Chapter

 27

The curtains of a hotel can mean the difference between starting your day in an “up” or a “down” mood. I considered why the color green (Holiday Inn’s sage green) filtering the early sunrise was so disturbing. It wasn’t that the color itself was so bad. Last night it had been rather soothing to the eye. But, this morning, the mixture of the sun’s red, layered through the smoky air of Queens to the east, pushing its way across the city’s east side and filtering its way through my west side window, well, the end result was a dirty dishwater color spilling across the bleached white of my bed. It served its purpose, I guess, because I couldn’t lie there and deal with it very long. Like a “snooze” button on the clock radio, after a while, you can’t take the prodding any longer and you roll out. If it hadn’t been the light, the knock at the door as I made my way to the bathroom would have done the job.

“Housekeeping,” came the warning from the other side.

While I jumped to grab my pants, keys rattled, my lock was tumbled, and the door pushed open the three inches a chain allowed.

“Hey,” I said, “How about knocking again first.”

“Just checkin’. Now that you’re up, want me now or in fifteen?” she bellowed.

I looked at my watch. It was 7:45. As I edged the door shut, I answered, “I’d like you after I shower, if that’s okay, ma’am.”

“Hey,” she toyed back from the other side, “before or after. Either way you want it makes me happy. You be cleaned up in thirty?”

“I should be out by then, yes.  Thank you for your consideration.”

“Good, ‘cause my floor is crawlin’ with you guys this morning. Must be a convention or somethin’, right? Have a nice shower.  Oh, and be careful. Cold sometimes turns hot.  They’re tryin’ to fix it, but, hey, its New York.”

I shuffled to the bathroom. As I opened the door and switched on the light, I suddenly understood the little bellman’s ceremony the night before. The hotel’s half-inch crawling residents were holding a convention of their own it seemed. The blast of light threw the roaches into a panic and two maybe three seconds later, all that was left was one die-hard who was determined to fully complete his dining experience on a tiny crumb lying next to the coffee maker before making his departure. I couldn’t figure if he was a retard or courageous beyond comprehension. The light bulb looming above him had to be one of his most feared enemies, next to the bellman of course. One part of me wanted to prove him right with a slam of my hand; another part hesitated and thought a moment about what constituted proper conduct in situations like this...proper conduct for Charles. I actually hadn’t any memory of confronting a cockroach like this before, so as he took his time to finish the purpose of his journey.  From God knows where, I thought of my own journey, my own purpose. Was it much different? I was here to satisfy my own kind of hunger. I was alone. And I was sure I would, before it was all over, be looking up at some nemesis of my own, making up my mind whether to run or hold my ground. I slowly knelt down to eye level and took a closer look. I felt better, having allowed him to finish his goal. As he rubbed his antennae together, he turned, gave me a glance and without any concern, slowly moved away, down into the sink basin, disappearing into the over flow drain. I stayed there a moment and contemplated what this little experience meant, if anything. What would Mathews think of a patient that found himself unexpectedly contemplating intellectual and spiritual value in a cockroach? This couldn’t be normal by most standards. He might just throw in the towel and consider me too far over the edge. The thought of being out of control wasn’t making the anticipation of today any easier. I turned on the shower and waited until it was very hot.

By the time I had stepped out of the shower, the lethargy of my pores had been tortured to life. The extended hot and cold bursts I had subjected my body to, had, if nothing else, prepared me for the housekeeper, if she returned on time. My running late would definitely not sit right with her.

I quickly dried my hair and threw on a clean T-shirt and pullover. I checked the time.  It was 8:10.

As I slipped into my pants and shoes, I thought again why I had chosen to confront myself this way. I felt like I didn’t have a choice anymore. Somewhere back there at the cove it happened. Something snapped in me; some ‘thing’ was now compelling me to be completely honest with myself, whatever the price. I felt a certain way, and I was going to be that certain way. I knew my behavior was irrational to some, but to me it was right. It was me.

As I backed into the hall, locking the door and repeating the simple phrase of reinforcement, “This is me, this is me, this is me,” the housekeeper gave me a peculiar glance, even for someone who had probably seen it all.

I fled the hall and dashed for the open elevator, entering with another passenger who was obviously in a hurry as well. She wasn’t even fully dressed, still slipping on her spiked heels and fumbling with her purse.

Going down I felt better. At least I was the sanest person in the elevator. This woman took only three or four seconds to gaze into her purse and realize things weren’t as she had thought they should be.

“Son of a bitch. No good son of a bitch. Even lost my fuckin’ contacts for that kinky fuck...his card’s expired,” she said while squinting at the American Express Platinum card she had lifted from her purse. Pointing, she said “Tell me that fuckin’ little date is last month. Tell me I been fucked.”

I tried to oblige her by confirming the date. That’s not what she wanted to hear. She started punching the buttons to go back up, but we were destined to be companions for the rest of the ride down.

She kept repeating her unhappy state with, “Fuckin’ fat fuckin’ Fucker. Fuck. Ain’t this a fucking bitch. My fuckin’ John’s gonna have my fuckin’ ass if...Why this fuckin’ elevator so fuckin’ slow?”

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to whisper. “Guess it’s fucked too.”

“Figures...this whole hotel is fucked!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. Definitely an unhappy lady, or whatever the proper word might be for her in this town. “Time to find a new home away from fuckin’ home.”

My exit was quick, as she had her hand pressed solidly against the up button. As a meek looking gentleman started to enter, I could hear behind me, “Where the fuck you think you’re going?” and the ka-slush of the elevator doors shutting again. I had to let out a smile at least as I turned to see the man stupefied, slowly turning to his right then left, not believing what had just happened. I felt like my day’s experiences were already into bonuses and it was only 8:20.

I started the walk cross-town, settling into a very different state of mind. Mathews had mentioned Sobel remaining in town at least through today.  A quick call to her company and a willing receptionist confirming she was in the office, but totally booked…”  If I had called her personally beforehand, she could have had time to prepare. I didn’t want that. I wanted her to see me without any warning. I was prepared for the worst and I wasn’t planning to play games with her. I was going to let her know everything that had happened. I was going to introduce myself as Charles. She would have to convince me I was Charlie.

Entering her office building, I was at ease, confident I could carry out my goal. I thought one last time of what was at stake. I reviewed all my options, trying to avoid the ones available to a man worth millions. I tucked in my T-shirt. I felt right, very right, then....

As the elevator carried me closer to her floor, I thought I heard...ever so faintly…a low, very low voice, whispering something…something I couldn’t understand, or maybe

didn’t want to understand. The elevator stopped. The doors opened. I stepped out into the reception area of what felt like a small rotunda. I could see to the left the long hall Mathews had described and walked only a few days earlier. Another small prayer came to my lips.

The receptionist raised her head from the protective crescent barrier that housed her control station. And control she had. There was a switchboard to her left that rivaled the gadgetry of a 747 cockpit. To her right, several electronic Rolodex and two computers, each with their own hi-def flat screen monitor. Behind her, an orbital shaped logo encircling a translucent globe. “D.S.R. INTERNATIONAL.” I wondered if the “S.” in the logo was for Sobel.

“May I help you?” came the greeting from Miss Control. She even looked like she belonged on the Starship Enterprise. Her severe suit, severely carved hairdo, and her even more severely studied voice, the voice I’d first heard on Mathews’ tape he’d shared with me, gave the distinct impression my T-shirt and chinos would get me nowhere, unless...

“Yes,” I said in as humble a way as possible without sounding phony. “Could you please tell Lauren that Charlie’s son is here to see her.”

She gave me another scrutinizing look and repeated, “Charlie?  She’ll know who…”

I smiled as graciously as I could.  “She’ll know.”  I sat down and picked up a magazine, taking as natural and least threatening a pose as I could muster up. If this “keeper of the gates” was going to buy into my game, I knew I had to look harmless and legitimate, hard elements to combine and make work in Manhattan. I didn’t dare look back up. I thumbed through the magazine, The Harvard Business Review no less, waiting to hear her voice on the phone to Sobel. Finally, the message was relayed. Now the delicate part. I hadn’t planned on saying I was Charlie’s son. Inexperience, I guess. I was still determined she not prepare to meet Charlie. Being confronted by such an intimidating guard had spawned the flash of what at the time seemed like an inspired smoke screen. Now, it was creating a lethal cloud in my thoughts. I had not only created an awkward moment, but a dishonest one, and I wasn’t even in her office yet. I didn’t want to resort to any more weaknesses.  Damn, I thought.  I don’t feel Charles is dishonest.  Damn, damn, damn.

I thumbed through the magazine like some speed-reading honor student. I’m sure if I looked up, the sentinel would have had a perplexed look on her face. But I wasn’t about to look up. Not until I was hearing the gasping voice of Sobel as she would undoubtedly sound as she walked through the heavy glass door to see who in the hell was saying they were Charlie’s son. Mathews gave me the impression that she thought she was the one and only serious woman in Charlie’s life.  A son?  That could totally freak her out.

The door opening came and as expected, “Char… MY GOD!”

I looked up.  Sobel, her face a whirlwind of confusion was about to say something, when I jumped up.  I know, this must be a surprise.  Could we talk in your office?”

I don’t know who was more confused at that moment, Sobel or the now disarmed sentry. But while they were both dealing with their respective confusions, I stood, put my arm around Sobel and in as gentlemanly a manner as she’d probably ever been treated, escorted her through the door and down the long hallway to where I hoped was her office. Even though she wore the smile befitting her position, her hushed voice, complimented by an out of breath, just short of hyperventilating sound as we walked. “Jesus, Charlie. You’re good at aliases, but don’t scare me again with something like this. Okay?”