Heart Song Anthology

by Carolyn Faulkner

  This February, however, there are no races or festivals. There are no weddings or parties scheduled. This has not, however, deterred the staff from tastefully decorating to the nth degree. Red bows and candles adorn vertical and horizontal surfaces. Whimsical cupids point golden arrows from bookshelves and atop the antique piano with its “Please do not play” sign, as well as the grand piano which is in use almost daily.

  A twenty-foot Christmas tree still graces the corner by the entrance to the grand ballroom which is neither grand nor hosting a ball, its ornaments replaced with hearts and red and white lights only. In a few weeks, it will be covered with pastel eggs for Easter. No matter the time of year, the tree is a constant for the simple reason that it is so big no one wants to tackle the chore of taking it down, only to put it up again in less than a year – the Christmas season seeming to grow longer every year. Crosby folks are practical, if nothing else.

  Weekends, the restaurant opens for a mediocre buffet lunch that is loyally frequented by locals and hotel guests. And as indicated by Doug Danvers’ sweet tooth and frequent request, it is known for excellent pie.

  3

  Just Another Afternoon at Work

  Carla Danvers clocked in, glanced over notes on her desk, and frowned at the clock on the wall beside her desk inside the Royal’s lobby. For the next twelve hours she was the sole proprietor of the hotel. It was a post she enjoyed, even at times like this when the rest of her shift seemed to stretch out before her like an endless highway. She had never seen one of those kapok-loving bats in all her years of working there, staying inside as she did.

  She had never seen a ghost, either, although there was an occasional report. Strange noises. A flickering of lights. No-nonsense Carla would listen and smile as someone, round-eyed, burbled on about a misty character moving down the long hallway, odd sounds in the high ceiling overhead, or a rush of cold air. She didn’t have the heart to discount these enthusiastic overtures as the utter nonsense she believed them to be. As in other areas, discretion was called for.

  It was only late morning, but Carla yawned. She had not slept well. She had not slept well in quite a while, a change she attributed to Doug’s lack of interest. If he’d be a bit more amorous, she thought, want more physical activity, she would sleep better. They’d never been athletic lovers, certainly, but any activity would be welcome these days.

  Carol rubbed her tired eyes without fear of smearing her makeup. Oh naturale worked for her at the hotel and while playing golf (her passion), attending church (an interest), or out on the town with Doug, an increasingly infrequent event. Doug, Doug, Doug, she thought with a sigh. Would it be thirty-three years this year or thirty-four? She’d lost track.

  Carla glanced at the calendar by her desk. Down the hall was the business office, but that was mostly used for staff meetings and such, when they didn’t want to be in the public view. She could hire someone else to fill shift slots such as this one which would free her to focus on administration, she supposed, but she loved interacting with guests.

  February 13. Ha! Friday the thirteenth. Not that she was superstitious. Life in Crosby wasn’t exciting enough for that sort of thing. Same old life for her, that was for sure. It was unlikely that anything extraordinary would transpire in the Danvers household any time soon. No surprises. Nothing to rock the proverbial boat. Put in the time until retirement, then more time for golf. And, she supposed, for church and her husband. She wasn’t looking forward to him being underfoot all the time. He probably felt the same way about her.

  “Hmph,” Carla said aloud. It suddenly dawned on her that Doug’s suggestion that they sleep in separate rooms checked the box for her mental list. It would certainly rock her boat. Maybe I should just leave him. I’m still young enough to find someone else, if he doesn’t want me. She looked over the bookings and smiled. She’d been right – the Farmers had made a reservation for two nights. She looked forward to seeing them again.

  One sees a lot and hears a lot in the hotel business, but the Farmers were Carla’s idea of perfect guests. They were polite, friendly, attractive, always holding hands as they walked through the lobby. Even the housekeepers had noticed them, for two very different reasons: their bed always looked extremely well used and they always left a generous tip when they checked out.

  “What do you mean ‘well used?’” Carla had asked the first time it was mentioned. “All our beds are well used. People sleep in them. Isn’t that what beds are for?” From her own years as a housekeeper, she knew exactly what was implied, but it amused her to watch the girl blush.

  The young Hispanic woman’s face had turned a deep crimson as she chattered something in Spanish to her fellow housekeeper which sent the pair into a fit of giggles. “Oh, Señora. The Farmers’ bed, they do mucho more than sleep!”

  As she checked the last shift’s paperwork for errors, Carla wondered what the Farmer’s secret was. She wondered about their story. Usually she was satisfied checking people in, checking people out, taking them up on the elevator if they requested it. She assumed the best of people, assumed (officially) that every couple was married, and hoped they were all happy – even while often seeing evidence to the contrary.

  No one, it seemed, was as happy as the Farmers were. They usually came separately. Scratch that. They always arrived separately. Sometimes one would wait for the other outside, at least in the beginning. For the last few years, though, they were such regulars that either one might check in, sign the register, and grab the room key. Sometimes when Mrs. Farmer arrived first, she would come down a bit later to wait for her husband with a cold beer.

  Mr. Farmer drove a distinctive convertible. His wife’s car was more nondescript. There was usually plenty of parking along Main Street, but as Carla checked her computer screen she thought, Maybe not today. Looks like we have a full house.

  During the day a few individuals checked in. Three or four families had booked suites for overnight or the weekend, possibly visiting grandparents or checking out the area before deciding to move there. Crosby was a pleasant place to live, she always told people who inquired. “I’ve lived here all my life,” she’d say cheerily. “Wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

  She would, however, trade the notion of separate bedrooms for a more intimate life with Doug almost anywhere. What went wrong? She knew the answer; she just didn’t like to think about it.

  Eight years earlier, their daughter had drowned. An accomplished waterskier, she’d been out with friends that day. It was an accident. No one’s fault. Just one of those tragic things that happens. Carla sometimes wondered if it would have been harder or easier, had there been someone to blame. She had embraced the grief, cried her eyes out, then attacked projects at the hotel with a vengeance, working the pain out physically while allowing her emotions to settle.

  Doug, being Doug, had pushed it all down. He never spoke of their precious Katie, never visited the cemetery. In the beginning, when their grief was so raw, he’d told her that having photos of Katie all over the house was difficult.

  “I agree. The only thing more difficult would be if we didn’t,” she’d told him. Maybe I should have taken them down, she thought. Maybe I wasn’t sensitive enough to his feelings. Maybe that’s when he stopped loving me, because it hurt so much to love Katie and then lose her.

  4

  Mr. and Mrs. Farmer

  Greta pulled off the road and into a convenience store parking lot to touch up her lipstick. She wore one of her favorite shades of pearly deep pink, but she didn’t have a signature shade like some of her friends. She was too pragmatic – whatever was on sale and wasn’t peachy was good enough. John told her she was complex the way she’d scrimp and save in some ways, but splurge on others, like these weekends. They were lifesavers, in her mind, nothing short of miraculous. Just to be away from the everyday stresses and time tables.

  She punched in his number on her cellphone and listened over the radio as the Bluetooth amplified the connection. She st
retched her neck this way and that to get the driving kinks out as she waited for him to take the call.

  “Hello?”

  After all these years, she thought, the sound of his voice still thrills me. “Hey, you. Where are you?”

  “My GPS says I’m five minutes away. How about you?”

  “Same. That will be a first, I think, if we walk in together. If your friend Carla’s working, she’ll be stunned.” They liked all of the Royal Poinciana’s staff, but over the years, Carla was the one with whom they’d had the most contact. She always laughed at John’s jokes.

  “I’m getting into some traffic. Better hang up. I love you,” John said. “I can’t wait to see you!”

  “I love you too,” Greta murmured. “It’s been too long. Two weeks are bad enough, but four? Intolerable.”

  “I agree. See you soon.”

  Greta peered at the lake as she turned onto Main Street in Crosby. A few picnickers, or maybe they were workers taking off early, were enjoying the park. Crosby had sections with very nice homes, but there were also plenty of pockets of low-price rentals that cried out for more attention. She had grown to love Crosby over the years, even though not a soul outside of the Royal knew she even existed.

  She was surprised to find all of the parking spaces in front of the hotel taken. Rarely had she parked behind the hotel, but it was a small matter, just a few more steps between her and sheer bliss. As she pulled into a parking space, John’s green convertible pulled in beside her. There was no mistaking it – she’d never seen any car of any make in quite that shade. Somewhere between lime green and aqua, the color suited him perfectly.

  As she pulled her suitcase from the trunk, John got out of the car and walked to her. “That can wait,” he said, taking her in his arms. They kissed a long time, unaware that a few students with rooms on the back side had stopped studying to watch. People might pass on nearby sidewalks. Cars might pull in or out of the parking lot. They had been apart for a month and they needed this kiss like a plant needs sunshine.

  Greta moaned a little as their lips touched, her hand moving from the suitcase handle to caress John’s neck, pull him even closer as her hips instinctively met his. “That’s better,” she said with a sigh when they parted for the moment.

  John returned to the trunk of the convertible, opening it and pulling out his own suitcase. When he set it down, he pulled on the front of his khakis and said with a grin, “I’d better settle down a bit before we go into the hotel.”

  Greta laughed. “Why, Mr. Farmer, I do declare. You’re being a bit presumptuous with that hard-on, aren’t you? Anyone might think you missed me!”

  “Not at all. But I did miss the sex!” He gave her bottom a swat as he passed her. “If you don’t behave, I’ll have to proposition Carla.”

  “That would make her year, I’ll bet.” The couple walked through the parking lot up the ramp to the back door of the Royal, where John held the door open for Greta. It was a warm February afternoon and the chill of the air conditioning was refreshing.

  At the sound of suitcase wheels on polished wood floor, Carla appeared from the back of the office to the front desk. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she called. “We haven’t seen you guys for a while!”

  “Too long! How have you been?” Greta’s smile was genuine. As anxious as she was to get upstairs and be alone with John, Carla’s thoughtfulness was always appreciated, especially the early check-ins and late check-outs that she issued. And it cost nothing to be friendly.

  Carla handed Greta the room key bearing the number 207. As long as they’d been coming here, paperwork was unnecessary. “Did you find a place to park out front? We’re pretty full, for a change.”

  Greta and John exchanged a look, nodding. “I see that,” Greta answered. “We parked in back. I don’t think that’s ever happened.”

  Carla held up a flyer from a stack on the front desk. “There’s an event this weekend in Sebring, if you’re interested. Big do at the circle downtown tonight, more tomorrow. Oh, and don’t forget there’s breakfast, six to nine.” She jotted a note to herself on a pad. “With this unusual crowd, I better tell the ladies to make sure it’s well-stocked.”

  Greta and John declined her offer of the elevator. It was a treasure with all of the original wood and polished trim, but they didn’t mind the exercise. In a way, it was part of the foreplay. When they were together, every minute was significant, even the walk up the stairs. The landing. The hallways. The sound of the key in the lock. Putting down their suitcases, closing the door. That exquisite moment when they were finally alone in the same room. To Greta, it was the best feeling in the world. Well, almost the best.

  John excused himself to use the connected bathroom after his trip. While she waited, Greta hung up her clothes in the little closet, turned the air conditioning down to more of a John-friendly level, then took the decorative pillows off the king-size bed and stacked them on the tufted settee beneath the wall of windows. She carefully took off her necklace, watch and bracelet in preparation for what she knew was in store.

  “Did you have a nice drive?” John asked as he came back into the room and washed up in the room’s sink. All the rooms seemed to be set up that way – toilet and shower or tub-shower in one room, with the sink in the bedroom itself. Different, old-fashioned, but with its benefits. Greta sometimes embraced him from behind as he shaved in the morning.

  “A patch of rain here and there. I got behind the slowest horse trailer known to man, but I made pretty good time. I listened to that CD you bought last month. I think I’ll just–” Greta passed him with a tender stroke to his arm and freshened up in the bathroom. Of all the rooms they’d stayed in at the Royal, this was one of her favorites. Plush with brocades and fleur-de-lis, the decor was not what she would choose for her own home, but for a few days, she enjoyed the elegance.

  Greta pulled a washcloth down from its neat place on the towel rod and carefully turned the Cold knob in the shower to lightly dampen it before wiping her neck. Stepping out of her panties, she freshened up her lady bits, as John called them. He enjoyed her particular scent and taste, but she always wanted to be at her best for him.

  When she opened the bathroom door, John was already under the sheets. His clothes were piled on top of his suitcase. “Well alrighty, then.” She shot him a grin as she pulled her dress over her head and unsnapped her bra.

  “You don’t mind?” John asked softly. “We could go grab something to eat first, if you–”

  Greta slid between the sheets and snuggled as close as she could get. “Are you kidding me? I can eat anywhere. This is what I’ve been needing – skin to skin with you again.” She lifted her head for a kiss as she placed a leg onto his hip.

  John’s hand cupped her buttocks as they kissed, their tongues exploring slowly as their hips began to move in anticipation. Suddenly, he slapped her rear. “Hey!” she said, frowning. “What was that for?”

  “For making me wait a whole month to taste you again,” he said.

  Greta sat partially up, leaning on one elbow with a pout. “I know. I’m so sorry about that. You begged off with that horrible cold. How could we know I’d have a flat tire the next week, followed by a rushed deadline? Believe me, I suffered as much as you. But we can make up for lost time now,” she said softly, moving under the sheet.

  Straddling his legs with her back to his face, she started at his feet, kissing them tenderly while she kneaded them with her hands. She kissed his calves, moving up his body until her crotch was above his penis. Taking it in one hand, she guided him inside and began rocking gently, folding her body over his legs so that she could lick them and nibble gently on his skin.

  John’s hands were everywhere within reach, caressing her back, her hips, her breasts. “Love?” he said after a few minutes, popping her on the behind again to get her full and immediate attention. “This will not do. I need to see you. Turn, please.”

  Without a word, Greta released hi
m from her body, shifted around and slid back over his erection. “Better?” she murmured.

  John smiled as she bent forward, supporting herself on her hands. “Better.” He grabbed one of the many pillows on the bed and propped it behind the one beneath his head. They had made love like this so many times, she knew exactly what he wanted.

  Greta reached behind his head and pulled the pillows up so that his mouth was positioned at her cleavage. Her head leaned back as he took one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking in rhythm with his thrusts. He wrapped his tongue under the hard, pink nipple, then brought his teeth to the skin just enough to produce a stronger sensation. Her rocking became faster.

  John’s mouth moved to the other breast, where he repeated the process. Greta arched her back as she submitted to her climax with a loud moan. She bent her head down for a passionate kiss, never slowing her rhythm. When a second orgasm overtook her, she cried out, “You’re even better than I remembered!”

  John pushed her onto her side, still deep within her. Lifting her outside leg, he thrust faster and harder until he climaxed, then pulled her on top of him again. Greta raised herself onto her hands as his rocking continued. “What are you doing?” she asked with a grin.

  “Nothing,” he teased. “You just stay right there while I play a little more.”

  His erection was no longer rock-hard, but it was hard enough. His hips moved more gently now as Greta’s hips shifted with a mind of their own. When they were in perfect position, she began to grind harder and harder, her clitoris kissing his pubic bone with exquisite intensity. When she came a third time, she laughed out loud, collapsing on his chest. “Now you’re just showing off!”

  They lay together, motionless, as their breathing slowed and quieted. When John turned her so that they were facing one another, his cock slipped out. Greta snuggled closer. “I love having you inside of me,” she whispered, “but he definitely deserves a rest.”