Sometimes you're stuck. Sometimes you have to go into the city on business even if you don't want to. People always look at me with curiosity when I get out of my truck, drop the tailgate, and lift the Trapper Nelson pack board with its big single bag onto my back. I don't care. I'm fine with who I am. The suede jacket and Aussie outback hat always make an impression. Sometimes I look less like I belong in the twenty-first century and more like I belong in a western movie.
There was a woman checking in at the front desk of the hotel where I was booked to stay. Very pretty. She was fairly short—just over five feet. She had significant curvers, a pretty face, and shoulder length blonde hair. Her eyes revealed her astonishment at my appearance. They flitted around the room but kept coming back to me. I'd seen it a thousand times. They all wonder if my manner matches my appearance.
I tipped my hat. "Ma'am."
A short, blurted laugh escaped her lips. She blushed, grabbed her keycard off the countertop, and headed to the elevator. I smiled when she turned. She rolled her eyes, but then they returned to me. The edges of her mouth turned up slightly as the doors closed.
"Who's she?" I asked the desk clerk.
"Sorry, sir. You know I can't tell you that?"
"Sure you can."
He shook his head. "No, sir. I could lose me job."
I sighed and nodded. "I need a room for a night. Something with a double bed or a queen would be fine."
"All right. If you'll fill out the registration?"
I filled in my information and handed him my credit card.
He slid a keycard across the counter and pointed at the elevator. "Third floor. Room 312. It's to the left of the elevator when the doors open. I've been booking everyone onto that floor so far tonight."
I grinned at him. It didn't really help me though. I could hardly knock on every door on the third floor, could I?
"A little after 6:30 in the evening, sir."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you'd asked the same question the woman before you had asked . . . about when the restaurant quiets down?"
I smiled and slipped him a twenty.
***
The room was fairly nice but bigger than I expected. I called the front desk.
"I asked for a queen or a double bed. I've got two queen size and a small living room area?"
"Same price, sir. I can put you in a smaller room if you like, but what would be the point?"
"Well, there's an adjoining room as well and I like my privacy."
"I can change the room if you like, sir, but it will have to wait until this evening."
"Well, I guess this is okay. As long as it's the same price. If I have problems tonight, I'll have you change it tomorrow."
I hung up. Not exactly what I was looking for. Bigger, but adjoining rooms always seem to let a lot of sound through. The room was set up like a meeting room with a four legged table instead of the usual round, single pedestal table. I took a quick nap and showered up. It had been a long drive, and I always felt better after a shower. I put on a little cologne and dressed in a nice pair of jeans and a dress shirt and headed downstairs to the restaurant.
There she was. She was sitting at a table alone reading a book. She was wearing a yellow chiffon dress that came to her knees. I pulled out a chair and sat down at her table.
"Ma'am."
She laughed. "Are you for real?"
"Meaning?"
"Are you really a cowboy?"
I shrugged. "I've had horses. Now-a-days I just play in the wilderness. Everyone else seems to go on a quad or a snowmobile, but I like the silence that walking affords."
"And you felt you could sit here beside me because. . . ."
"Because you're beautiful, and I'm acceptable, but mostly because I know who I am and have the confidence to just do it."
"Pretty full of yourself."
I let my gaze drift down her throat to her breasts. I looked at them without any shame. "I know something I like when I see it."
"You're quite a bit older than me." The woman had no problem holding her own. Some kind of egghead maybe. A debater?
I reached out and motioned for her book. She handed it to me. I read the title and the comments on the back of it out loud. "Imagined Communities. Anderson explores the processes that created these communities: the territorialisation of religious faiths, the decline of antique kingships, the interaction between capitalism and print, the development of vernacular languages-of-state, and changing conceptions of time." I shook my head and put the book back down in front of her. "I think you may be older than me."
She laughed. "It's interesting. Did you know that the first static borders didn't show up on maps until after the 1850s? All our history books show borders on maps as though there were always defining lines. There weren't."
"Really?"
"Did you know that with the printing press the projection of power became easier? It was nearly impossible to have a solid concept of nation prior to that because language changed so radically over short distances and transportation was difficult. The formalizing of language for transfer of knowledge also harmonization of languages facilitated the change from disparate dialects to larger language blocks."
"What about Rome? They ruled most of the known world."
She smiled and nearly smirked at me. "It was a city state . . . well, to begin with. Even the Rubicon line was about the city being free of military and not the outlying areas that we today would call Rome and Italy and beyond. Power was projected by that city state over dissimilar and fragmented peoples. Roads were the military transportation of the day, that's why they built so many roads."
"See? I told you, you're older than me. Are you some kind of egghead?"
"Yeah. Some kind. Anyway. The thing was that until recently, the world really was a series of high centers. Borders were indefinite."
"High centers?"
"Yes. Think of castles. They were protected areas which held only a very small part of the population. A series of castles was a way of projecting power farther and taking more . . . oh, let's call it taxation. Also, the longer a high center had been established the less likely it was to be threatened and the more likely it would be able to project power."
"And how would that affect you and me today?"
"A friend at the University says that the way women dress is about high centers. Everything important is covered and protected. It's not even open for viewing in case someone should decide they want what they see and try to take it."
My eyes caressed her body again. She blushed and looked away when my eyes narrowed and settled on her breasts for a second time. "Are there still guys like that out there?"
"I think there may be a few." She nearly gasped out the words. "There were areas that we now call march regions."
"Tell me about them. What's your name? I'm Gray."
"I'm Melissa. Is Gray really your name?"
"No. A friend called me that because it's the way I see most things in the world. Everyone picked it up."
The waiter interrupted us, took our order, and left.
"Where was I?" she asked.
"March regions."
"March regions. They were small areas between high centers where projection of power by both parties was too expensive. Sometimes they were empty because of the brutality of the two high centers. Sometimes they were free and left alone by both sides. When they were left alone, they were often used as a place where both centers could safely carry out trade. If they were between two peaceful high centers they were free economies with no taxation that were protected by both sides."
"Wouldn't those places be where wars would be fought though?"
She nodded. "Yes. For the longest time high centers jockeyed for position. Wars are expensive. The heads of the high centers, we'll call them kings, tended to get along fairly well. A real war would devastate marginal economies within the high centers themselves, so they'd often simply see who was the best tactician and then negotiate terms. People used to go out and watch the two armies try to outflank each other. Once one power knew the other had dominance, what would be the point of resisting. It would be far more expensive to use up all your resources and weaken yourself rather than request terms. It could even weaken you to the point of being an easy target for an uninvolved high center."
"Sounds like they could be good places to be. Were there any places people lived that were seriously victimized?"
"Yes. If people settled between a high center and an immovable barrier, an ocean, or an enclosing mountain range, they were often taken advantage of."
"That's not a great place to be is it. Were there advantages to such places as well?"
"Sometimes."
A large group of young men came into the restaurant over the next few minutes. Even chatting was becoming difficult. They were quite boisterous. I hailed the waiter.
"Yes, sir?"
"What's all this? I thought the restaurant would be quiet at this time of day."
"Baseball tournament."
"They're very noisy."
The waiter shrugged. "I'm sorry. There's really nothing I can do about it. They're behaving well enough."
"I see there's a dark, roped off section at the back. Can we move in there?"
"The manager doesn't like it because of the extra cost of lighting and cleaning."
"I think we're pretty clean." I looked at Melissa and smiled. She blushed again. Damn! "Maybe you have some candles for me and the lady? We could take a back corner booth to get away from the noise and you could keep the rest of it roped off?"
The waiter looked at me considering the situation. "You look like a good tipper."
I laughed and nodded understanding his meaning.
"We received a shipment of a very nice blueberry wine today. Would you like a bottle?"
"Sounds great."
He opened the section and then closed the rope barrier behind us and led us to a corner booth. I was a perfect gentleman letting Melissa walk ahead of me—so I could watch her hips sway. She slipped into the corner booth with her back against the wall and slid toward the corner. I sat beside her. The waiter returned with two candles and the bottle of wine, lit the candles, and left the room turning out the lights as he went leaving us bathed in the candlelight.
