Heart Song Anthology

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Miranda stood in the lobby of the Dominion Hotel. As the hotel’s resident manager, she took it upon herself to welcome the guests. She stood at the bottom of the grand staircase leading up to the ballroom, a perfect vantage point to see the partygoers as they entered through the gleaming glass doors of the hotel and walked across the ornate marble floor towards the event. As the guests rounded the enormous, ornate red and blue flower arrangement, they came into Miranda’s view.

  Miranda didn’t know many of the guests. Before taking on the role of resident manager, she was not a highly social person. Now, by necessity, she was becoming one. Her new role drew her out of her reserved shell, forcing her into a territory she was still not completely comfortable in, talking to strangers. Some attendees she did recognize, hotel guests who came from out of town to attend the ball. These she greeted ever so slightly more cordially than those she did not know, a little more at ease for knowing them.

  A young woman barely out of her teens entered the hotel, her arm looped through the arm of an equally young man. They looked like two high school students going to the prom. The two stood a few steps within the hotel entrance, looking around in awe and confusion. Unfortunately, where they stood, was somewhat in the way of others trying to gain access to the hotel. Other entering couples had to veer either to the left or right of the couple, some appearing a little more annoyed than they needed to be. The young couple appeared even more awkward as others streamed around them. They stepped to the left before falling in behind a few other couples, the group making their way towards the grand staircase.

  As the young couple rounded the floral arrangement, Miranda spotted them for the first time. Miranda’s face lit up, the young couple being the first guests she was genuinely pleased to see. She waved to them as they approached. The young woman saw Miranda and waved back. She smiled; the young girl’s body appeared to relax.

  “Patricia, you look gorgeous.”

  The young girl beamed at the compliment paid to her by Miranda, letting go of her escort’s arm to rush into Miranda’s open arms. Patricia released Miranda, staying within arm’s length of her.

  “Who’s this handsome man?”

  Patricia stepped back and took the young man’s arm once again. “This is Mitch.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mitch,” Miranda stepped forward, extending her hand. Mitch took it in one hand, bringing up his other to hold Miranda’s hand in both of his. Only now did Miranda realize how tall Mitch was, a good head taller than she was, and Miranda was tall herself.

  “The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”

  “You’ve got quite the gentleman here, Patricia,” Miranda said, before turning back to Mitch, sliding her hand out from within his. “And none of this ma’am stuff. I’m not that old looking, am I? It’s Miranda.”

  Mitch looked a little embarrassed. “No, ma’am, I mean Miranda. No.”

  “Go you two, go have fun.” Miranda ushered the young couple up the grand staircase.

  The hum of the ball could be heard above them and the young couple hesitated.

  Miranda leaned in close to whisper in Patricia’s ear. “They’re just people, no better than you or I.” Miranda stepped back. “Mitch, escort your lovely date to the ball.”

  Mitch looked at Patricia, offering her the crook of his arm. She smiled and took it as Mitch guided her up the stairs, Miranda turning to watch them ascend. Halfway up the staircase, just as it curved to the right, Patricia looked back and waved at Miranda, who waved back, continuing to watch them go.

  “Who are your young friends?”

  Miranda spun around at the sound of Alison’s voice. Alison and Warrington were standing right behind her. She’d been so preoccupied with Patricia; she did not hear them come up behind her.

  Not fully understanding why at first, the sight of the two of the standing in front of her now caused Miranda to hold her breath. She regained herself, knowing if she did not answer the question, it would be weird. “Patricia,” she said, her voice a little hoarse, her throat dry. She swallowed. “Patricia Garcia. She’s someone I met through the youth group I sponsor. She’s quite brilliant, comes from a humble background, both parents died in a car crash when she was very young. Raised by her grandparents. She just needs a break.”

  “She’s Miranda’s sponsored guest,” added Warrington. “With a mentor like you, she may just get the break she needs.”

  “She’s very pretty,” said Alison.

  “As are both of you,” said Miranda.

  Though trying to take the spotlight off herself, she truly did believe what she said. Alison looked lovely this evening; Miranda felt she was seeing Alison in a different way, appreciating her beauty for the first time. She knew she was being a little superficial right now, but it fit her mood. She now understood why she’d held her breath when she first saw her two best friends standing in front of her. Tonight, she wanted them differently. She wanted these two charming, gorgeous people standing in front of her as lovers, not friends.

  She admired them physically at moment. The way Alison’s white, low cut dress hugged her curves, her small breasts brought together, raised high, a string of pearls hanging low, gently touching the top of her breasts, the appeal of her slim waist and rounded ass. Alison wanted to touch that ass then and there. If they were not standing in the lobby of the hotel, she would have. It took all her reserve not to reach out and touch it.

  To distract herself from Alison, she looked over to Warrington. Tall Matt Warrington, his broad chest pressing hard against the white tuxedo shirt covering his chest, a bow tie adorning his neck. His tuxedo was black – of course it was – the classic cut of the suit complimenting his classically good looks; deep blue-grey eyes, square jaw, and full, kissable lips.

  “How’s the attendance?” Warrington’s voice broke Miranda’s trance.

  “Good, good,” she said. “It looks like everyone is showing up early.” As if to support what Miranda was saying, a loud roar of laughter was heard from atop the staircase.

  Warrington turned to Alison. “I’m going to pick up our room key.” He kissed Alison on the cheek. “I’ll be back in a moment, then we’ll go up together.”

  Alison briefly watched Warrington walk across the lobby towards the front desk before turning back to Miranda. “You must be very pleased with the turn out.”

  “Excited,” Miranda said, a little too excitedly.

  “Excited?” asked Alison.

  Miranda smiled at Alison, stepping closer to her. “Excited for this evening.”

  “Oh, yes,” replied Alison. “Matt’s excited as well, although to look at him you would never know. He’s not one to show too much emotion, but you probably know that as well as I do.”

  “And how about you? Are you excited?”

  Alison looked up to where the noise of the party was coming from. “Definitely. It’s the Lover’s Ball. Who wouldn’t be excited to attend the Lover’s Ball?”

  Miranda stepped in closer, taking Alison’s hand. Miranda looked into Alison’s eyes.

  “Oh,” was all Alison said.

  “I’ve arranged a few treats for us in the suite.”

  “Oh,” Alison said again, looking away.

  Miranda let go of her hand, confused. “You did tell Warrington to get us a suite, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Miranda hesitated, questioning, she said, “I thought the suite was for us, all of us.” She stopped to look at Alison. Alison was looking back towards the front desk. Miranda stepped back a step. “Or maybe it’s just for you guys.”

  Warrington returned, taking Alison’s hand. “We’re all checked in.” Neither Miranda nor Alison responded. He looked at Alison then Miranda. ‘Did I miss something?”

  Miranda answered, sounding distant and disappointed. “You guys will enjoy that room. It’s my favorite.”

  Warrington looked confused. “Have you changed your mind?” he asked Miranda.

  “Me? No.”

&
nbsp; Miranda silently looked at Alison; Warrington followed her gaze.

  Sensing all eyes on her, Alison felt compelled to speak. “I don’t know,”: she said loudly. “It seems like a good idea, but I don’t know. I go back and forth. I want to, I don’t want to.” Alison reached a hand to Miranda, taking it in hers. “I was up for it this morning, but now, at this moment, tonight at the ball,” she paused, “Sweetie, I love you, I really do, but the three of us, it’s a big thing, a whole new thing.” Alison shook her head, her voice trailed off.

  Miranda continued holding Alison’s hand. She smiled, softening her expression. “Alison, I love you.” She looked at Warrington, “I love you both.” She reached for Warrington’s hand with her other, taking it. “I want to be with you both tonight, but if it’s not to be, then it’s not to be. I won’t love you any less.” Miranda paused. “Nothing changes.”

  Her soft expression was tinged with a hint of sadness. She raised Warrington’s hand, placing it on top of Alison’s. Warrington wrapped his fingers around Alison’s.

  “Off you guys go now,” said Miranda.

  “Aren’t you coming up? You’re sitting with us, right?” asked Alison.

  “Yup, I’m at your table, but I’ll be up later,” replied Miranda. “I’m going to hang out here a little while longer. There’s still some guests to arrive.”

  “Miranda–” said Alison.

  Miranda stopped her. Smiling she said, “The band is about to start. You guys better get on the dance floor before it gets too crowded.”

  “C’mon.” Warrington stepped on the first riser of the staircase, drawing Alison along with him.

  As they walked upstairs, Alison kept her gaze down on her feet, holding her long gown with her free hand, making sure she didn’t step on it and fall.

  Warrington looked over his shoulder and smiled back at Miranda. Miranda didn’t see him, she had turned her back to the staircase, talking to an older couple who had just arrived.

  Miranda wasn’t used to not getting what she wanted. She never had a problem with this in the past. Not with Warrington, not with Tony, nor any man she’d set her sights on. Alison was obviously different. If she didn’t love her so much, if she didn’t respect her so much, she might have persisted. But Miranda valued their friendship more, that plus the fact that Alison and Warrington were probably the only two people she considered friends. If that’s what they were to be, friends and not lovers, then she could accept that.

  As the evening progressed, Miranda did her best to mingle with as many party guests as she could. It didn’t matter that mingling and making small talk didn’t come easily to her, this is what Tony would do, so she would do it too. She felt it was her responsibility now. She was no longer the lost girl Tony found sitting on the lobby couches of the hotel, she was now the resident manager. She had to grow into her role, just as she had to grow to accept that she might be alone a little while longer.

  As she moved around the ballroom, talking to people, Miranda was able to keep one eye on Warrington and Alison throughout the evening, while keeping her distance at the same time. When they went to the bar, she moved over towards the dance floor. When they went to the dance floor, Miranda made her way to the ice sculpture in the center of the room, faking a good attempt at checking the integrity of the ice to see if it was melting too fast. Occasionally she would see Alison looking around the room, looking for someone – was she looking for her? Was it her? At these times Miranda would casually step behind a pillar or lean in a little closer to the person she was talking with. She wasn’t hiding from Alison, but she wasn’t seeking her out either.

  The dinner bell rang, calling all the guests to their seats. A procession of waiters suddenly emerged through the doors leading from the kitchen behind the ballroom, each carrying four silver cloche lids hiding the dinner plates below. They swirled around the room, whisking off the silver covers before placing the entrees in front of the guests.

  Miranda looked to where Warrington and Alison were sitting, seeing the empty seat beside Alison. The waiters were putting down their meal, but Alison seemed not to notice. She was intently looking around the room. Miranda knew she was looking for her. She also knew the waiter would not put down her entree until she sat down. It is bad form to serve an empty place.

  Miranda wasn’t hungry. She knew eventually she would have to make an appearance at the table, beside Alison. She also knew she had at least half an hour between now and when the dessert would be served. She decided she would go over to the table then. The dessert was Crème Brule, her favorite and Chef included it on the menu specially for her. She could not disrespect him by not having it. Miranda had just enough time to slip into the kitchen, visit with the chef and maybe raid the bottom drawer of his desk for a shot of whatever he hid there, and then make it back in time.

  Miranda disappeared through the swinging kitchen doors, immediately struck by the change in room temperature between the kitchen and the ballroom. With the ovens and cooktops in full operation, the kitchen was like an oven. Even though she wore an off the shoulder, backless dress and her hair was pinned up, she couldn’t help but perspire as soon as she stepped into the heat.

  She saw Chef on the line, doing quality checks of each plate before sending them out to be served. A line of waiters flanked him, impatiently waiting for the plates to pass Chef’s inspection before sliding them onto their trays and whisking them into the ballroom.

  “Chef,” Miranda yelled, waving, and pointing at his office.

  Chef waved back, not looking at her, focusing on the food. Miranda stepped out of the way of an on-rushing waiter carrying a plate that was being returned from the ballroom. He was met with a diatribe of abuse from Chef – how could anyone return his food?

  Miranda wanted no part of that scene. She slipped into Chef’s office, closing the door behind her. It wasn’t much cooler in there, but it was quieter. She could see the angry, animated Chef and the berated waiter play out their scene in a pantomime through the window that let onto the kitchen, but could hear nothing of what was being said. She turned her back and began to randomly pull open desk drawers, looking for the bottle she knew was there somewhere. The bottom left drawer revealed the treasure: 25-year old scotch. Two shot glasses rolled around the bottom of the drawer beside the bottle. Miranda bent down, reaching for the bottle.

  “Wow. Now I know where the expression comes from. If you can’t stand the heat...” Alison didn’t finish the colloquialism.

  Hearing Alison’s voice behind her, Miranda momentarily froze. Regaining herself, she stood up, turning to face her, bottle of scotch in one hand, shot glass in the other. She was speechless seeing Alison standing there.

  “Do you have another glass?”

  Miranda put one shot glass on the desk. Still holding on to the bottle, she bent down and retrieved the other. She placed it beside the other on the desk, pulled the cork out of the bottle, and poured a drink for the two of them. Each grabbed the glass closest to them, tossing back the alcohol at the same time.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” asked Alison.

  Miranda, still holding on to the bottle, held it up a little higher, using the bottle as illustration. “I just needed a little something.”

  Miranda poured out more whiskey, and they both drank it down in one shot again.

  “Why are you back here, instead of sitting with us?”

  “I’m not really hungry,” was the excuse Miranda gave. “I was thinking of skipping dinner altogether. Anyway,” she continued, “I can ask you the same question. What are you doing back here? You’re not supposed to be back here. The guests aren’t supposed to see how the magic happens; it spoils the show.”

  “You do know I run a hotel too? I’ve seen the ingredients; I’ve seen the magic happen.”

  The two women laughed while Miranda offered to pour again.

  “No, thanks,” said Alison. “Matt’s going to want to dance later on and I don’t think he’d appreciate a drun
k dance partner. I step on his toes enough as it is.”

  “Well, I’m not dancing later,” said Miranda as she filled her glass and drank.

  “I’ve got to get back before Matt begins to wonder. I told him I was going to the ladies room.” Alison reached into her clutch purse and pulled out a room key, extending it towards Miranda. “In case you want to come by later.”

  “Are you sure?” Miranda was surprised, hesitant to take the key. “Just a night cap?”

  Alison put the key on the desk. “Maybe come a little before that.”

  “Really?”

  Alison turned as she stood in the doorway. “I’ll save the last dance for you.”

  The elevator doors opened on the Penthouse level. Alison and Warrington were alone in the elevator car. They both stood motionless. Warrington motioned for Alison to step out. She hesitated, looking to Warrington. He raised an eyebrow and she moved forward.

  Alison strode confidently down the corridor towards the suite. She stood outside the door, looking for the key card in her clutch purse, Warrington stood behind her.

  Remembering, she said, “I gave my key to Miranda.” The words reminded her again of the bold decision she’d made, and why she was so nervous.

  Warrington smiled, reaching past her to insert his key card into the door mechanism. The light on the door turned from red to green.

  Alison pushed on the door, it opened with ease. She walked into the suite, Warrington right behind her. He switched on the lights, revealing not only the suite, but the special extras Miranda had referred to earlier. The bar was set with an array of small appetizers and cheeses. Standing on the floor in front of the bar were two silver ice buckets on pedestals, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne cooling in each.