Smith feeling the chill of stone strike up the bottom. Stood raising parcel to his arm, waving to taxies. Then stopping, turning, to climb into a jaunting car.
Promoting a brief friendly altercation with the driver, who gesticulated with his whip. A brand new bank note sparkling in the air. And they were jaunting up the avenue. Coachman telling Smith what happened to the horseshit. A little old lady comes late each evening and collects it for her sky garden.
At each hotel, stopping. Smith dismounting, pulling up a few corners of linen hanky in his dark suiting, another tucked up his sleeve. Foolishly in each lobby. Her Majesty the Queen, please. Eyebrows raised. Twice Smith slipping between the evening cocktail faces. Eyes staring after him as he lowered a brandy for the road. And once next to a dowager encrusted in gems, for one second through the dark light it could have been Her Majesty. Madam, may I trespass upon your buoyant property, God just told me it was mine.
"Why don't you give up mister. We've been to ten hotels. My horse is tired. Street's tough on his hoofs. I'm going to have a lame horse."
A note flashed crisply. Once more silence. Except for the clip clop. Odd waves from pedestrians. So many-fellow men about with vibrant lightheartedness. In the next hotel and bar, I vouch the clientele will merge into one big sigh of happiness.
"Mister this is positively the last. Look where I am. This is a berg."
"Are you unhappy."
"Yeah. My horse's feet hurt. I could be held up and robbed in this part of town."
In front of a grey stone building. A faded canopy out to the curb. A bronze plaque. Dim dark interior. Smith slipping across one more note to the horseman. And another asking him to wait. George reeling quietly through the heavy revolving doors into this elderly place. Little parcel held on his arm. To tip toe across the fat carpet and whisper boo at the reception desk. A balcony round the lobby with little tables, chairs and lamps. Doorman passing by with a miniature dog. Take it out to pee. That tiny canine would have been one mouthful for Goliath.
"Can I help you sir."
Smith looking out at the eyes. Holding the counter with uncertain hands. Mouth opening and closing. Eyes fixed on all the hanging keys. To open doors. Shirl seems to stand somewhere behind this desk. With her unlit heart. However cold you get, remember me. Gripped in solitude. There can't be a jamboree all the time.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you."
Smith swaying backwards. Surveying a potted palm. A forecourt, a little fountain. Drapes drawn on windows. Tall grey woman passing, silver sandals poking out under her gown. Marble cornices on the balcony. Across the soft distance of this lobby a green carpet disappearing under closed mirrored doors. Smith delicately separating the strings of his paper bag across his forearm. Focusing eyes once more. To the pigeon holes, brass numbers and red white and blue edges of foreign mail.
"Are you all right, sir."
Smith a feeble smile and wave of his hand. Life is made up of a lot of immediate events. Must not sidle across and pee upon that potted palm. Or with the handy screwdriver I happen to have in my pocket go over and unfasten the doorknobs to the ball room. How dare you keep such things there. To think it was only yesterday I distinctly heard a man walking by say he had the whole world under contract. Naturally I stopped him and asked if I could buy a piece. Regrettably to find he had only a three month option.
"Look mister, I don't know who you are."
"I'm drunk."
"At least you're honest."
Smith turning to a rustle of dresses for evening. Four pastel colored girls and three dark suited men. Clean and scented. All so elegant. Please let me come with you. Just to sit quietly by. To watch, listen, laugh. Lift me out of the dark abyss. Take me back into my own foolish life of youth before I wisely made money. A little of it in this parcel. To scatter around this lobby. Can't you see I'm Smith. The big maple, once an acorn. Desperate to be the oak Miss Tomson whispered.
"Perhaps sir, you've got a reservation."
"Perhaps sir, you've got "Perhaps I haven't."
"What have you got."
"I beg your pardon. Are you being forward."
"Sir, I'm trying to be of assistance."
"Her Royal Huzzy the Queen."
"I beg your pardon, sir."
"I wish to be connected."
"Have you a prior connection."
"I beg your pardon."
"Sir, I mean are you expected."
"You're joking, she's not here, bell boy."
"I'm not joking. I'm not a bell boy. And are you expected sir."
"I am unexpected."
"Now please."
"I am a lamb's kidney. Several people have been now clouted into the tracks. If we keep hitting them there, there will finally be respect, courtesy and kindness for millionaires. Now get me a bottle of brandy and two glasses and we'll have a drink."
"I can't do that sir. This is not the bar."
"Do you want me to buy this hotel and reshuffle the staff. Now get that brandy. I'm going to take the heights tonight. Huge deployment of armour on both my flanks. Commandeer this reception desk. Gee, I feel champion."
"Now sir."
"Then take the balcony. Let the howitzers howl. Adjutant."
"Look mister, I don't know who you are."
"I know who you are. Adjutant. At nine you check the mail waiting feverishly for the first coffee break. Then rustle through the few blank papers and sneak away to the washroom for a cigarette."
"I certainly do not."
"Adjutant. Silence. Then you make a few personal phone calls before lunch. Get back in time for the afternoon coffee break. Make two erasures before five. Time for pot roast at the automat just round the corner. Then read a questionable book on the night shift which was found left in a room by the chambermaid."
"I never have."
"Attention. How dare you back chat a commanding officer."
"I'm not. I'm trying to be of assistance. Is it you want to be accommodated."
"I want the moral fibre of staffs everywhere to hold up under the strain of trying to seize opportunities for advancement."
"Sir, you mustn't shout."
"I want to reverse the decline. Rebound to boom. Land in a field of golden sneezeweed."
"Sir I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. I must hand over now to the manager."
"I asked for her royal high jinks. This dreadful up-creep of unhappiness. In the bag here I have enough toadstools of the green yellow and red variety with the purple dots to poison this evening's menu."
"Sir maybe you want an invalid requisite or something. Our manager is coming."
Smith rearing to attention. Appearance of a dark portly person. Hair sharply parted near the middle. Flat fat fingers, bubbling at the ends, drowning tiny fingernails. Both these hands spread before George Smith on the counter. And a little bow. Smith's visage chill and remote.
"Good eveningsir. Good to see you."
"Hello."
"Nice to see you again, sir."
"You've never seen me before."
"Ah but I have. The brandy is on its way. And you will be pleased to hear we have not just made it in the back room. Please be my guest."
"Well. I can see your ancestors did not come from a stock that would make one wonder."
"You are too kind, Mr. Smith. But I always try to feel important, handsome, well dressed. As you are this evening."
"You too are too kind."
"What shall we drink to Mr. Smith."