Room 702 (37 page)

Although she’s fiercely connected to the Blackberry Curve, Camille Thompson sits at her laptop and reviews e-mails that she previously marked for further attention.
 
Taking a bite of the Caesar salad she’s ordered from room service, she stretches for a minute and, raising the fork to her mouth for another bite, pauses as she hears someone fiddling with her door.
 
Turning down her music, she frowns, looks at her food and wonders if room service forgot anything.
 
Walking over to the door, she looks at the small screen and doesn’t recognize the woman on the other side of the door.
 
Watching for a moment, Camille sees a woman, apparently somewhat intoxicated continue to attempt opening the door.
 
Camille watches the woman kick the other side of the door, hears her curse, then lets lose a string of expletives.
 
Rolling her eyes, Camille relents and unlocks the door and says politely, “Sorry, but I think you have the wrong room.”

“Do I?” the woman squints as the light from the room streams into the darkened hallway.

 
Slightly irritated, Camille gestures to the interior of the room, and says, “I’m pretty sure this is my stuff in the room.”

“Oh.”

 
Camille shrugs and says, “So…”

Without asking, the woman walks through and with a glassy eyed stare, asks, “Can I use your bathroom?
 
I have to pee.”

Without waiting for answer, the woman walks into the room, dropping her oversized purse on the ground, leaving Camille more or less speechless.
 
Unsure how to politely handle a stranger in her suite, Camille debates calling the front desk, but having been a bartender in a former life, decides it’s not worth the effort.
 
Walking back to the bedroom, she grabs the bottled water and brings the beverage back to the lounge, not too shocked to see the woman, younger than her by a few years, to have already kicked her shoes off and sprawled out on the couch.

“Here,” Camille says as she passes the water across.

“What’s your name?
 
I like you.”

“I’m Camille,” says as she takes a seat in the large leather chair.
 
“What’s your name?”

“Jill.”

“And Jill, can I ask why exactly you’re here?”

Jill pauses to consider the question, and then giggles and says in a
sotto
voice, “I’m hiding.”

“From what?”

Rather than explain herself further, in a very serious tone, Jill asks, “What if we just stay here?”

Too tired to do anything but continue the conversation, Camille slouches and asks, “What do you mean?”

“I mean…”

“Is something wrong?”

“It’s…suffocating.”
 

“Suffocating, like, you want to do something else?” Camille’s skills from her former life as a bartender shine through.
 
Jill must be a contemplative drunk – someone who gets deeply philosophical when intoxicated.

“I don’t know.
 
Do you have children?”

Camille thinks of her hectic life on the road, putting major events together, setting up conventions, making sure things run efficiently.
 
There hasn’t been time for children, a boyfriend, or even a pet.
 
The plants she has usually end up dying.
 
Camille doesn’t have regrets, but she understands how people on the outside might view her life as empty and shallow.
 
Camille smiles and answers, “No, I don’t.
 
Do you?”

“Two daughters, a guinea pig, a turtle and some fish.”

“And what are you suggesting exactly?
 
You’d walk out on those beautiful children of yours?”

“I don’t know.
 
Part of me thinks maybe I should, or could…I don’t know.
 
How do all these other parents make it look so easy?” Jill glugs some water.
 
“Do you want my opinion?”
 
“I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?”
 
“Did you ever think they are wondering the same thing?”
 
“Maybe, but Patty down the street wouldn’t.
 
She’s just got everything figured out.
 
I kind of hate her.”
 
Jill lets out a series of giggles and announces, “I haven’t told anyone that before!
 
She’s even in my book club!”

“Listen, I don’t know this Patty or anything more about your life, but what I do know is that you should take a moment and be thankful for all that you have.”

“It’s just not how I thought it was going to be.”

“What did you think?
 
That it would be easy?
 
That raising children was going to be a walk in the park?”

Already melancholic from the three double Jack and cokes at the bar downstairs, Jill begins to weep, quietly.
 
Wiping her tears, she asks, “Do you remember what you were like in high school?”

Camille thinks of the slightly overweight, hopelessly awkward young woman she was and answers, “Yes, and I’m glad I’ve moved on.
 
What are you asking about high school for?”

“Do you remember what you were going to do?”

“Get the hell out of town.
 
Make something of my life.
 
So far, I’ve done exactly that.
 
What were your plans?”

“I was going to travel.”

“Are you from here?”

“Where?”

“Los Angeles.”

“Actually…not too far away.
 
A terrible little town in Lancaster.”

“Where were you going to go?”

“I wanted to see the world.”

“So what?
 
Everyone wants to do that.” Camille, wanting to keep things optimistic, says, “Anyway, I bet you’ve seen more than a lot of people.
 
Furthermore, why the hell not just travel with your kids?
 
Show them the world!”

“That’s just the point!” Jill suddenly yells.
 
“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“At least not all the time.
 
Can’t I get some part of my life that’s just for me?
 
Does that make me a bad mother?”

“You’re clearly asking the wrong person.
 
Anyway, why don’t you try and explain yourself?
 
I’m sure you’ll be able to come up with a bunch of reasons as to why you’re a great mother.”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“Because at the Winchester, I am not me.”

“Then who the hell are you?”

Jill pauses to drink more water and answers, “I mean, just me.
 
Not a wife, not a mother, not someone with a million expectations.”

“So, you like being this Jill rather than the one back home?
 
News flash, everyone likes themselves better in a hotel.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take it from someone who spends a hell of a lot of time in hotels, I’ve seen it all.”
 
Camille taps her lips thoughtfully and adds, “Although you are the first to try and come into my room.
 
Anyway, staying in a hotel is a temporary suspension from reality.
 
No matter how short the stay, it’s like people just instantly check out of their lives as soon as they check in.
 
I’ve witnessed it again and again.
 
They come up with different personalities, different versions of themselves.
 
People convince themselves of all these things they could do or be.
 
They spend money they don’t have.
 
Believe me, the more expensive the hotel, the more I see these behaviors in action.”

Jill looks away and says, “I can see what you’re saying, but, what you don’t know is this moment isn’t something I’ve come up with on a whim.
 
This is something I’ve been thinking of for a long time.”

“Does your family have any idea?”

“Doubtful.”

 
“Why not?
 
You’re going to tell me that no one in your life knows you’re unhappy enough to leave them.
 
What about your husband?”
 

 
“There isn’t time.
 
Between his travel and the kids, we don’t have more than perfunctory conversations – who’s doing the shopping, who’s picking the kids up from school, if we have any commitments over the weekend.
 
Whether his parents are going to drop in, what we’re going to do for the kids’ birthdays, what we’re going to do for our kids’ friend’s birthday – it’s exhausting.”
 
“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“What are you doing here tonight at the Winchester?”

“I had to drive in early for a work thing tomorrow morning.”

“You still live in Lancaster?”

Jill looks down and admits, “Yes.”

“Okay, so, I’ve not been in a relationship for awhile, but doesn’t this basically all come down to communication?”

“I guess.”

“Do you think he’s happy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

 
“Shouldn’t you do that before you do something you regret?”

“I guess.”

Jill, coming towards sobriety, seems to realize she’s in a stranger’s hotel room and flustered, says, “Listen, I’m sorry I came here in the first place.
 
I think I’m a floor below.”
 
“Don’t be embarrassed, Jill.”
 
The woman locates her handbag and begins to move to the door.
 
Camille, seeing tears in Jill’s eyes, says, “Sit back down.”

 
“Really?”

 
“You’re in no place to be by yourself.”

 
“You’re right, but…”

 
“But what?” Camille asks.

 
“Don’t you have work to do?
 
Aren’t I interrupting something?”

 
Camille thinks of what she needs to do the following morning, and knows she can do it in her sleep.
 
Truth be told, this is one of the most interesting conversations she’s had in ages.
 
Camille answers, “No, in fact, I was just about to pour myself a glass of wine.
 
Can I get you something?”

 
“I shouldn’t.”

 
“Why?
 
Aren’t you someone else tonight?”

 
“Fine, I’ll have a Jack and ginger if they have it.”

 
“Coming right up.” Camille fixes the drinks with ease, hands the requested beverage across and sits back down.
 
“What shall we toast to?”

 
“To stolen evenings and new friends.”

 
Camille reaches across to clink her glass and says, “Cheers!”

 
“I like you, Cami.”

 
“Thanks, but I think we need to get back to sorting some of your issues out.”

 
“Do we have to?”

 
“I think we should.
 
Your life is infinitely more interesting than sorting out purchase orders.”

 
“At least I have that going for me!”

 
Cami says, “And that’s a fantastic place to begin.
 
What else do you have going for you?”

 
“My health and the health of my family.
 
I know I shouldn’t take it for granted.”

 
“You’re right.
 
Anything else?”

 
“I have a job that I more than tolerate.”

 
“That’s more than a lot of people have.
 
You’re already ahead of the game.”

 
A trilling sound from Jill’s discarded purse on the floor catches both of their attention.
 
Jill scrambles through the accoutrement of her bag and plucks out her smartphone, answering the call, she says, “Hey baby.”

 
“I know, I meant to call you.” Jill mouthes the words ‘I’m sorry’ to Cami, who shrugs the apology off.
 
Focusing on whoever is on the other end of the call, Jill says, “Do you really need that?”

 
In a warbly tone, Jill sings ‘You Are My Sunshine,’ then says, “Can you go to sleep now?”

 
“Okay, night night − I love you.”
 
Jill hangs up the call and stares at the phone in her hand.
 
Looking back up at Cami, she says, “I’m kind of an idiot, aren’t I?”

 
“It sounds like you have a lot to be happy for in your life.”

 
Jill sighs, then begins collecting her things.
 
Once she has everything, she says, “Cami, this may sound forward of me, but can I get your e-mail address or something?”

 
“Of course you can, sweet pea, although the best way to get in touch with me is What’s App.
 
And I’d have to warn you that I’m often in strange time zones.”

 
“That’s okay.”

 
Cami stands up and walks her new friend to the door.
 
She asks, “You’re going to be okay, right?”

 
“I am.”

 
“And you’re going to go straight to your own room?”

 
“I will.”

 
“The next person might not be as friendly.”

 
“I know.”

 
“Take care of yourself, Jill.”

 
No longer strangers, the pair hug, and as Jill steps through the threshold, she looks at the numbers on the door and says, “What do you know?
 
This
isn’t
my room!”