It's weird making small talk during a lengthy elevator ride, just after you have had a dirty, raunchy blow job from a beautiful woman in the back of a taxi. You want to come up with something pithy and clever to keep the vibe going, but you are concerned that anything less than brilliant will ruin the moment and your slam-dunk night of hot, hotel sex will evaporate in an instant, with a little "poof" sound effect to go with it. So you say nothing. The deal is signed at this point. You don't want to risk buying the car back from the customer, as it were.
As we rode the elevator up to Lisa's hotel room, which was on a high floor, other guests left us one by one until we finally had the place to ourselves, so to speak. One older gentleman was just blatantly checking out Lisa's ass during the entire ride up. He winked at me on his way out the door, which made me chuckle at the thought of turning into an old horn-dog myself one day.
I noticed an advertisement on the little TV screen next to the elevator doors. The venue was the hotel's penthouse bar. Hmmmmm. The ad was a 30 second slide show, depicting an impossibly cool atmosphere complete with dim lighting and sinewy, beautifully groomed patrons laughing, drinking, and exchanging flirty side-glances.
Who were these people from the ad! They don't exist in real life! I have been on a million business trips and rarely have I encountered this hypothetical group of "pretty people" hanging out at the bar of a big hotel in a big city on a typical weeknight.
I searched my memory for any recall of a group setting where every single person is fabulous. The only thing I could come up with was a wild Tuesday night in Memphis - at the Peabody Hotel - several years ago, where a crew of young Northwest Airlines flight attendants were holding court at a rooftop event called Sunset Serenade. Unfortunately, those scenarios don't present themselves very often. I now realize they are the exception that proves the rule.
While I was having my Seinfeld-esque moment, silently musing about the power of suggestive advertising to make us all feel envious about what everyone else is doing, Lisa put her arm around my waist and pulled me in for a clinch.
"Wow, I am still buzzing from our little interlude in the cab. How much do you think the cab driver saw," she cooed.
"Oh, he saw plenty. I am sure he would have liked a bigger tip," I replied, "but that was all the cash that I had with me," I replied. "At least he didn't wreck. That was a real possibility for a few moments."
Still mindful that our "little interlude" was entirely one-sided, I formulated a plan to search for those "pretty people" from the advertisement. I needed to see if my theory that they don't exist still held true. Besides, the beauty of this idea was that I could scout for an opportunity to keep the sex-in-public electricity going for a little while longer.
"Why don't we go and check out that view? It looks amazing," I suggested.
Lisa smiled at me and said "ok, let's have a drink. I just hope we don't run into anybody from the company."
I hadn't thought about that, but what the hell. The possibility of a chance encounter with any of our local colleagues was minimal, but it would just add to the naughtiness and kink factor of what we had been doing a few minutes ago. It was safe to assume that many of these guys had fantasized about fucking Lisa, while being forced to ignore those urges and make polite conversation with her at a company meeting.
We walked into the bar and, surprisingly, there were lots of people still there. Nobody from the ad, of course, but it was a relatively attractive crowd all things considered. Music was playing in the background – somewhat loudly - and there was a buzz of crowd noise that hit us at the door. With nobody at the hostess stand, we made our way to the bar and I ordered limoncello martini's for the both of us.
While we sipped and talked, I noticed that Lisa was scanning the room to see if she recognized anyone there. If she did, she didn't acknowledge it, so I figured the coast was clear for whatever was next.
We spun around on our seats and faced the open room, marveling at the lighting and décor. It was dark and very tastefully done. The furnishings consisted of both low-slung lounging areas and secluded booths. The place seemed to have a vaguely Asian design theme yet was clubby too. The only thing missing was a dance floor. The bar ran the length of an entire interior wall, so there was no problem finding seating space there. Opposite the bar area, there was an exterior wall with floor to ceiling windows that provided a dramatic view. It was a clear night, and the skyline had a soft, yellow-orange glow from the concentration of lights all around us.
We ordered another round of martini's and walked over to the windows to take in the view. We stood there silently. It was certainly a long, long way from the small beach town where I grew up down in Florida.
I put my arm around Lisa and said, "so this is why they can get away with charging $28 for a martini." She grinned at me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips.
"Well, it also takes some effort to haul those liquor bottles all the way up here," she added "The hourly rate for the delivery people is probably $28. Blame the United Liquor Bottle Hauler's Brotherhood of America, Local 229."
"Well played," I said. "I can't top that."
Suddenly, I could sense that somebody was standing right behind us. I turned around, half expecting it to be somebody from work who was going to crash our little moment high above the streets.
