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Pioneer Suite

Sterling Warner

    Grabbing the computer traveling case that he had left outside of his hotel room door should have been easy. As Ray Stark recalled, it was close—no more than a foot from the door handle—but he couldn’t have had worse depth perception.
    Deftly, Ray thought he’d flipped the latch, so it would prevent the door from completely closing. Again, the difference between intension and reality may as well have been the length of a football field. Nevertheless, he quickly swung the door towards the wall, jumped into the hallway wearing just a pair of jockey shorts, grasped the handle on his computer case, and turned—only to watch and hear the door snap shut.
    “Shit! I can’t believe my rotten luck!” Ray shouted.

*****

    Five minutes before his hotel room locked him semi-nude in the hallway, Ray tossed off his shoes and socks, peeled off his sweaty jeans, removed his John Lennon t-shirt, and took a 10- minute nap—a nap to revive him after the worst travel from New York to Seattle he’d ever experienced. When he awoke, the first thing he did was to get his cell phone recharger out of his luggage and plug it in a nearby socket.
    Next, Ray began to put clothes in a drawer and realized something was missing—his lap top. “Only an asshole leaves his luggage in the hotel hallway,” he thought, “and that only happens in the movies. Shit! I’m in my own horror show!” he laughed.
    Carefully, Ray opened the door just a crack in order to confirm his suspicion. “Yep! There’s my damn lap top,” he sighed. Unfortunately, it sat four arm lengths from his reach. Still tired, Ray thought for a second about fully dressing before attempting to rescue his lap top, but, feeling lazy— and in the mood for a longer, cooler nap—he made the momentous decision to leap into the empty hall, retrieve his computer case, and get back to his room before any eyes beheld him. Always a pessimist, Ray picked the wrong time and place for his ill luck to change. “Damn it!”

*****

    Ray felt the soft, delicate hand touch his shoulder before he looked up into an attractive forty-something woman who had obviously seen too much sun in her youth. “Got locked out, hon?”
    Dropping his computer bag, Ray made a clumsy effort to cover up a bit. “Er....ah...you see....”
    “Don’t be shy; I’m Lou—follow me,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him across the hall where the hasp had prevented her door from closing. Once inside, she looked him over two or three times from head to toe. “Nice,” she commented to Ray’s secret delight, tinged with a sense of consternation and horror. Next, she picked up the telephone and hit the zero. “Tell the front desk your problems—what’s your name?”
    “Ray. I don’t usually—”
    “Of course, you don’t,” she interrupted with a smile, passing him the phone.
    “Front desk. How can I help you?”
    “Yeah. This is Ray Stark in room 696—I’m locked out! Could you send someone up to the sixth floor to let me in?”
    “Better yet, Mr. Stark, come down to the lobby; we’ll give you brand new magnetic keys.”
    “Can’t. I’m naked except for a pair of jockey shorts—not a good look....”
    “I’ll be right up! Stay put!”
    Ray turned to thank Lou for her assistance, but she’d vanished. “I must be imagining things,” he uttered, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
    “Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark!” When Ray opened his eyes, he found himself back in the hall, in front of his room door, with a hotel representative attempting to get his attention. “It’s dumb to forget one’s room key,” he said, “but very strange to walk around the hallway wearing only jockey shorts and carrying a cell phone.”
    “Huh?” Ray looked at the cellphone, clearly not his own, in his hand and then back at the hotel representative. “Thanks so much. Could we keep quiet about this?”
    “Sure, buddy—frankly, you’re not the first lock-out I’ve assisted.”
    Back in his room, Ray stuck one plastic key in his wallet and the other in the left front pocket of his jeans. Then, he slipped back into his pants—no more taking chances—and put back on his t-shirt. Knock! Knock! Knock! “Who’s there?” Ray asked.
    “Lou. I need a favor. Now I’m locked out of my bedroom!” When he opened the door, she stood before him totally naked. “What do you think?” she inquired as she twirled around so Ray could inspect every inch of her body.
    “Beautiful, Lou—simply beautiful, but you’d better step inside.”
    “Thought you’d never ask, Ray.”
    “Your cell phone’s over there, Lou.”
    “Dankeschön!”
    “Sprechen Sie Deutch?”
    “Ja. Das ist richtig.”
    “Auf English, Lou.”
    “Just between us, Ray, I don’t really need to phone the front desk to get where I’m headed.”
    “Here—put this on,” he replied, tossing her a clean tie-dyed t-shirt.
    “Why do I need this, Ray? Do I embarrass you?” she teased.
    “Not at all, Lou, but you’ll want to wear it when you cross the hall.”
    “Actually, that’s not really my room.”
    “But—”
    “But nothing, Ray. You imagined what you wanted to—including a landline call to the front desk—nothing more.”
    “I don’t deserve you—or this,” he mumbled rather exasperated.
    “First time in Seattle?” she asked.
    “No. I’ve been here before for both business and pleasure.”
    “Outside of Seattle clichés—the Space Needle, Monorail, and Great Ferris Wheel, what did you find memorable?”
    “No question about it: The Underground City,” Ray admitted.
    “Impressed, were you?”
    “Sure, Lou. The informative docent brought Seattle’s past to life!”
    “Did he or she talk about the city fathers—and mothers?”
    “Yup. Chief Seattle was the only name I recall. Why?”
    “I’m timeless,” she abruptly replied. “At the end of the 19^th century, men referred to me as the seamstress—and I brought a lot of money to the city, before and after the great fire.”
    “Whoa—that was over a hundred years ago.”
    “Now aren’t you the mathematician,” she sarcastically replied.
    “I’ll humor you for a moment—why the seamstress?”
    “A master in the trade, I specialized in trimming trousers and hemming men’s desires.”
    “Lou Graham?”
    “The one and only, lover boy!” With that, she slipped on Ray’s tie-dyed t-shirt.
    “You gotta be putting me on!” he retorted, raising his head toward the ceiling. However, rather than answering his challenge, the room became quiet, as her t-shirt fell and crumpled-up on the floor. “What the F—!” Ray peeked in the bathroom. Empty! Then he went across the hall, knocked on Lou’s door, and a Chinese couple who spoke limited English opened it. “Where’s Lou?” he asked them.
    “Lou? No Lou...” a man uttered through a crack in the doorway, attempting his best to communicate. Ray couldn’t understand, so he went down to the lobby to get information about the guest across from his room.
    “I can’t give you too much information,” the desk manager explained. “However, I can tell you the Yangs have been here for two nights already and will be staying for another three days.”
    “But what about Lou—Lou Graham? She let me use her telephone in the room where the Yangs are allegedly staying.”
    “Madame Lou Graham?”
    “Yeah—the seamstress....”
    “I think you mean ‘Queen of the Lava Beds,” replied the manager with a laugh. “Seriously, Lou died of syphilis in 1903—in San Francisco no less—more than 106 years ago!”
    “Seeing and talking to her—it’s all seemed genuine—grounded in reality.”
    “You’re overtired, Mr. Stark, and your imagination has taken hold of your senses.”
    “So it appears,” he sighed.
    “Get some rest and relax. You weren’t the first person who’s locked himself outside a hotel room practically naked here, and I doubt you’ll be the last to believe he’s seen Lou Graham.”
    “The front desk’s clerk is right you know—on both counts!” Ray spun around to see Lou, elegantly dressed, cooling her face with an intricately carved ivory fan.
    “You again!” Ray sighed.
    “Men and women alike have wandered the length and depth of this hotel hallway, locked out of their rooms, usually stark naked!”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I helped build this city—twice; I travel anywhere and everywhere....”
    Ray rubbed his eyes, but she still stood vividly before him, crisp and confident. “Please don’t....”
    Lou interrupted, continuing, “Some of these hotel creeping nudists simply forgot where they were, stumbled in the dark, found and twisted presumed bathroom door handles—a couple men even pissed on the hallway rug!”
    “Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark! Who are you talking to?”
    “Lou Graham, over—”
    “Knock it off, Ray; he doesn’t see me.” Ray turned back toward the desk and smiled.
    “Just jerking your chain...I appreciate your information—and the front desk’s assistance with my problems today. Have a peaceful night,” Ray said, fully dismissing Lou and her scolding behind him.
    After striding off the elevator, Ray turned down the long corridor leading to his room, noting the surreal atmosphere but making nothing of it. Then, one by one, the guest rooms opened and apparitions of women in sheer clothes stepped into the hallway, allowing their doors to click shut. Next, Lou Graham appeared without a stich of clothing on her body and began to march towards him.
    Ray’s initial anxiety turned into bravado when he faced them. “Goodnight Lou—and ladies!” he firmly declared while quickly swiping a card over its magnetic reader, unlocking the door, and walking inside. For the rest of that night, as well as his entire visit to Seattle, Ray ignored the abrupt appearance and equally brusque departure of all apparitions wherever he went. He became particularly adept at blocking out the sound of a dozen delicate knuckles knocking on wood and voices calling out his name, seeking comfort and conversation in his room whenever he closed his eyes to sleep. Nonetheless, Lou Graham remained timeless. Obsessed with her image, Ray thought about her 24/7.

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