by David Horne
Elizabeth just shook her head. “I’m going to be late for work. But I know it doesn’t have anything to do with Florence or Lucy. There’re three police cars in the parking lot. Took me forever to get one of them to move so I could get my car out,” Elizabeth said as she waved and drove off.
At the base of Comfort Hill Drive, George felt the sweat crawl down his back. The sweltering summer sun washed him from a cloudless sky. By the time he reached the parking lot of the hotel, he knew perspiration would soak through the shirt.
From the angle at the base of the road, only the flat roof and red front awning showed. He had several hundred steps before he reached the plateau of Comfort Hill where the hotel strategically perched to look out over the minuscule town of Vergennes.
He considered not making the final steps to the top of the hill. Why not turn around and see what happened? Let the hotel crumble into itself and forget about wasting any more time. Rarely did George ever entertain thoughts about jumping from the top of a building or stepping off cliffs. But at that moment, George felt his legs refused to go any further. He turned around.
As the sun set across the city, the last of its far-reaching rays splashed across the face of the Comfort Hill Hotel, George went back home. He wanted no part of Ashley’s master plan. Once on the chopping block, it was easier to accept the ax to end his career.
Night enveloped Vergennes. George walked another two miles. It was time to let things happen without his interference. He wasn’t a concierge. He wasn’t even the night auditor. He was George Maxwell, and he was about to be unemployed.
George wanted to consider what he had to offer in the way of a relation. Duncan was on his mind. The man had everything together. He had confidence and charisma. Duncan could stay level-headed in the midst of change. They shared a wonderful experience, a passion, and he would cherish it forever. George believed in light of circumstances, he didn’t have the confidence to pursue Duncan’s affection. What did he have to offer? Was love really enough when it came to a strong relationship? Sometimes it must help to have a stable job and future prospects.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The decision to quit work was simple. It was a small idea but had enormous consequences without a backup plan to implement once the exhilaration of jumping out of employment without a net wore off. The free-fall into obscurity felt like a screaming death to a fiery pit of razor blades. He’d never had a panic attack, but occupying a small table at the Rusty Ax, nursing a beer, George knew the sweat that saturated his body wasn’t from the stifling heat from outside, but the death throes of his soul now he’d turned his back on the Comfort Hill Hotel.
“You want some company?” Carl asked him. The man hovered close to George. He wasn’t quite drunk yet. There was a glass in one hand and a half-full pitcher of beer in the other.
“If you’re sharing some of that,” George pointed at the pitcher, “Go ahead.”
Carl grinned, topped off George’s glass, and dropped in the empty chair across the table.
“Have you been to the hotel today?” George asked Carl.
The man shook his head, guzzling beer. He refilled the glass. “I just got back from New York an hour ago.”
“Elizabeth said something was going on there.” George shrugged. “Just wondered if you knew what it was.”
“Nope,” Carl said. He added, “I got a book that just hit the bestseller’s list.”
“No kidding?” George lifted the glass. “Congratulations.”
The clink of beer glasses over the tabletop, followed by the slosh of Carl’s overfilled glass, made George wave over the waitress. She frowned at Carl and mopped up the beer. A regular at the Rusty Ax, his antics were not tolerated.
“I’m sorry,” George offered. “That was my fault.” She wandered off but kept an eye on both of them now.
He wasn’t drunk. But consuming beer on an empty stomach took its toll on his bladder. He excused himself and wandered into the men’s room. At the urinal, he stared down at the flaccid but thick penis. George grumbled at it. George considered he’d let his heart get in the way of his work. Once upon a time, he thought it took heart to do a job right. Now he wondered if Ashley had it right: cold and callus, cut the losses, and don’t worry about others when you’re in it for yourself. Somehow, she’d keep her job while the rest of the people he considered friends all went away.
Finished, hands washed, and feeling the alcohol saturating his insides as the sweat dried on the outside, George made his way back to the little table.
“You know, I never got an alert on my laptop.” Carl’s statement made George feel sad again.
“I’m sorry there was nothing I could do,” he told Carl.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Carl made a living making up worlds through his laptop, George envied the man who imagined friends, and maybe his life wasn’t lonely and lost. “I guess it’s my fault for not taking it with me the last time I went to New York.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about leaving personal property at your residence.”
“It’s a hotel, George. We don’t really live there. Well, maybe Florence does, but for the rest of us, it’s just a stopping point until we reach the next destination.”
“You sound like you’re getting ready to leave too,” George pointed out.
Carl nodded while gulping beer. He put down the glass. “My agent said I have to take to the road on a book signing junket.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“I’ll let you know.” Carl waved a finger at George. “You know, I wasn’t going to stay at the hotel when I first got here. I came to Vermont to get the book done. I was looking for somewhere to rent.”
George glanced around the tavern. More patrons had showed up. There wasn’t anyone he recognized. The smartphone in his pocket buzzed. It was after seven; he was supposed to be at work. The hotel name came up on the caller ID. He ignored the call. Raymond Day could fumble his way through whatever mess he had and sleep the rest of the night in the lobby.
“You’re supposed to ask me why I stayed at the hotel,” Carl prodded George. He made no mention of the phone call. “I stayed at the hotel because of you, George.”
Carl finished the beer in the glass and poured the remaining contents of the pitcher into the empty glass. It covered only the bottom.
“Because of me?” George asked surprised. “Why?”
“You made it feel like a place I belonged. I considered how you treated the rest of the guests. You always have a smile. You showed genuine empathy for people. It’s a rare quality.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not what the hotel wanted.”
“You need to ignore that bitch manager.” Carl knew the pain that pressed on George. It was never directly addressed, but Carl finally said, “People like her are always looking to make others feel terrible. She hates her life. She infects other people around her to hate their lives. I don’t know how she acquired all the power. But mark my words, George, it will be her hubris that destroys her.”
“Not before she destroys everything else around her.”
Carl nodded in agreement. He hoisted the glass and changed the subject. “I wanted to let you know that Andrada is doing okay.”
“You’re in contact with her?” It surprised George to think guests socialized with housekeeping. But George realized as soon as he felt it that he’d catered to Ashley’s mentality. He had allowed her to separate social classes when everyone had an opportunity to be friendly with anyone they wanted.
“Of course, George,” Carl said. “Had it not been for you and your attention to guest needs, I’d never have met Andrada.”
“Are you two officially dating?” George asked.
He nodded. “She’s got something lined up in New York. I’m going on the junket and she wanted to see what happens next. We’re going to see how it works out.” Carl raised his hand to motion for another pitcher.
George, feeling generous with his feelings for the couple, put hi
s hand over the empty pitcher. “You want to make it work with Andrada, it might be a good idea to stop drinking so much.”
Carl sat back. The waitress came to the table with a mild frown. Carl watched George and handed over the empty pitcher. “We’re good,” he said. “You can bring my tab.”
The waitress wandered back to the bar. George felt the alcohol, but the sense of satisfaction dimmed it. It was the sensation he liked when he helped guests at the hotel. A feeling of accomplishment. But it was short-lived. He’d turned his back on the job. Not reporting for work was grounds for termination. It was the final ammunition Ashley needed to cut George loose. He’d given her the bullets, the gun, and practically pulled the trigger.
“Are you going back to the hotel tonight?” George asked.
“I am, but I need to find a sober ride. What about you?”
George shook his head. “I quit.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The rest of the night was uneventful. There were several phone calls George ignored. He avoided the multitude of questions from Carl, and wandered back to the lonely apartment. Passing Mary’s house, the porch was vacant.
He lay in bed for the rest of the night. By morning, George had sobered enough to realize the self-destruction he caused by turning his back on the only job he’d loved. Now he had a small one-bedroom apartment that he could no longer afford. He had no car, no bicycle, and no job. George rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “What did you do?”
George grabbed the pants from the floor near the bed. In the front pocket, the smartphone showed eight missed calls. There were two voicemails. Seven of the eight calls were from the hotel. The last call came from a number he didn’t recognize. Since it happened along the line of previous calls, George surmised the last call was a redirect, a feeble attempt to disguise the call from the same caller. Ashley’s caller ID never showed her calling. The only reason George had her phone number was out of obligation to the hotel. He deleted the number, cleared the call logs, and deleted the voicemails without listening to her berate him for missing work and not calling in, and oh, by the way, you’re fired!
George would not give the woman the satisfaction. He grabbed his laptop and checked his bank account. He looked at his very weak resume and began the hunt in earnest for a new job. Working within the town limits and branching outward, George found nothing appealing.
He’d committed to self-termination. Now it was time to own up to the realization of his actions. If he couldn’t find a new job in Vergennes, he’d have to look south. George had enough money for a train ticket to anywhere within reason. Banking on one good application, there were hosts of hotels that had an opening for a night auditor. A trade he’d reserved as his only viable option.
Several applications into the process, George made sure the cell phone was fully charged and he busied himself around the apartment. He wouldn’t get a call in a day, but he needed to stay hopeful.
The noise of tentative knocking at the front door gave George a start. He imagined Ashley in her full harpy appearance, wings spread, talons razor-sharp, and pointed teeth bore in a perpetual sneer, lurked just beyond the fragile door.
“George!” Dunlop exclaimed. “Are you alright?” He rushed into the apartment without invitation. There was a wall of summer heat at his heels. His brow moist with perspiration, Dunlop ran the back of his hand over his forehead.
“I’m fine.” George went to the kitchenette and grabbed a bottle of chilled water from the refrigerator. He handed it to Dunlop without thought. Even in his own home, George was the consummate concierge.
“They’re looking for you at the hotel.”
“How did you find me?” George demanded. He had a right to show irritation in his own home. He was in no mood to allow Dunlop further curiosity over George’s body.
“I started knocking on doors. Elizabeth told me where you lived.”
“Oh.” The woman had driven by George’s apartment for years on her way to the diner. Of course she knew where he lived.
“What happened to you?” Dunlop begged. He sipped at the cold water. “There’s a lot going on at the hotel.”
George nodded. “I’m not sure what you want from me,” he told Dunlop. The man was older than George. It was the kind of arrangement that some older gay men appreciated. George would be a trophy, the person who accompanied the man to social events. A virile extension to show off and play with when it suited him. “I feel like you’ve been toying with me,” George finally said.
The statement appeared to make Dunlop reel. “I’m so sorry, George.” He shook his head. He kept his distance. If he cared at all, he’d try to hold onto George. Instead, the man stayed at arm’s length.
“It’s not your fault, John.” George conceded. “I don’t want you to feel bad about anything we did.” He went to the sofa and sat down. After a moment, Dunlop joined him.
“Oh, I don’t feel bad about what we did together, George. Don’t worry about that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment and smiled for George. “I had some money saved up. I took early retirement after the divorce.” Dunlop never really shared any details of his past when they spent time alone. It was good to hear the man finally open up. He was a guest at a hotel who had a passionate curiosity.
“I put my finger on the map and ended up here.” Dunlop drank more of the bottled water and capped it. He placed the bottle on the coffee table. George moved the bottle to a coaster in front of the man. “My wife and I raised two children together. We had a good twenty-seven years together. After a while, we were just roommates. I think it happens sometimes to couples. We had a goal to make the most of our children. Neither of us went looking for anything outside our marriage. But after a while it felt like we needed something else the other wasn’t able to give.”
Dunlop surveyed George’s apartment. He kept a tidy house. Even when he didn’t expect guests, the place was ready for company.
“After the kids moved away, we started making plans that didn’t include each other.”
George extended his hand and put it on Dunlop’s shoulder.
“I wanted to thank you for being there with me.” Dunlop smiled at George. “I don’t know if I could make it work with another man, but you showed me I don’t have to be afraid of my feelings.”
“I’m glad you found something to look forward to,” George admitted. “I’ve honestly never done anything with a guest at the hotel before you.” He didn’t include the secret rendezvous he shared with Duncan because that was a completely different experience. “I just thought you wanted to explore your options.”
Dunlop laughed. “Boy, did you ever help me explore my options.”
“Actually, I have a confession to make,” George told him. “I just don’t want you to feel like it’s a ploy or an attack on your character.”
“That sounds heavy,” Dunlop said as his shoulders dropped. “What is it?” He had the look of a man who just found out he was on fire but couldn’t see the flames. He looked deflated, as if George was about to expose him to something controversial. But the look on Dunlop’s face changed to quizzical as George started.
“I don’t understand all the secrecy when it comes to the hotel business. I’m sure you had your reasons. But all this being coy about buying the hotel, all the confidentiality, it took a toll on me. I did the best I could with the hotel as a night auditor. I just hope when you finalize the sale, you can maybe give me a reference or something.”
After a long moment of nothing, George asked, “Are you okay?”
“Did you think I was buying the hotel?”
“You… aren’t?” George stood and began sweating and pacing. “My manager told me to make myself available to you. She said you were interested in buying the hotel. She said you were interested in men. She knows I’m gay and I feel like she just used me to get me out of the way once the hotel got sold.”
“What?” Dunlop asked. It needed repeatin
g, but George had no energy left. He’d ruined his career, and now it felt as if Ashley had ruined his life as well.
“Why would anyone do that?”
Feeling it was a bold statement about George, he was about to shout at Dunlop. Until the man added, “How can anyone be so manipulative? She sounds like an absolute monster.”
“A harpy,” George said reflexively. Some people received terms of endearment through positive motivation. Ashley earned the nickname though her actions of discourse.
Dunlop laughed. He stood and walked to George. Standing face to face, he smiled sincerely. Dunlop opened his arms to George and embraced him.
“Boy, have I got a story for you,” John Dunlop started.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Comfort Hill Hotel was a place that had made George feel good about his life and the job he did. From the roof was a glorious view of the city, nestled on the plateau of its namesake road. Some rooms had kitchenettes for long-term rates, and George knew every inch of the place. Amenities included clean linens and suite cleaning weekly for long-term guests, and George wanted to give more to make everyone feel welcomed and equal. And overnight guests were treated to the best night’s stay in rural Vermont; he made sure of that.
It wasn’t home to George, but he wanted people to think about the hotel once they came. Now, when he walked through the entrance, the hotel felt different. It still had charm, but subtle changes took place and made him feel a little out of place. Behind the front desk was a young woman with a big smile.
“Welcome to the Comfort Hill Hotel,” she said as George walked across the empty lobby. “How can I help you today?” She wore a pressed uniform composed of a black vest, white button-down shirt, and a perpetual smile.
The lobby had a fresh, vibrant feel. There was no lingering scent of stale cigarettes. Since the inclusion of Raymond Day to the employment schedule, George feared guests would complain about the persistent stench of secondhand smoke. Instead, an enduring bouquet of linen and lavender permeated the foyer and lobby.
