Ethan hit the bell at reception. He smiled at the young woman who came out of the rear office. "Room for Opeliska, Ethan Opeliska." He nodded along to her questions while cursing the corporate attire that made her look so prudish. While she typed and printed and chatted, he weighed his options of asking her up to his room once her shift was over. He guessed she would consider him old. Ethan didn't agree, but girls under twenty-five had lost a bit of flavor. Not that he needed flavor for the evening, and what they lacked in one department they made up for in others. Older women who went for him rarely need to prove themselves. They knew it was a one-night stand. They knew he would never see them again.
The young woman handed back his credit card, and Ethan thought better of making a proposition. Work might keep him in town for more than one night. He'd learned in past experiences not to piss off the hotel staff by fucking one of them. He didn't rule out the cleaning crew, though. Ethan thanked her, picked up his bag, and crossed the lobby. It was late on a Tuesday, and a low season for the hotel. Still, a few lonely souls sat at the bar next door to the elevator. Ethan thought a night cap would have to suffice and grabbed a seat at the bar. He ordered bourbon. A middle-aged bartender, probably a few years older than Ethan at most, poured his drink, asked about his day, and told him her name, Lori. She left him and returned to the far end of the bar where she spoke quietly with a tired looking older man.
Not her, either,
Ethan thought as he sipped the drink. At the end of a rowdy shift, a bartender might like a roll in the sheets with him to blow off steam. After a dead night, Lori would have aching feet, a sore back, and a strong desire to be as undesirable as possible as the hours of tedium came out largely in the form of slouching and gassy moods.
Shame,
Ethan thought.
My type.
He glanced around at the other smattering of patrons in the bar. A younger couple sat in a booth eating some terrible looking meals. Another two men sat at the bar nearest Ethan. They were talking, but clearly not friends. Ethan knew their conversation by heart. If either of the two hadn't been present, Ethan would have been compelled to take up the missing stranger's role in the conversation. As it was, he was a happy third man out, allowed to sit silently with his booze.
One other woman sat at the bar. She had a glass of wine in front of her, but it was beaded with condensation.
Stood up, maybe.
She was dressed up for a night out, but didn't have the fatigue of sitting in a club or bar for hours. She had brown curls and a slender neck shown off by the navy blue dress. Her eyes flashed at Ethan for a moment, showing no interest or coyness. She shifted the glass and averted her eyes.
Stilted lover. Some guy upstairs got too drunk at dinner and couldn't keep it hard for her. Tough luck, lady. Everyone's sleeping rough tonight by the look of it.
He swigged down his bourbon, asked Lori for a shot of whiskey, and settled his tab to his room. On his way out, he bade the woman a good night. She didn't respond.
***
The hotel was on the older side, built in the 80's, refurbished in the 90's and again in the 00's. The updates never really rooted out the oldness of the place though. The most recent effort's choices in decor didn't help, either. Ethan figured they were shooting for retro, but landed firmly in antiquated. Geometric carpets and dark floral wallpapers. Fat armchairs waited outside the elevator doors, illuminated by large oval lamps casting orange light. Thin sconces lined the corridor walls, creating a dim, stifled quiet.
Ethan made his way down to his room, number 1351. His keycard caused a whirling click as the door unlocked, and he stepped into the pitch black to fumble around for a light switch for a full minute. When he did find it, the resulting light did little to please him. The booze teamed up with the day's fatigue, and his head throbbed. He left his bag by the door, and flopped forward onto the bed, intending only to rest his eyes for a minute. He had a long day ahead tomorrow. He needed undress, shower, and salvage a few hours of sleep. Instead, he let his thoughts drift as the minutes ticked by.
Time slipped. Ethan jerked up with a jolt of adrenaline. His heart thumped audibly in his chest, and his breath came in big heaves. He clenched his fist and tried to calm down.
Fucking alcohol. One drink is worse than ten sometimes.
A cold sweat had formed on the back of his neck. He got up from the bed, grabbed a cup from the in-room coffee stand, and went to fill it up in the bathroom. The sink ran out a tepid stream. It tasted metallic. He grabbed the ice bucket and went into the hall.
The ice machine was in a small room off to the side of the elevator, and it was occupied when he arrived. The woman from the bar, the one in the navy blue dress, stood in front of a vending machine holding her heels in one hand. "Hello again," she said. "Trying to decide on a snack."
Ethan nodded. The rush back to consciousness had left him uneasy and somewhat off balance. He managed a polite smile and moved past her to the ice machine.
"Oh, that one doesn't work," she said. "Have to go up or down a floor. I went down, myself."
Ethan tapped the machine anyway, irritated to see she was correct. He looked at the woman again, pausing before he spoke. His memory of her seemed off.
The dress couldn't have been so bright downstairs, maybe it's the light. Was she wearing lipstick? Did she put it on up here? Is she going back out?
"Uh, thanks. I'll run down there."
She drifted back, slightly blocking his exit. "Or, you could just have some of mine. I got a whole bucket. Won't need it. Only needed a few cubes, really. Why not come to my room, and we'll swap. You can take my bucket, and I'll keep yours." She winked and put her hand on his chest.
Ethan ignored the numbness in his fingers and the dull hum in his head. "I'm Ethan."
