I’m listening to music now (the Marvin Gaye channel on Pandora), that is making me want to check into a hotel wearing nothing but a fur coat and red heels and have lots of anonymous sex with both men and women.
The hotel interior is bathed in gold and burgandy, and there are lots of ferns in the dining room. When I arrive in the hotel, I walk straight past the valets in their tomato red jackets, past the concierge in his impeccable black suit. I’ll press the white elevator button (the elevator doors are brass) with my finger (the nails painted a purplish black), and once in hit the number 9. The elevator walls are mirrored; lipstick can be reapplied, eyes checked for smudges.
The elevator stops at the sixth floor, and a maid pushing a brass cart (the same high sheen, glossy brass as the elevator) steps on. She’s dressed in a neat gray uniform, her black hair coiled into a smooth knot. Her calves look strong, and she smells like lavender. She smiles at my reflection in the mirror. I open mouth to say hello but just as I’m doing so the elevator bell sounds and off she goes, pushing her cart onto the soft cream carpet in the hallway. When the elevator doors clothes I can still smell her.