At the request of a reader who was kind enough to offer both feedback and a plot suggestion, I have this to say:
Chris entered Room 834 at the Palmer House Hilton and was immediately overcome by a stench he knew all too well. An assistant manager of the venerable Chicago hotel, he had been summoned to the room by the head of housekeeping a few minutes after noon on Sunday. It was just over an hour after check-out time, and the room was still occupied. Given the circumstances of the occupation, housekeeping didn't know what to do about it.
Before entering, Chris rapped his knuckles against the oak panel of the door several times before sliding the master keycard through the slot. When it clicked, he opened it slightly. "Hello?" he said loudly, giving fair warning of his impending entry.
Receiving no response, he pushed the door open and stepped into the entryway of the small suite. 'Not again,' he thought to himself as the commingled scents of alcohol, sweat and sex assaulted him.
He closed the door behind him – loudly, giving further warning of his presence – and stepped down the short entryway and into the main living area. The shades were pulled and he squinted, looking across the room and into the bedroom, the door of which stood open.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. His guest – Chris was rather proprietary of those who chose to stay at the Palmer House – lay upon the bare mattress of the king-sized bed, the sheets having been torn from the corners and strewn about the floor. She was face down, her small, dainty feet dangling off the edge of the mattress, her tight, tan-lined bottom bare to the stale, muggy air that permeated the room.
Judging by the rank odor of alcohol, she was passed out. Judging by the equally strong smells of sweat and sex, her little body had been ravaged the night before and probably into the wee hours of the morning.
* * *
The denizens of the city of Chicago were euphoric. Well, most of them were. The diehard Cubs fans were a little put out, upset that the White Sox were playing in the World Series just two years after the Cubs had blown their chance to participate. Nonetheless, the city in large measure came out to support the White Sox – the true-blue fans as well as the fair-weathered ones.
But with it the World Series brought a whole host of visitors from far and wide. Hotels were sold out – not just in Chicago, but in the suburbs, too. You couldn't get a reservation at a decent restaurant. Finding room to belly up to a bar was next to impossible. A cab in River North? Forget it. Just walk.
Astros fans, baseball fans, corporate sponsors, those who just wanted to say they went to a World Series game – one and all, they descended on Chicago like vultures, turning the city upside down for the first weekend of the 2005 World Series Championship.
Among them was Kimberly Cannon. Kim had arrived the Thursday before the first game on a Delta flight from Atlanta with a dozen co-workers. Being employed by one of Major League Baseball's major sponsors got her easy access to tickets. Being employed in the sponsor's marketing department with daily interaction with the MLB got her into a private box at the stadium and a small suite at the Palmer House Hilton.
Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it – she had had to leave her husband and two daughters behind. Tom wasn't happy about it, but the demand on the company's tickets and box access was too great to allow for spouses to attend, at least at Kim's level within the corporate hierarchy. Sure, Betsy, Kim's boss, had brought her husband. But Kim's of seventeen years had been forced to stay at home with the girls, relegated to watching the games on television.
While some of the younger company attendees had departed the Cell for the bars and clubs of Rush and Division, Kim returned to the Palmer House with Betsy, Betsy's husband, and a few mid-level MLB personnel. The rest of the returning crew opted for bed, but Kim stopped by the bar off the main lobby for a drink before retiring. Through the game, she had gulped down a few beers before switching to vodka-and-tonics; she wanted her buzz to keep her going a little while longer.
The bar at the Palmer House is by no means a Chicago hotspot. Nonetheless, it was quite crowded after the first game had let out. Kim elbowed her way to the bar and ordered a Cosmopolitan. Sipping from the glass, she waited until a seat opened at the bar and slid into it, smoothing the back of her gray, just-above-the-knee skirt as she sat.
Being alone, and not knowing anyone at the bar, Kim looked around her, peering through the cigarette and cigar smoke that drifted toward the ceiling, and eavesdropped on the conversations taking place beside her.
An elderly couple seated next to her paid their tab and rose to leave; Kim ordered another Cosmo from the bartender when he came to collect the couple's tab.
* * *
Gary, also in town for the opening game of the Series, had been sitting at a low table set away from the bar with a few of his friends. Graduates of Northwestern's business school, now flung across the country and, in one case, Southeast Asia, they had all met back in Chicago to attend Game 1.
Single, with considerable disposable income, Gary was playing the game. He looked around the bar – as he did at every bar – for any opportunity he could find to quench his sexual desires. The Palmer House was perhaps not the best scouting field, but several opportunities did present themselves.
When he saw Kim hike her trim rear-end onto the bar stool, he made his choice. He had tuned out the conversation around him, watching her as she brushed a few stray strands of long, dirty blonde hair behind an ear before tipping the martini glass against her full lips.
She looked his way without actually seeing him, and Gary smiled inwardly. 'What a beauty,' he thought, taking in sparkling green eyes that sat above high cheekbones and an elegant, perfectly proportioned nose.
When the elderly couple sitting next to her at the bar rose, so too did Gary, taking his drink with him. "Be back in a bit," he muttered to his friends.
* * *
Approaching the bar, Gary slid into the just-vacated seat next to Kim and ordered another scotch-and-soda for himself.
"I've never seen this place so crowded," he said to Kim, looking around.
She glanced his way and gave him a small smile to acknowledge his presence.
"Let me guess," he continued despite her lack of encouragement. He feigned concentration, his thumb and forefinger at his temples. "You're here for the Series."
Kim smiled wryly, finishing the last of her Cosmo. "Wow, you're incredible! How'd you do that?" she asked rhetorically, setting the empty glass on the bar. "I mean, you're in a hotel bar full of tourists, it's the weekend of the World Series, and you actually managed to divine that I'm in town for the World Series."
Gary gave her a sly smile, ignoring the thick sarcasm. "It's my sixth sense."
"Yeah, I bet," she responded as the bartender approached with their drinks. Kim reached for her clutch.
"No, no. Let me get it," Gary insisted, pulling a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. "What kind of gentleman would I be to let such a beautiful young woman pay for her own drink?"
Placing their drinks before them, the bartender rolled his eyes at Kim before swiping the bill from the bar. Kim mirrored him, though she secretly reveled in the attention of young men.
"Mind if I join you?" Gary asked, all confidence as though there was no way the striking woman would decline him.
"You already have, haven't you?"
"Yeah, I guess I have."
"Then you're welcome to stay." She raised her glass to the young man and they clinked. "Thanks for the drink."
"My pleasure," he said, taking a sip. "So, was I right? About the World Series, I mean."
"Mm-hm."
"Little dressed up for a ball game, don't you think?"
"Not really. If I was in the bleachers, sure. But I was in a box with some co-workers and clients."
"Nice seats."
"Very nice seats."
"And booze, too, I'm sure."
"And booze, too." She smiled at that, and took a long pull from her Cosmo.
