Talk is Cheap

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 12

Mr. Wash and Sarah were just finishing up their entrees when Steven carefully marched out, his entree and dessert carefully perched on the wooden tray.

“You never answered me, by the way, Mr. Wash. Did any children come about from your marriage?” Sarah spoke up, her fork dangling from her fingers.

“Oh, well…” Obidiah began again, wiping the corners of his mustache with the napkin. “Just a son. He’s over in America, studying the sciences, actually.”

“So I take it you have nobody in line for taking over the hotel, once…”

“Once I’m not longer in the shape to?” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

Melinda came by once again, taking up their finished plates. “Alright you two lovelies, I hope you still have room for the mousse chef Brian has prepared.”

“That sounds great.” Sarah smiled.

Melinda smiled wide at Obidiah, who sat back tiredly, rubbing at his arms. “I’ll be right back with a pair of those, then.”

Somewhere in the commotion, Joel had finished his meal before having gotten his salad. After his run-in downstairs, and a lack of morning coffee to sooth his aching brain, the meal and the commotion of people had taken the final ounces of his energy away. He carefully arranged the used silverware and dishes in a stack and silently excused himself from the table while the others were all occupied.

Somewhere up the stairs on the way back to his room, he encountered a sole fork sitting upon one of the carpeted treads. Just a half floor up, Steven was continuing up with his tray, one step at a time.

“Uh, hello- Narrows, was it?” Joel called out.

Steven paused and looked down through the banisters. “Huh? What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath and forced himself up to meet with the student. “I think you dropped this-” He said, presenting the fork out.

“Oh, it would be troublesome not having that, huh.” He chuckled to himself and allowed his savior to place the fork down on the tray. “Your name was…?”

“Joel.”

“Joel.” Steven repeated. “You can call me Steven.”

“Well, uh, Steven… How’s about that French dame?” Joel attempted to make conversation as they continued up the flight of stairs to the third level. “Tiring, I would say.”

“Very peculiar.” Steven made a weak shrug. “She heard I was studying marine biology, and she had her daughter come by and see if I could tell her what type of seashell she had gotten at the beach.”

“Cute.” Joel acknowledged with a raise of his eyebrows. At the top of the stairs, he looked about to double check his surroundings. “Well, uh, this is where I get off. Have a good one, then?”

“Right.” Steven nodded and retook a grasp upon his tray before continuing up the rest of the way. With a careful balancing act, he was able to unlock his door and safely deposit the collection of food on the first table inside.

After taking a breather, he took up his lunch plate, upon which only the salmon fillet and a slight bit of sauce remained. He stared at it while making his way to the jacuzzi tub, where the wolf fish swam lazily around. He scraped off the charred bits of seasoning on top of the deep orange flesh, and separated just enough to fit into the palm of his hand. Sitting upon the edge of the tub, he tossed the morsel into the water. The wolf fish immediately jumped upon it and swallowed it down. “There we go, much better than bread, Mr. Carnivore.”

He followed up with consecutively bigger pieces until half the fillet remained. With a quick wipe of his hands, he went back to take in the remainder of the meal for himself: the chocolate mousse. He swallowed delicate spoonfuls as the fish circulated slightly more energetically.

As Steven neared the bottom of the dessert cup, he noticed a slight blinking out of the corner of his eye- an orange light upon his phone. He dashed over and pushed the button on the headset to playback the voice mail:

“Good day, Steven. Dr. Harris, here. I’m just letting you know, I can make it up tomorrow- Thursday, that is. I’ll try to get in contact with you when I get into town. The Walkwater, was it? Oh, it’s a small town, I saw, so I guess I could ask around…”

Continue reading “Talk is Cheap”

Lunch Service

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 11

Sarah leaned forward across the table at Obidiah, stroking the rim of her empty water glass. “Mr. Wash-” She said playfully.

Obidiah straightened his back and adjusted his shirt. “Yes?”

“May I ask… about your wife?” The older woman asked with a restrained energy.

Wait, what?

Obidiah’s usual calm attitude was replaced by a tapping of fingers and dragging lines through the condensation on his water glass. “Oh, well, what’s there to say? It was a tragedy, and not a day goes by where she isn’t on my mind.”

Hmm…

Sarah stretched her arm across the table, just slightly out of reach of Obidiah’s hand. “I’m sorry if it feels like I’m prying.” She apologized. “And you never had any kids, is that right? Oh, well, I can tell the hotel may be considered your baby, am I right?”

Melinda returned to the table with her pitcher of water and served the owner’s table partner. “Here you are, Ms. Seer.” She said as she carefully guided the rattling ice water into the glass.

“Melinda.” Obidiah spoke up, his voice louder than usual. “How is chef Brian faring with the kitchen, do you know?”

Melinda shifted the pitcher of water in a swirling motion. “I haven’t heard from him yet, actually. I was just back there to let him know to have the first course ready. He was to ding the service bell when his entree was ready to head out. I can check in the back and see how his progress is faring.”

Sarah had opened up a small mirror from her purse and had taken to adjusting her pale lipstick while the conversation continued. “Oh, Mr. Wash, I don’t think we need to rush the man.”

Obidiah swallowed hard. “Right you are, Ms. Seer. Oh, perhaps a starter, then, I heard?”

“Salad!” Melinda perked up suddenly, jostling the water. “He did set out something fresh I was to serve. I shall return shortly. Oh, Mr. Narrows.”

Steven had appeared under the archway of the dining area, looking to the sign, then about the mostly empty dining room. “By invitation only?” He asked warily, rubbing his arm.

Obidiah took the napkin from his lap and stood. “No, no, please join us. Free for all guests to introduce our new fare. You may sit with us, if you like.”

“Oh, Mr. Wash.” Sarah hummed with a slight air of annoyance, sending a short, sharp glance at the student.

Steven glanced at the woman, then to one of the empty tables nearby. “Oh, thank you, but I don’t see myself staying long, just to take in the meal. Plenty of… research to attend to.”

Obidiah nodded and took his seat once again. “Very well. Uh, you were saying, Ms. Seer?”

“I’d love to hear more about the history of the hotel.” She said, turning back to her relaxed posture, nearly halfway across the table.

“We do have a couple of fine illustrated records in the library-”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

Continue reading “Lunch Service”

The Beneath

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 10

Wednesday Morning

Joel headed down once again to a late breakfast with the lightheaded daze of a waning hangover. The morning sun was bright, shining in the front windows of the hotel. The morning housekeeper, wearing the hotel’s deep red uniform, was beginning to tidy up the leftover bits of continental fare from the line. She turned back and jumped slightly as Joel stepped up to the row of tables to begin serving himself some coffee.

Joel jumped just the same in reaction to her being startled. “My apologies.” He said to the middle-aged woman as she held at her chest. He noticed a name tag reading ‘Melinda’ just below her collar.

“No, no, just a bit of a fright you gave me.’ She replied, stepping aside with a shake of her head. “Usually it’s Mr. Wash coming in at this time to check on things.”

Joel nodded and took a glance back to the front desk, just barely visible around the corner. “Well, luckily for us, he doesn’t seem to be here.” Joel smirked and began to pour himself some of the luke-warm coffee into the tan mug.

“His days off are typically Wednesdays and Thursdays.” Melinda replied.

“Oh?” Joel perked up. “I wonder what he gets up to.”

“I believe he enjoys going golfing.” The housekeeper shrugged.

“He seems pretty preoccupied with the hotel, I wouldn’t imagine a gentleman like him ever taking a day off.”

“Quite.” Melinda hummed and checked over her work. “Oh, though I’ll be able to make any accommodations if you need anything this morning. And Heather will be here later as well.”

Joel shifted to the toaster and placed a couple of slices of white bread inside to allow them to darken. “I have met Heather. Thank you, Melinda.”

The middle-aged woman bowed her head and began to head back in the direction of the lobby. “One last thing before I talk your ear off any more than I should- I hope you can join us for Chef Brian’s lunch service today.”

“I believe I shall try.” Joel waived her off. “Thank you, again-”

As Melinda began to walk off, Joel eyed the front windows, then back to the woman as she disappeared around the corner. He popped the toast of prematurely so that it would not make a sound, and he placed his cup of coffee on one of the far back tables to mark his spot. With one last glance up front, he began to march stealthily to the back of the hotel, past the cupboards of dishes and the swinging doors of the kitchen.

Continue reading “The Beneath”

The Real Thing

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 9

Tuesday Evening

It was some time late in the day, far after the lunch hour had passed. Joel had finished his sketch of the contraption under the hotel’s entrance, and the notes jotted down to accompany it. The previous pages of the notebook were filled with similar observations. His stomach rumbled suddenly, and he noticed the bright sunlight of the late afternoon shining in the window nearby.

Joel folded the notebook down and placed the pencil on top carefully. He stretched as he stood, cracking his knuckles. He returned to the little kitchenette and opened the fridge in seek of the pre-made meal he had picked up at the grocery store the day before. The rubber seal of the mini fridge dripped water upon the linoleum before his feet. The icebox at the top of the appliance sweated with melted ice crystals, and the condenser had stopped its normal hum. He gripped the sides of the plastic structure and pulled out the fridge, revealing the switch upon the little hidden socket had been flipped to off after coming in contact with the back of the fridge.

Joel reached his arm back into the dim crevice and flipped the rocker back to the ‘on’ position. The fun-sized appliance then began to hum back to life as he shoved it back into place, making sure not to repeat the same mistake. Opening the door once again, he peered down inside to the plastic-wrapped sandwich, poking a finger at the soggy bread inside. He sighed and picked it up before throwing it into the trash on the opposite side of the kitchen. He glanced at the dry pasta sitting on the shelf nearby, then to the big skeleton key sitting on the table by the door. With a sigh, he slipped on his loafers and went out the door, locking it after him.

The dining room was empty, apart from Heather, who was drifting between the tables and looking over the bundles of shiny silverware sitting inside their napkin cocoons. She glanced up as Joel entered.

“Good day, Mr. Yannison.”

“I’m not too early, am I?” Joel looked about, glancing back at the front desk.

“Not at all. Though…” She bit her lip. “The new chef doesn’t seem like he has his menu ready yet for tonight. I think he’s preparing for the lunch service tomorrow.”

“That’s fine.” Joel said, his stomach usurping reason from his taste buds. “But… maybe not the cordon bleu…”

Heather giggled and nodded. “I understand. Take any seat, and I’ll let the kitchen know to throw something on for you. I’ll be back with water in a flash.”

Joel nodded and found a seat at the front corner of the dining room, at a setting only big enough for two people. He posed his chair at an angle to be able to keep an eye on the front of the hotel. The light fixtures dotted around the room seemed sturdy, with brass chains and circular shades of glass. The glass windows looking to the outside were spotlessly clean, and the carpets of an equal quality.

Heather returned with a pitcher of water rattling with ice. “Here you are, Mr. Yannison.” She said, pouring a glass for him.

Joel nodded a thanks. “It’s, uh, fine if you call me Joel.” He said. “Uh, how do you like working here?”

Heather shrugged. “Well, Joel. It’s not a bad place to work. Not too busy. I’m allowed to sit around when I’ve got all my work done and study for my exams.”

“Hoping for Uni?” Joel asked.

“Mhm.” Heather nodded, setting down the pitcher of water on the table. “Trying to get a maths degree. Maybe go into some sort of civil job, engineering or conservation or something the like.”

Joel perked up. “Quite the ambition.”

“Well, working at a place like this has allowed me a unique vision.”

“If you only knew…” Joel mumbled.

Continue reading “The Real Thing”

High Spirits

The Washwater Hotel: Chapter 8
Tuesday Morning

Brian had accepted the food delivery from the previous day: some of the same frozen fare, as well as the necessities he would be using to create his menu for the week. The delivery man had stacked the front of the walk-in full, leave the state of the fridge and freezer hopefully abhorrent of code. That previous Sunday, he had spent cleaning the front of the kitchen to a sparkling shine, but he had yet to even peer into the deep reaches of the shelves in the cold storage.

Horatio had sneaked into the kitchen, both to bring the room service plates in from upstairs, and to hopefully catch a look of the new cook. Brian had just stepped in from the side of the building where he had been recycling the empty cardboard boxes from what he was able to clean out of the freezer. Horatio fixed eyes upon him while still holding the cart of dishes, immobile.

“Uh, hello-” Brian said, hoping to avoid much more contact. “Uh, just place those by the sink. I can handle putting them in the washer.”

Horatio nodded and continued forward with the cart, ramming it loudly into the counter while his eyes were still diverted. Brian rushed forward and took the cart from the small fellow’s hands and straightened the stack of plates from atop it.

“You cook.” Horatio mumbled, his lips pursed intently.

Brian sighed and knelt down before the hotel’s helper. He placed his finger before his own lips. “It seems I can’t get anything past you, little man.”

Horatio nodded intently and pointed his finger upward, suggesting his room upstairs. “On television.”

Brian smirked and forced his eyes to wander. “Yes, I’m that guy you’ve seen on TV. Listen here-” he said gently, placing his hand on Horatio’s shoulder. “You can’t tell anyone I’m here. My producers are probably frantically trying to search me out, but there’s no way I’m going back. Way too much pressure. I… I think I like it here. It’s rather cathartic.”

Horatio’s nodded increased in frequency, noting his understanding.

Brian stood back up and looked about. “Good man. You… like cooking and stuff? Maybe we can work through a few recipes together.”

Horatio looked up and smiled a toothy grin. He put his finger up to his lips in thought, when a loud call came out from the front of the house. “HORATIO.”

“That’s Mr. Wash, isn’t it?” Brian perked up. The diminutive fellow frowned and began to trudge out on his way to the lobby. “Hey-” Brian called out after him. “Remember- you and me. Whenever you’re free.”

Horatio nodded back and then pranced out through the kitchen’s swinging doors, a fresh spring in his step.

Continue reading “High Spirits”