Editor’s Note: The Last Hotel: A Novel in Suites by Sonia Pilcer. This is the 28th installment of her tales of the Upper West Side in the 1970s. Look for it every Friday. To read the 27th installment, with links to previous ones, click here.
Suite 22
As Lenny unlocked the door to his suite, Esther closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Usually they met in her suite. The last time she came over, she had been unprepared.
“That’s me,” he had told her. “That’s who I am. ‘I yam what I yam,’” he had mocked himself.
“I can live with that,” she had responded. “I suppose.”
She liked Lenny a lot, but there could be all kinds of germs and insects here. She took another deep breath and opened her eyes. Much to her surprise, Lenny had actually cleaned up.
“Your place looks, uh, better, Leonard,” she said.
He had thrown out his collection of pizza boxes, partly-eaten Chinese food cartons, cans of Rheingold… Swept up, made the bed, not to mention the dirty socks and even emptied the ashtrays from last week’s poker night.
“I could tell that you thought this place was a dump. And you didn’t say anything. That’s a nice thing about you. Never mind that,” Lenny cried out as they walked into the room. “We’re rich, kiddo!”
“Are we?”
“Look at this!”
He opened a large navy blue bowling bag with red letters that spelled BROOKLYN BOMBERS. Turning it over, dollar bills of all denominations flowed out of the bag, floating on to the bed like greenish butterflies.
That morning, Lenny and Esther left the Last Hotel, took the A train to Aqueduct at Rockaway Boulevard. “The Big A,” Lenny called it as they entered the race hall. They’d each bet one hundred dollars on a Trifecta Lenny had suggested after studying the Racing Form.
“You’re fun,” she said, as they took seats in the Grand Stand. “I never did anything this crazy before!”
“Ya only live once,” he had said.
“It’s just money.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad I have my own income, and am not interested in yours.”
“That’s why I like you. You’re not a wallet sniffer.”
She turned to him. “Huh?”
“Most of the women I meet –” he had said, looking into her eyes. “Or the, you know, women I met before you.”
And now they were staring at several thousand dollars on Lenny’s bed.
“We did the impossible,” he was saying. “A Trifecta of three losers – who all got the call this morning and ran for their lives.”
“It was a miracle.”
“Just like you, babe.” He rubbed up behind her. “That’s quite a rump you have on you Madame Big Bucks.”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“Can we?”
“What?”
“You know.”
He grabbed a handful of dollars and sprinkled it over her.
She took a pile and threw it back at him. Soon they were having a fight, flinging dollars at each other.
Then both fell backwards on the bed in a fit of laughter.
“Do you have any idea what this means to a working stiff like me? Oh, I’m not complaining. I make a good wage since I own the cab and the medallion. But this, this –”
She smiled at him.
“You got a pretty smile. How about I ravage you on a bed full of dough re mi?”
Esther helped Lenny unbutton her denim shirt, unhook her four hook brassiere, out of which flopped her huge bosom, nipples like succulent mushrooms.
She lay back on the bed. Lenny sprinkled dollars over her ample body, which felt feminine and desirable.
“Ravish me, my Brooklyn prince,” she crooned.
Afterward, they sat up. Several dollar bills still clung to their wet, naked bodies.
“What should we do with all this dough?” Lenny asked.
“God, I don’t know,” Esther said breathlessly.
“I want to go to a game at Yankee Stadium with seats behind home plate. I used to be a Dodger fan, but they blew off New York for L.A. So far the Yankees have been loyal, and ya gotta love those Mets.”
“How much does that cost?”
“Who cares? And a new Zenith 37 inch color TV. What’s your fantasy?”
She closed her eyes. “I’m sitting on a balcony overlooking a turquoise sea, sipping a rum drink with a paper parasol.” She sighed contentedly. “I want to be where the weather is an angel who kisses you head to toe with a golden tan and warm water to swim in.”
“Well put, Estie,” he said. “Let’s book it!”
“Yes!”
“Mad money!”
“Oooh!” Esther wrapped her fleshy legs around Lenny’s.
“You’re my good luck charm,” he said, kissing her neck.
“And you’re mine.”
As she lay in the bed, she thought about a new set of sheets. A print. New pillows, too. Maroon curtains would be nice. And a vacuum cleaner.
Esther turned on her side, rising on her elbow. “What’s going to happen to the hotel?”
“Nothing good,” he said. “I heard Saul’s going to court to get a temporary restraining order. But it’s just a matter of time.”
“I feel bad for him.”
He nodded. “We all do, but there’s really nothing to do. We’re sitting ducks, waiting for the ax to fall.”
“What’s going to happen to us?”
”You mean – Us – with a capital U?”
“Well, I actually meant the greater, more general us, but since you mention…”
“We’re,” he declared, emphasizing the word, “going to have to find other places to live.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Getting a house on wheels.”
“You mean a hippie van?”
“No way, Estie. All the comforts of home, and then some. A disgusting, hoggish Winnebago with a shower. A great stereo. TV, of course.” He looked at her. “And you at my side, kiddo. You do have a driver’s license?”
“Of course.”
“Lots of New Yorkers don’t.”
“I used to live in the suburbs.” Esther was a little in shock. “Really, Lenny? We haven’t talked about –”
“I know. It just hit me. I could sell my cab. We could go on the road. You and me, babe. If you want that.” He looked into her eyes. “Do you?”
“You never said anything. I can’t just –” she began.
“What?”
“I have all my stuff….”
“That’s what storage is for. Estie, I’ve had this vision of driving West on Route 66. The mountains, the deserts. Truck stops. Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? Do you remember the TV program with Martin Milner and George Maharis?”
“Of course.” She hummed the theme.
“We could travel across the whole country,” he said. “On Route 66. See the purple fields of majesty…”
Forget the vacuum, Esther told herself. She’d buy a black leather jacket.
“Vroom, vroom….” Lenny sighed dreamily as he snuggled asleep in her arms.
______________
Sonia Pilcer is the author of six novels including The Holocaust Kid. The Last Hotel is now available at your favorite bookstore or Amazon.com. Visit Sonia Pilcer’s web site here.
