Jake debated saying something for a moment and then decided not too—not in the waiting room of a rental car agency anyway. “All right,” he said. “I guess we got no choice. I called and let Pauline know what was up. I’ll update her where we’re staying when we get there.”
Celia nodded. “Let’s go check out our suite then. They say it’s ready for occupancy as soon as we get there.”
“Let’s do it then,” Jake said.
They walked out to the rental car, stowed Celia’s new guitar in the trunk, and then headed for the Portland riverfront. As they drove, the rain started to fall and it began to get very cold.
Pretty soon, it would start to snow.
Chapter 18: What Happens in Portland...
Portland, Oregon
December 19, 1993
The Sheraton Presidential Suite was not the most opulent hotel room that Jake or Celia had ever stayed in, but it was still pretty damn nice. It featured a large sitting room with a fold-out couch, several claw-foot sitting chairs, and a fully stocked (but not complimentary) wet bar. The windows were large and looked out to the south, over the downtown area and the bridge over the Willamette River. The bedroom was large and had a King-sized bed, a fireplace, and a master bath with a sunken hot-tub. It was advertised that from the bedroom window, Mount Hood could be seen, although that was not the case currently since the sky was cloudy and gray and spitting a mixture of rain and snow that was blown by the ever-increasing winds.
“Not bad,” Jake commented as he checked the place out.
“Yeah, it’ll do,” Celia agreed. “Do you want the bedroom?”
Jake shook his head. “You paid for the room, you get the bedroom,” he told her.
She smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. If it’s all right with you, the first thing I’m going to do is catch a nap on that big-ass bed. I’ve been up since five-thirty, I still have a little hangover left from the day before yesterday, and I almost got killed in a plane crash a few hours ago.”
“You did not almost get killed,” Jake told her.
“Let me have almost getting killed,” she insisted. “It makes a better story.”
“All right,” Jake said with a sigh. “You were almost killed. Only my heroic flying skills managed to bring our crippled plane back down in one piece. Sound good?”
“It sounds magnifico,” she told him. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go downstairs and buy some clothes,” he said. “It’s possible I might’ve soiled these a bit when that bird hit the plane.”
“Really?” she asked.
“No, not really, but I’m tired of wearing these jeans and this shirt. And I’m a rich motherfucker, so it’s easier for me to buy new shit instead of washing the old shit when I’m stuck in a strange city I didn’t bring luggage to.”
“Does that happen to you a lot?”
“You’d be surprised,” Jake said.
He took his keycard with him and went down to the lobby, which was fairly crowded with people. He managed to pick up a toothbrush, some toothpaste, and a stick of Old Spice deodorant in the sundries shop without anyone realizing who he was. As soon as he went into the clothing store, however, someone recognized his face and, after Jake confirmed he was indeed the Jake Kingsley, he was quickly mobbed by people asking for autographs, asking what he was doing in Portland, asking if he had any concert tickets, asking when his next album was coming out. He signed pieces of paper and answered inane enquiries for the better part of twenty minutes before he was able to finally pick out a couple pairs of slacks, three new shirts, a few pairs of underwear, and a pair of sweat pants. He tried none of these items on, going strictly by sizes, and paid for it all with his bottomless credit card. As she bagged up his items for him, the clerk—who was rather cute in an exotic way—made a point to let him know that her shift ended at 5:00 PM and she would be happy to join him in his hotel room and “see what develops”.
“Thanks for the offer, hon,” he told her, “but I don’t think my girlfriend would approve.”
“Are you still with that saxophone player?” the clerk asked, distaste and disapproval clearly in her voice. “I heard you and she broke up a few months ago.”
“You heard wrong,” he assured her, grabbing his bag. “Have a nice evening. And drive safe. It’s kind of nasty out there.”
“Okay,” she said, disappointed. “I’m here until five if you change your mind,” she called after him.
He rode the elevator back to the top floor and used his keycard to reenter the suite. The door to the bedroom was closed so he took his purchases into the second bathroom, which had its own tub and shower combo with jacuzzi jets. He had planned to simply take a shower, but seeing the large tub and its jets, he decided a little water therapy was in order instead. He turned on the taps and quickly adjusted the temperature to as hot as he thought he would be able to stand. While it was filling, he walked back into the main room of the suite and quickly fixed himself a potent rum and coke in the largest glass he could find. He looked at his construction thoughtfully for a moment and then mixed another just like it. It wasn’t like he was going to be flying a plane anytime soon. He carried both drinks into the bathroom with him, closed the door, and then stripped off his clothes and settled in for a nice soak. Once he was in the water, he turned on the jacuzzi jets and let them spray on his tense shoulders and neck while he sipped his drinks and pondered the day’s events.
The second drink was almost empty and he had just finished warming the water back up when there was knock on the door.
“Jake,” Celia called. “Are you in there?”
“I am,” he yelled back. “Just having a little soak and drink session.”
“Sounds like fun,” she said. “I’m going to head downstairs and do a little shopping myself. Be back in a bit.”
“Okay,” he said, “but be advised, there’s a lot of people down there and I got mobbed. Keep a low profile.”
“Will do,” she said. “Hopefully nobody will put two and two together when they see me and realize we’re here together.”
“Hopefully,” Jake said, although he thought that was doubtful. How often did two celebrities show up at this hotel on the same day—especially two celebrities it was known had some sort of relationship with each other? The best they could probably hope for was that no one would realize they were sharing a room.
“Enjoy your bath,” she told him.
“I already am,” he replied. “And if the clerk in the clothing store tries to invite herself up here, tell her no. I already turned her down once.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.
Jake finished the rest of his second drink—he was feeling nice and mellow now and had been able to put the day’s events into perspective—and then turned off the jets and released the drain on the tub. He quickly showered, using the complimentary soap and the complimentary shampoo and conditioner and then, after drying off, he brushed his teeth using his new toothbrush and toothpaste and then applied some of his new deodorant to his armpits. He then put on some of his new clothes—a pair of tan slacks and a black button-up shirt. When he emerged from the bathroom, he felt reasonably human again.
He went immediately to the bar and mixed up another rum and coke. When one had to make an emergency landing of one’s plane, that was a good reason for one to indulge a bit. And the bar was stocked with top-shelf shit too. He settled into one of the claw foot chairs and used the remote control to turn on the television. The news was on. There was nothing about his incident at the airport, just a lot of coverage about the storm that was still building in intensity outside.
“Jesus,” Jake muttered. “You’d think it’s never snowed here before.”