Room 702 (11 page)

“Sure thing.
 
Have a good time!”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

Bob sets down his phone.
 
He’d love to bring April back here, but couldn’t risk the prompt ‘welcome back, sir’ which might follow.
 
Instead, Bob thinks it would be best to buy her a gift certificate to Burke Williams in the near future.
 
Often after his special night, he’s hit with a wave of guilt and usually compensates by buying her something nice and unexpected.
 
She thinks he’s just being romantic and always appreciates the gesture.
 
He ponders for a moment if Clarissa and April could ever be friends.
 
April teaches at the local middle school and Bob doubts the two women would ever cross paths.

The doorbell to the suite chimes merrily, and, in Clarissa’s husky voice, says politely, “Just a minute.”
 
Bob looks through the peephole to catch a glimpse of the young man.
 
Stephen is as adorable as she thought he would be.
 
He’s tall, taller than Clarissa even in her boots and the Genevieve hair is an extra special feature she appreciates.
 
Apparently, Clarissa prefers redheads.
 
Stepping back to look at herself once more in the mirror, she opens the door, fake eyelashes fluttering.

Stephen gulps nervously and Clarissa motions to the vestibule, saying, “Please come on in.”
 
“No trouble,” says the voice she heard on the phone.
 
“Thanks for the personal delivery, honey.”

Stephen wheels the food inside the room and asks, “Where would you like to eat?”

“It’s such a nice night, I think I’d like to enjoy my meal on the balcony, sugar.”

“Okay… Ma’am.” Stephen is a bit out of his element.
 
He’s worked for the Winchester for roughly six months, having received the job one month after arriving into the metropolis.
 
As a young man from a small town in Alabama, he’s not prepared for many of the situations he’s been privy to since joining the staff at the hotel.
 

“Aren’t you sweet?
 
Actually, it’s ‘Miss.’”

“Yes, Miss.”
 
While Stephen has worked some hospitality before (three summers at the local Holiday Inn between his high school and college years), nothing prepared him for life in the big city.
 
While he knows the rest of the guys in the kitchen will love this story, first he’s got to get out of the room.

Stephen tries his best to artfully arrange the food on the small balcony table.
 
While in his head he knows a man is staying in this room, the woman in front of him is very convincing.
 
While not his type (Stephen prefers younger, tanned, heavily mascaraed college girls who smell of vanilla), there is something interestingly attractive about the person in front of him.
 
While he isn’t sure what his personal beliefs on a man dressing as a woman are (after all, this is his first encounter), he feels no need to be angry or hurtful.
 
Furthermore, perhaps Bob Wilkerson will put in a good word for him at the front desk when he checks out tomorrow.
 
Stepping aside with a flourish, Stephen announces says, “All set.” Then adds hastily, “
Bon appétit
.”

“Thank you for everything.”

“Just leave the tray in the hallway or ring to let us come and clear your meal away,” Stephen says, twisting his hands.
 
“Oh, and I almost forgot, can you sign for the food?”
 
He pulls out the bill from his white apron pocket and withdraws a pen.
 

Stephen watches the guest sign and suddenly feels compelled to say something complimentary to the guest.
   

“Here you are.”

“You have lovely…penmanship,” Stephen blurts out.

“That is such a kind thing for you to say.
 
Oh, and I’ve almost forgot!” Bob Wilkerson all but prances towards his handbag and pulls out a crisp series of ten dollar notes and hands them across.

“Th-thank you, Miss.”
 
Stephen walks to the door and says, “Just call whenever you are ready for us to clear things away.”

 
“I will.”
 
Clarissa shuts the door, and goes over to the balcony to enjoy her dinner.

Kimberly recognizes the phone number – her mother’s – and picks up the phone, “Ma – what is it?
 
I called you from the airport and I’ve barely made it in the door.
 
Don’t be that paranoid, it’s just LA.”
 
“Turn on the television.”
 
Kimberly understands the voice is not one to argue with and does as she’s told.
 
Falling heavily on the sofa, she flips through the channels and instantly sees what her mother is talking about.
 
There, in full HD quality, is a disaster.
 
An earthquake of truly epic proportions.
 
For a country that has already seen its share of tragedies and natural disasters, Japan is once again at the mercy of the tectonic plates beneath them.
 
The videos show a terrible morning scene.
 
A violent shaking from various camera angles.
 
Cars thrown about like toys.
 
A rippling of roadways.
 
 
“Do you know if he’s there?” her mother asks.
 
“I… I don’t know.” Kimberly barely has time to process the question.
 
The ‘he’ in reference is Kimberly’s on again off again partner of forever.
 
Greg Hill.
 
The full weight of what’s happening hits the twenty-eight year old and she says, “Mom, I’ll call you back when I hear anything.”
 
“Or just call if you need someone to talk to.”
 
Thoughts fly through Kimberly’s head.
 
The last time they spoke…
 
The conversation turned ugly.
 
How will she get in touch with him?
 
They are friends on facebook, but for someone so intelligent, so in the public eye, he is not active on social media and in this chaotic time, she guesses this will be the last thing in his mind.
 
His updates are far and few between and show the hectic lifestyle he’s been living since their most recent breakup.
 
 
They met in college – a state school with tens of thousands of undergraduates, friends of friends with an instant attraction.
 
Once graduation came, they had both decided to try their luck in New York.
 
He was an artist across numerous mediums.
 
She was a graphic designer.
 
At first – it was amazing.
 
They were poor, but they didn’t care.
 
And then, he was discovered.
 
From nothing he became something.
 
 
There were offers, he signed with a well known agent.
 
She knew he was a traditionalist, deep down, and pressured him to get married.
 
He wouldn’t commit and took a commission in London, then Sydney and had recently ended up in Tokyo.
 
 
The last time they had seen each other had been a hotel much like this one.
 
There had been some aggressive sex – the best they’d ever had, and in the end, they still hadn’t been able to resolve their differences.
 
She’s tried to date other men, but always finds them lacking.
 
This event pushes forward what she’s been hesitant to reveal.
 
Her hand trembles as she picks up her phone.
 
She has his number.
 
More than anything, it’s a lesson in patience.
 
She’ll look at the digits, compose messages to it that she never sends, but can never find the ability or courage to delete the information from her phone.
 
And now, she cannot type out the words fast enough.

>>Please tell me you’re okay.

While she wants to sit and stare at her phone, while she’s desperate for a response instead, Kimberly unloads her laptop and pulls up various news sites trying to get any information possible.
 
It’s not enough.
 
She turns up the volume on the television and in an agitated state, flips the channels every 30-90 seconds.
 
When a text doesn’t come back in a matter of minutes, she picks up the phone and dials his number.
 
The call does not go through.
 
Given the damage she’s seen on screen, it’s not surprising.
 
Kimberly quickly calls and cancels the dinner she had booked this evening.
 
Her friend understands.
 
Kimberly knows she won’t be able to sleep until she finds out whether or not Greg is okay.
 
Unable to find something useful to do, she begins tracking down friends of Greg who he’s recently been in contact with.
 
None of them have an update.
 
All are equally worried for his well being.
 
As she finishes another fruitless lead, she looks up on screen to catch a ferocious aftershock.
 
 
Buildings sway, but most – thankfully – remain standing.
 
Debris falls and announcers begin frantically discussing the possibility of a tsunami triggered by this latest catastrophe.
 
As terrible as the first round looked, these images are truly frightening.
 
For the amount of damage taking place, it seems difficult to believe people would be able to survive.
 
The phone rings.
 
It is her mother, again.
 
She must have seen what’s happening.
 
This time, Kimberly picks up the phone, “Hi, Ma.”
 
Kimberly doesn’t make it much past this greeting before breaking down and weeping.
 
Her mother remains silent on the other end until her daughter is able to settle herself.
 
The elder Richards asks, “Have you heard anything?”
 
“No.”
 
“Do you want me to call his parents?”
 
The relationship between Kimberly and Greg’s parents has never been particularly strong, so she appreciates her mother’s offer that much more.
 
“No…
 
Maybe.
 
Could you?” After all of the fruitless searching, Kimberly wouldn’t mind some outside help.
 
“Why don’t I do that and call you right back?”
 
“I love you, Ma.”
 
“Take care, sweetie – just keep thinking about him.
 
We both know that boy is a survivor.”
 
Kimberly tries to follow her mother’s advice, but ends up pacing around the room, then going back to her inbox and reading through all of the old messages from Greg.
 
The inside jokes.
 
The pictures from when they first started dating.
 
In a wave of melancholy, she reverts her profile picture to a photo from a weekend trip to Maine they took a few years back.
 
When the phone rings, Kimberly instantly picks up, “Any news?”
 
“They haven’t heard anything, but they’ve called into the U.S. Consulate, so if they hear anything, Marilyn promised to let me know.”
 
“Do you think that means something?”
 
“I don’t know, sweetheart.
 
Are you sure you don’t want to fly home and be with us?
 
I hate the thought of you all alone in the hotel.”
 
“I’ll be okay.
 
Besides, what if he calls me and I’m on a plane and I can’t answer?”

Somewhere, somehow, Kimberly’s emotions and energy were spent and she fell asleep at an awkward angle on the couch.
 
 
A ringing in the distance drags her from a difficult slumber.
 
Not recognizing the area code, she picks up and asks, “Hello?”
 
“Kim?”
 
“Greg?
 
Is that you?”
 
“Baby…” are the only words he’s able to get out before both break down, crying and breathing heavily.
 
“Are you okay?” Kimberly manages to ask.
 
“Please tell me you’re okay.”
 
“—ine.
 
Listen, the connection is bad and I’m borrowing a friend’s sat phone.
 
Can you call my –rents?”
 
“Of course I can.
 
Are you somewhere safe?”
 
“For now.
 
Where are you?”
 
“Los Angeles.
 
Can I meet you somewhere?”
 
“—y put.
 
I’ll come to you.”
 
“Of course!
 
Greg, I’ll be waiting for you.”
 
“…love you.”
 
“I love you too.”
 
The line goes dead.
 
Not letting go of the phone, Kimberly rubs her eyes and walks outside, trying to catch her breath.
 
Did the call really happen?
 
It wasn’t something she imagined?
 
Forced to make happen?
 
She looks at the phone and scrolls through the recent calls, relieved to see the short conversation did indeed happen.
 
“He’s alive.”
 

“I’ll just be right back,” says Clare Berhie, flipping the deadbolt lock into the door frame so it will remain open.
 
Clutching the brushed silver bucket in her hand, she creeps out in the hall, very aware that she is wearing a robe and nothing else.
 
She wishes Daniel had been able to make the trip with her, but he was unable to get coverage for his shifts in the veterinary clinic where he worked.
 
The death of her grandfather had been expected, but still painful news to receive.
 
The funeral would be the following day.
 
It would be good to see family members she had not seen in years and introduce Toby to many of them.
 
Since receiving the news of her grandfather’s passing, her life had been shifted to overdrive.
 
Booking tickets, packing for herself and Toby, trying to find a suitable black dress she could fit into — the past 24 hours had been a blur.