RENAISSANCE HOTEL

A Short Story

By Hal Jones

Copyright 2006
H.V. Jones
	Jake Stein knew value.  And he knew faces -- useful traits for a computer software salesman.  At 61, he’d been selling for 55 years, but recently there wasn’t much heart in his sales.  His goal now was to hang on until he could get his retirement and his Medicare.  After that, he didn’t expect a lot.
	About value, he felt the kid (as he called his boss), knew very little.  In town for a business show at the Miami Beach Convention Center, Jake had just checked into the Fountainbleu, where the kid had made reservations.  He looked around the lobby and figured the price for a three-night stay.  A place like that you’d hire for a client, but to sleep a salesman, it was dumb.
	Waving off the bellboy, he carried his suitcase up to the room.  As he unlocked the door, a couple entering the next room caught his eye.  The young man was tall, muscular, Latin-looking, in a tight T-shirt and black pants.  The sides of his head were shaved, and a curly black mop exploded from the top.  The lady, in contrast, was a petite blond dressed in a smart business suit.  Jake entered them in his face bank and settled in for the evening.
	He watched a little TV, showered and, without even cracking the curtains to see the ocean view the kid was paying for, went to bed.  When he was well under, something woke him.  He stared into the blackness, but, sensing nothing, was almost asleep again when he heard it -- a faint ticking that built to a tapping, speeded up, faded, came back pounding, faded again, then, after many minutes, swelled to a peak and tapered off.  A half hour later it began again.
	Jake had no doubt it was the couple next-door.  Graphic images of that swarthy young man’s activities with that delicate girl formed themselves.  All night he lay listening and picturing.  Once or twice an hour he heard the sounds until dawn.   
	The following day he was so tired he could barely concentrate.  He almost missed easy sales and did nothing to bring in the hard ones.  He never used porno, but the images of the night filled his mind until, exhausted, he was finally able to close his booth.  Tomorrow, Saturday, would be the biggest day of the show, and if things went the same, it would be hard to justify his job.
	Later, in his room, he opened the curtains and went onto the balcony.  For a while he let the sweet ocean air caress him and watched the couples strolling in the patio below.  No one was on the next balcony.  As he prepared for bed, he both dreaded and hoped for the sounds that soon began again.
	Jake was no prude.  He’d been raised in a tough area of Jersey City and knew about sex well before he could do it.  Still, sex like that -- he’d counted nine or ten times the night before -- he hadn’t had until he and his Effie were married.  After that, she was all he ever needed.  Then, when the cancer had taken her after five emaciating years of struggle, he was so dried out he hadn’t been able to cry, and that part of his life was finished.
	Now the sounds through the wall, instead of bringing lurid images, played a staccato dirge for his sobs.  When morning finally delivered him, he could barely leave the bed.
	How he could work, he couldn’t imagine, but staying in that room was worse.  As the day progressed, though, the shroud of mourning lifted, and an energy he hadn’t felt in years filled him.  He was dynamic.  He was funny.  And he pulled in more trade than ever.
	That night, if there were sounds in the hotel, he paid no attention.  He slept more soundly than he had in years.  And he dreamed....about Epifenia Gomez, the company receptionist, a still-handsome widow, who, more than once, had given him the eye.
	As he dressed next morning, he put on the blue tie that made him look young, the one he always packed but never wore -- Effie’s favorite.  While he was finishing his suitcase, Luis, the housekeeper knocked.  Jake waved him in.
	As Luis waited, he inquired about Jake’s stay.
	“Not, bad, not bad at all.  Well, the couple next-door was a little enthusiastic a few times,” he said with a knowing wink.
	“Next-door?  No one’s been next-door all week.  The last people broke up the place good.  Maybe you saw the maintenance guy go in there with a manager.  It won’t be ready for a few more days.”
	Jake looked mystified.  “But I heard....”
	“I bet  you heard that old washer.  I told ‘em not to use it.  The laundry was so full they were washing some of the towels in the housekeeping room down the hall, but that machine knocks like hell.  It finally blew out last night.
	Listen.  If it disturbed you, I’ll tell the manager.  I bet they’ll give you a credit or something.”
	Dumbfounded, Jake turned back to the suitcase.  He considered Luis’s offer,  then, giving the man a handsome tip, proceeded to the lobby where he paid the bill himself, not putting it on the kid’s account.
	If was worth the price, he thought.  Maybe double.  Maybe more.