The Eleventh Floor

by Shani Struthers

  * * *

  It turned out that John was from the Deep South, near Memphis in fact, a town called Millington; his accent not initially giving that away, it was gentle, rather than defined.

  “You’re a long way from home,” Caroline said, in between thanking the waiter for bringing them a cafetiere and a large jug of water, and pouring for them both respectively.

  “Home does seem a long way,” he replied, so often staring into the distance or down at the glass he held in his hands. “I miss it.”

  It wasn’t a case of simply listening to John as she’d previously resolved to do; it was a case of working hard to get him to say anything at all. Caroline persevered because of the feeling she had inside – that whatever he was hiding was causing him great distress.

  “Never been to the South before, but it’s on my list of places to see. My mum was an Elvis fan you see, so was Dad come to think of it, his records were played a lot in our house when we were growing up. I’d love to go to Memphis, visit Graceland, Sun Records, you know, places like that, but I’d also like to see Nashville, the Carolinas, and Tennessee too. You read about Southern hospitality, is it all it’s cracked up to be?”

  Her words teased a smile from John. “It sure is, ma’am, there’s nothing else like it.”

  “You were talking about kids earlier, you got any?”

  Even as he answered the smile left him. “Two. A boy and a girl.”

  A glance at his left hand also told her he was married.

  “I miss ’em,” he continued, this time unprompted.

  “Are you travelling for work?”

  He took a sip of water. “No.”

  If it was for leisure, he looked far from relaxed. She had to do something to get him properly conversing, this man who seemed beaten by life. “Tell me about the South.”

  “The South? It’s… erm… hot, for a start.”

  She laughed. “I’ll bet it is.”

  “Even at this time of the year it’s pleasant outside, no snow or nothing. Well… nothing like this. Maybe an inch or two on occasion, but it’s rare.”

  “But in the summer, John?”

  “In the summer it’s sweltering. I don’t mind though, I love the heat, Southern heat that is – it’s like a lover, wrapping its arms around you and holding you close. And if you need cooling down, frozen lemonade does the job real good. My kids can never get enough of it. My wife makes sure to keep a batch in the fridge.” He faltered slightly at the mention of his wife, but then continued. “Southern hospitality you know about, but what you might not know is that most people who are born and bred there might not have much, not by your standards anyway, but they’d give you the shirt off their back if you needed it. They’re generous people, people with heart and soul. That’s where America’s soul is, you see, in the South. The further you travel from it, the less soul there is.”

  “You sure are selling it to me,” Caroline replied, as wistful as him suddenly.

  “The sound of the cicadas, the music in the air; there’s a rhythm that runs right through the landscape, that anyone can pick up on. You don’t have to be a Southerner, you just have to listen hard enough. And the countryside, it shimmers, like a mirage or something. Of course, it’s the heat that makes it do that, but it doesn’t matter, it’s still magical; stops you in your tracks wherever you are, takes your breath away. You know the best thing to do? Find a dirt track, a stretch of river, just your sweetheart and you, take a radio with you, and turn it up full blast. That’s what we used to do. And when the sun’s gone, the stars come out instead. But believe me, that’s no reason to get upset. They shine just as bright.”

  Caroline’s coffee cup was empty, so was his glass of water, but she didn’t want to alert John to this fact in case it stopped him talking. She held onto it instead, grateful that he needed very little prompting now, loving the sheer poetry of his words, the passion for the place he’d grown up in, wishing she felt even a quarter of that for her hometown.

  “I got married real young. I was nineteen, Ellie was eighteen, but we didn’t have kids right away, we worked hard first, wanted to provide for them, give them the best.”

  “What did you work as?”

  “I was in construction, Ellie was a school teacher, good jobs, good money coming in. And then the children came along, the greatest blessing of all.”

  “How old are your children now?”

  “Ben is ten and Maddie is twelve. Both got a mop of shiny blonde curls, just like their mother, and the bluest eyes you ever did see, like a cloudless sky on a summer’s day.”

  There he went again, getting poetic, it was clear he loved his family very much too.

  She had to ask. “John, why are you here?”

  “Here?” For a moment he didn’t seem to know where ‘here’ was.

  “At The Egress?”

  He lowered his head, began shaking again.

  Mentally Caroline kicked herself. I shouldn’t have asked.

  “John—”

  “My daddy, I hated him.”

  Caroline stared, unsure as to whether she’d heard correctly. “You hated your father?”

  “He was no good, a drunk, and a mean drunk at that. I was glad when he ran out on us.”

  All poetry, all wistfulness was gone.

  “But my mamma, she cried. Oh how she cried when he left, despite what he used to do to her. She was scared you see, of something bigger: how she was going to make ends meet with three kids to look after. She did find work eventually, she had to, but it broke her heart to be out of the house for so long, from early morning ’til dusk, and my two younger brothers running wild because of it. I tried to help, but I was young too. One of my brothers, Arley, he got into trouble with the law, bad trouble. And if her heart wasn’t broken before, it was then. And all because my daddy left, because he got in his car one night and he kept on driving, all the way to hell, I hope.”

  “Oh, John, I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t just his words that had shocked her; it was the pain with which they were delivered. She winced as he lifted his hand and chewed at nails that were already stumps.

  “Mamma didn’t last long after Arley got sent away. She was a proud woman, you see, Southerners are, and the shame of all that had happened… it finished her. No matter that no one judged her, that the people who mattered understood, tried to help her even. But pride stopped her from accepting that help. With Mamma gone, I had to find a way to help myself. I found myself a girl, my Ellie, had a family, and I swore I’d look after them, that I would always look after them. That I’d be twice the man my daddy was.”

  “It sounds as if you are, Jo—”

  Again John interrupted. “I’m not travelling for business or for leisure. I’ve left the South.”

  “You’ve left?” Caroline asked, stunned by this revelation. “But why?”

  John’s back straightened, almost in defiance, his hands lowered now but clasped together, his knuckles turning white. Eyeing Caroline once more, he opened his mouth to answer. “Because I’m not like my daddy, that’s why… I’m a whole lot worse.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Even though Caroline asked him to stay, John refused.

  “I’m going to my room,” he said. “I have to.”

  Still he was shaking, and his tongue kept darting out of his mouth as if to lick dry lips.

  “I’ll see you at dinner, perhaps,” Caroline called after him, but he didn’t turn, didn’t reply.

  She glanced at her watch. It was barely noon.

  In the time remaining, she wondered if she should she go outside again, breathe some fresh air. The snow was still deep, the sky still threatening, and the landscape more of a wasteland than ever, bleak as opposed to pretty, nothing enticing about it at all. She decided against it. Where was the fun of it, without David?

  Rising to her feet, Caroline sighed. She could understand Raquel’s boredom. If she worked full time in this place she was more trapped than any of them, having to
report for duty in all weathers. Where were all the guests? The lobby was bereft again, of everyone but them, people opting to lock themselves in their rooms rather than linger in open spaces.

  She had to do something to pass the time.

  Explore. That’s what she’d do. Avoiding the elevator, she headed towards the stairwell instead, which was located directly opposite it – hiding almost behind a set of double doors. Pushing them open, she encountered concrete treads edged with yellow safety stripes, its steel bannister plain rather than ornate. Purely functional, guests were clearly meant to avoid it, which wouldn’t be a problem if the elevator worked like it should. Before ascending, she looked downwards. The stairs to the basement were shrouded in darkness, an abyss; home to nothing but storerooms, electrics, and cobwebs she’d bet. There was a ‘Staff Only’ sign attached to the concrete overhang. They were welcome to it.

  Taking a deep breath, she started to climb, reaching the second floor and lingering outside 210. Should she ask Raquel if anyone was staying in it or if it was simply being renovated? If the latter, perhaps she could go inside, take a look. Leave it, Caroline; imagine how the room looks instead. She pondered that advice, and in the end agreed with it. If it was occupied, she didn’t want to see someone else’s belongings in place of her parents’, and if it had been renovated, then it would be a different room entirely. In the realms of imagination it was perennially warm and cosy, with her mother’s dresses hanging in the wardrobe, her father’s shoes neatly stowed there too, a packet of Lucky Strikes on the writing desk, and in the bathroom, so many of the lotions and potions that her mother loved. It was their room, their sanctuary, and although she might have been a part of it – if she’d been conceived there – she wanted it to remain that way.

  Back in the stairwell, she decided to avoid the third floor; she didn’t want to risk bumping into David, he might think she was stalking him. On the fourth, there were indeed signs that some updating was actually taking place – finally. In a storage area beside the stairwell, various decorating materials were neatly stowed, including a ladder, buckets and rags, and a few tins of paint, as yet unopened. By the time she reached five, she was bored. Perhaps, she’d return to her room and watch a little TV, or chose a book to read on her Kindle, even take a nap. There was nothing of interest. Just one more floor – for the purpose of exercise – and then she’d call it a day; skip the rest. On six, she started her trek down the corridor, slightly out of puff from the exertion of the stairs. So where were the decorating materials on this floor? When she’d visited briefly with Tallula, she hadn’t seen any. And, if anything, it was shabbier than the rest, the lighting weaker than ever. It was as knackered as her, she decided, resolving to ride the elevator to eleven instead of walking further, the prospect of a long, lazy afternoon at last holding appeal.

  Halfway along, she paused and turned towards the door Tallula had paused at too. It was slightly ajar. Curious, she crept closer, there was music being played, nothing modern, something very old-fashioned, a bit of a tinny quality to it. One foot bordering on the threshold, she realised there was something wrong with the door number. Raising a hand, she ran her fingertips over it. In between two sixes was a zero, the top right hand curve of which was missing, the bottom part of the curve pushed in slightly.

  She took a tiny step backwards, peered at it again.

  Oh my God!

  No sooner had she realised than the elevator doors opened, grabbing her attention instead. Inside was the teenager – the architect’s daughter.

  Before Caroline had a chance to react, they closed just as another opened – the door with 666 on it.

  “Caroline! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  It was Edward, dressed casually this time, not in a suit. He had on some kind of housecoat, the material a faded red paisley. A breast pocket, two side pockets, the collar, and a sash belt were all picked out in black, the entire ensemble covering a vest top and loose grey trousers. On his feet were black leather slip-ons and in one hand he held a cigarette, smoke rising from it and coiling like serpents around his head. There were various No Smoking signs dotted about, but clearly he held no regard for them.

  Taking a deep drag of the cigarette, he turned his head to the side when he exhaled and then looked straight back at her, his eyes, the shape of them, were feline somehow.

  Finally, she found her voice. “I’m… erm… sorry. I was just passing.” Immediately, she blushed. What a stupid thing to say. You didn’t just pass a hotel room that was on a separate floor to yours. She apologised again. “What I meant was that I’m exploring other floors, just… trying to lose a bit of time, I suppose.”

  “You’re not going downstairs for a spot of lunch, as you English might say?”

  “A spot of…? No, I find breakfast and dinner plenty at the moment.”

  Edward adopted a woeful expression. “Naughty Caroline, skipping meals is bad for you. I tend to take lunch in my room. You want to join me?”

  “Erm…” What could she say, how could she tactfully decline?

  “Caroline, I insist.”

  There was something in the way he said it that made it impossible to refuse. Deciding it was a polite enough invitation, and that she only needed to stay half an hour or so, she accepted. She’d found out something about David, Marilyn and Elspeth, so it might be interesting to discover something about him too, primarily his relationship to Althea. She only hoped that Tallula wasn’t in residence. If she were, she wouldn’t linger for a minute.

  Edward stood aside to let her pass and as she did, she couldn’t help but glance at the door again, at the broken number. Edward noticed.

  “Ah, my room number, 606, or is it 666? Hysterical, don’t you think?”

  “Hysterical?” That wasn’t the first word that sprang to mind.

  Shutting the door behind him, he continued, “To be honest, I’m impressed you noticed, there are plenty who don’t. I admit though, it is subtle. You have to stop, take a good look. Housekeeping keep offering to fix it. I always refuse. Why ruin a good joke?”

  She remembered what Raquel had said when Edward first arrived. “Is this your usual room?”

  “It is. More often than not.”

  She shook her head – this man, he was determined to remain as enigmatic as possible.

  Fully inside, she was once again amazed. The poster in Althea’s room had declared all rooms unique and his certainly was. Another period room, it suited a decade or two later than Althea’s – the 40s perhaps? Each item of furniture, from the brown leather armchairs placed opposite each other, the ornate gilt-framed mirror that hung on a far wall, the writing desk with its green leather inlay, the lamp that sat on top, resembling an oyster shell, and the hand-woven Persian rug beneath her feet, looked like an antique. Unlike Althea’s room, the double doors to the bedroom were wide open, his bed perfectly visible – a lavish affair with intricately carved mahogany posts, the silk sheets ruffled.

  As in Althea’s room, there was no TV, just a very simple looking record player, with a stack of vinyl records beside it. The singer she’d heard was still busy crooning.

  “Let me fix you a drink,” he purred, walking over to a drinks cabinet similar to Marilyn’s, another highly polished piece and extracting two tumblers from it. “Please, sit down.”

  It wasn’t as warm in his room as it was in others. She shivered slightly and clasped her hands together, tried to focus on them rather than him. Her gaze kept being drawn back, however, as he poured an amber coloured spirit into their glasses – whiskey, it had to be.

  He handed her glass over. “Not too early in the day for you, I hope?”

  “I don’t normally drink whiskey,” she replied, but in this instance she was strangely glad of it, certainly for its warm afterglow. Pulling up one of the armchairs to sit beside her, he clinked his glass amiably against hers.

  “Cheers,” he said.

  “Cheers,” she mumbled in reply.

  He’d invited her
in for lunch, but there was no sign of any food. Perhaps he meant a liquid lunch. She sipped again at her drink, his close proximity causing her to tremble as much as the chill air. This close to him she could see how perfect his skin was, no open pores, barely any lines, it was skin that most women would die for. His teeth too were enviable, white rather than yellow, perfectly straight and framed by full lips. He was a beautiful man; there was no denying it; the opposite to David, not as rugged, or as rough around the edges. Instead he was polished, everything about him neat and precise. He seemed to enjoy that she was staring at him, lapped it up and although she felt embarrassed that she was doing so, she had to fight to look away, regretting that she must – for the sake of decorum if nothing else.

  Bringing the glass to her lips again, taking a gulp rather than a sip, she desperately tried to think of something to ask him. The obvious came to mind.

  “How long have you been at The Egress?” Because like Althea, it was clear that he lived here.

  “A long time.”

  “Your room is amazing, there are so many antiques.”

  “I like it well enough.”

  “I said to Althea—”

  “You’ve been talking to Althea?” Was she mistaken or did he bristle at that?

  “Yes, I’m on same floor as her.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “Which room?”

  Should she tell him? Was it safe to? Almost immediately she berated herself. Of course it was safe, why wouldn’t it be? And he could find out easily enough anyway. “I’m in 1106.”

  He leant back in his chair, relaxed. “Still a distance away then.”

  “From Althea? Yes, I suppose so, I’m sort of in the middle.” Should she mention Tallula? She couldn’t resist, curious as to what his relationship was with her as well as Althea. “Tallula’s on my floor too, just opposite, but then you know that, don’t you? Last night, when Elspeth was in such distress, I saw you in the elevator.”

  A smile played about his lips. “Are you sure it was me?”