripped the bed, emptied out the dishwasher, and made coffee and tea. She hoped she’d be invited to join the morning’s outing at the Thompson’s hotel suite in the Four Seasons. She tried calling the building but got a busy signal, and it was too early to phone the other homeless tenants.

  She heard Simon’s padded feet before he leaped into the kitchen. He was happy to see her and outstretched his arms in order to be lifted up.

  “You’re still here,” he proclaimed. “Cookie Monster says I like cookies.”

  “Me too,” she said, kissing his cheek.

  “Who d
oesn’t?” Chuck added. She handed him a filled coffee mug. “I didn’t know how you take it.” She pointed to the milk and sugar she’d laid out on the table. “And juice or milk for Simon?”

  “Juice, juice,” he said.

  She had prepared one of each, waiting in freshly washed sippy cups. She was midreach to Simon when Chuck intervened. “Milk in the morning.”

  “Juice, juice,” Simon screamed, stamping his foot. She could see Chuck‘s annoyance.

  “Joy’s showering,” he said, handing Simon his drink.

  “Great.” There was a long pause. “So, any stock tips?” The words fell out of her mouth. She could tell Chuck hated small talk.

  “Not really.”

  She waited for him to say something else, and when he didn’t, they both stirred their coffee, spoons clanking loudly against the ceramic.

  “So, what are your plans?” he finally spit out.

  “I’ve left a message for my parents and my aunt, whose home I’m supposed to go to, but I don’t know if they’ve tried to phone back. I’m not getting reception on my cell and there’s still no power at the apartment so I don’t know if they’ve left a message. They thought I was coming tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow she would pack another bag, take the Metroliner, and wait to see if her uncle would arrive on time, or if he would make her wait in the station on Thanksgiving while he waited for halftime or one more tackle before leaving the house. She almost couldn’t bear to see herself sitting next to her aunt’s widowed friend, or her uncle’s bachelor fishing buddy who’d put his hand on her knee during Christmas one year.

  Chuck nodded. Both sipped coffee.

  Joy appeared, her hair still wet. Franny handed her a cup of tea. “Peppermint, right? That’s what you had last night, so I figured that’s what you drink.”

  Joy smiled and they clinked glasses. Everything would be fine.

  It was almost 9:00 a.m. when Franny emerged from the shower. She had a moment of panic, a thought that maybe they had left without her and she’d be stuck, unsure of what to do. She’d find a note on the kitchen counter, next to the list she had made regarding her life. “Great having you here. Leave the room as it is, the housekeeper will clean it when my aunt gets back. Just close the front door behind you when you’re ready to go. Best, Joy.” She dressed hurriedly and found everyone in the den, Chuck on the landline phone, Joy on her cell, Simon hypnotized by the TV screen. She almost cried when she saw them.

  Franny had eaten in the Four Seasons’ restaurant once, but had never stayed in any of the rooms. If she closed her eyes she could picture the hotel’s matches, which sat in a bowl on her coffee table. She always took two sets of fancy matchbooks or pretty magnets, one for her collection, the others to be mailed home in a monthly package to her parents, which contained postcards, pens, key rings, and other extras from the goodie bags she got from her award shows.

  Open and inviting, the hotel was all marble: marble floors, columns, archways, stairs. A swirl of browns and whites and grays making Franny instantly long to live here. She hoisted Simon up so he could press the twentieth floor button. Once the doors opened he ran down the hall calling for the twins, the adults trailing behind. Hello kisses were given, and though David seemed slightly surprised to find her in his hotel doorway, holding a diaper bag and standing next to Joy and Chuck, he sweetly invited her in.

  Randel had stopped by earlier for an apartment update and had already left to be with friends in the Village. She felt bad, as if she had missed out on something. Wes was still here too she bet. She thought of this as she sank into the room, getting high from seeing the same people in such a short time while taking in the comfortable, modern suite. Large bay windows made the room feel airy, and the high floor overlooked much of Manhattan. The couch, where the twins must have slept, was in pullout-bed formation. There was a desk, a pair of swivel chairs, and a glass coffee table. The main bedroom was sealed off by wood-and-glass-paneled doors.

  “The tub fills up in sixty seconds,” one of the twins shrieked, pulling Franny into the bathroom.

  “We take a bath this morning,” the other stated. “Put us in!”

  “Put me in, too. I want to go in,” Simon echoed.

  She lifted each child into the huge tub, arranged them in the traditional “hear, speak, and see no evil” formation, and called the adults to come and look. Within seconds, everyone was in the bathroom.

  “You know we got married here,” Catherine told her as someone pulled out a digital camera. “Both my brothers-in-law did, too.”

  “And my parents,” said David. “They met here. Well not here in this room, but at the hotel.”

  She loved hearing personal information from these people. It built a sense of history. At work, Franny could spend hours getting to know a total stranger intimately while waiting for seating arrangements or just going through a technical rehearsal. Now she felt this way with her neighbors. They had been through something together, survived a crisis. No matter what, they’d always have this.

  “Hey remember when…” Franny could say years later. By then her child would be a year or two. Her husband would be by her side. Simon and the twins would be starting nursery school or first grade. This time, they could order dinner for her, she would be the one David would call for gift suggestions for Catherine. She’d already know what Catherine wanted, have a little cheat sheet she made from times she commented on what she liked as the two went window shopping. Maybe one of them would introduce her to a friend of theirs, making the courtship even sweeter. She’d be easily accepted, welcomed in with open arms. They could hang out at each other’s apartments, like her old dorm days, no locks on doors, each apartment an extension of someone else’s. All that was missing from the Thompson’s suite was a roaring fire and a Trivial Pursuit game. Maybe a New Year’s ball to drop and Dick Clark’s irritatingly saccharine voice wishing them all health and happiness.

  “Has anyone seen Wes?” she asked.

  Catherine shrugged and looked to her husband for an answer or confirmation.

  “I think so,” David volunteered. “We spoke with him last night. We could call the front desk and find out.” As he moved toward the phone, Franny started to panic. Since she’d only been in the room for five or ten minutes, it was a gamble leaving so soon. They would probably talk about her once she left, but finding Wes seemed far more important.

  “I’m wondering,” she said, “if the damage is substantial enough maybe the insurance company would pay for a short-term stay. Perhaps the hotel would give us a group rate depending upon the number of nights we’d be staying and the number of rooms we’d need.”

  They all looked at her.

  “Why don’t I speak with someone downstairs to see if that’s possible.” She really hadn’t contributed much. Making a silly cup of coffee in the morning was pittance in comparison to the others.

  “I’ll be right back.” She left her purse on the chair and strode boldly to the door, then waited in the hallway for a moment, ear pressed to the wall, trying to catch some dialogue, but everything sounded muffled.

  “Hi. Who can I speak with regarding a short- or long-term stay for a group of people?” she inquired to the pale-looking woman whose name tag read ANNE. She appeared nice enough. Tall, thin, tired. She wondered who stayed here over the holidays and if they get paid time and a half. Maybe this should be her new line of work. She was barely getting by on what she made now. Her days busily empty, her evenings unimportantly filled. It was time for stability. For friendly officemates, a structured environment, and a normal life.

  Franny told Anne about her recent plight, leaving out the information about the sex on her floor, and the list she had made late last night, or early this morning.

  “My God, that’s terrible,” Anne said, and then she seemed momentarily frozen. As if Franny had lost her somewhere in her long-winded story. She thought she saw her lips move slightly, but no sound came out.

  “So I was wondering if you had
a package or discount program you offer. You know, for people who stay for a week or even a month. Is that kind of thing even available?”

  Anne nodded. “Thirty vs. thirty. If you’re staying thirty days or more, a thirty percent discount is given along with a lovely welcoming basket. We also offer a packing and unpacking program.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We can arrange for housekeeping to unpack for you and then pack when you’re ready to leave.” She watched the woman’s quick and efficient movements as she looked up the information on the computer and then printed it out for her.

  “Oh,” Franny added nonchalantly, “I was wondering if you could tell me what room Mr. Bater is in. He’s part of our group.”

  “I can call up to the room for you…” the woman was in middial when Franny stopped her.

  “I think he might be sleeping,” she said. “If you’ll just tell me his room number.”

  The woman frowned, pressed her lips together while trying to smile, and tilted her head slightly to the left. “I’m sorry. I can’t give that information out. I can only ring the guest for you. It’s policy.”

  “Look, a lot of us might be staying here for a long time. All I’m asking for is some help. He’s not going to care if you tell me.” Perhaps she should have mentioned the sex part. Hell, she should have said she was his girlfriend or wife. “Mr. Bater is going to be really mad if he misses some important information because”—she looked at the woman’s tag again—“Anne, you didn’t give me his room number.”

  She could see the woman’s face starting to redden. She bit on her lower lip, and then mumbled something Franny couldn’t make out. “Look, none of us have slept much. I don’t even know if I’ve got a home to go back to. Please.”

 

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