Room 401

Story Time.

Bartender at international hotel for business travelers in a major city. Labor Day weekend. Quiet setting. No sporting events. No concerts. No business travelers.

Attractive woman walks into the bar. I’m talking hot. Super hot. Girl-next-door beautiful. Brunette. Petite. Full lips. Killer body you could surmise beneath the white sweater she was wearing on this hot summer day.

Strolls up to the counter. Orders a strawberry arugula salad with chicken, glass of red wine. I’m actually flustered. Sweating. And not because it’s scorching hot out since I’m inside an air-conditioned hotel.

Tells me she’s going to sit outside. Why not? It’s hot as hell and you have a sweater on. Of course you’re going to sit outside.

I pour her the glass of wine. The salad is ready. I bring it out. In that moment, I’m compelled to say, “I’m sure you hear this a lot, but you’re incredibly beautiful.” She smiles. Almost demurely. I’m an idiot.

I’m standing inside talking with my co-bartender. I tell her, probably because she’s the only one else in the entire bar, how hot the woman is outside. She agrees. Without hesitation.

Now she decides to come back into the bar. The bees were bothering her outside. So she’s sitting at the counter. And we strike up a conversation. The three of us.

Name is “Marie”. I’m not buying it. So I start using her name in conversation. Like, “‘Marie’ said fall is her favorite season.” No reaction. No acknowledgement. Not a “I never said that.” It’s not her name.

Tells us she drove here straight from Canada. No reason. I give her places to visit while in town. Loves to travel. Favorite trip was to Thailand for a month. Been all over the world. Italy. Portugal. I ask if she’s ever been to the Middle East. She replies, “Yes, Afghanistan.” I said, “I hear it’s nice this time of year.” Clever. Sort of. No reaction. Maybe a half-smile. Not my best work. Ex-military. Doesn’t fit. Or maybe it fits. Perfectly. I thank her for her service. She’s Canadian. I’m not.

Conversation dies a natural death and she says she’s going upstairs to her room but will be back later tonight. She never comes back. Disappointment. Maybe it was a dream.

I tell my co-worker. Her name isn’t “Marie.” “Why do you say that?” No acknowledgement when I referred to her in a sentence. She’s a high-end call girl. “You’re crazy.”

Next day I’m working. Back to the bar. Turn around. She’s sitting at the counter. “What happened to you last night?” “I fell asleep.”

Now we’re hitting it off. Talking about theme parks. Roller coasters. She has kids. Divorced. Husband cheated on her. C’mon! Wine is flowing. Red. Not white. I try to guess her sign. Got to be either Taurus or Scorpio. She’s a Scorpio. Trouble.

I’m doing so well, I’m wondering how I’m going to screw this up. Best opener of all-time. Worst closer. End of night is drawing near. She gets up to go to the restroom. I decide that I’m going to go for it. Give her my number. She comes back. I say “I’ve really enjoyed talking with you. Here’s my number. If you’re ever back in town, I’d love to show you around.” She replies, “Here’s MY number.” Nah, can’t be happening.

I have to close up. Side work. No one else working but me. It’s Sunday night Labor Day weekend. I get done. She’s still here! Sitting at the bar. I come around the counter and she walks me to the elevator. Then pulls me aside and says, “Do you want to hang out?” YES! My entire life has come to this very moment! “I’m in Room 401.”

Wait, how the fuck am I’m going to get upstairs? Not, I could get fired for doing this. What am I talking about? I have the master key that allows elevator access to all the floors in the hotel. I take off all my work shit and put it in the car. I’m not showing up with an apron and cheesy bistro shirt.

4th Floor. 401 is at the end of the hall. Longest walk. Ever. I half-thought of a slow jog. Never been in any of the rooms. Why would I? Knock on the door. “Room service”. Clever.

She answers. Walks me in. It’s a suite. Lounge area to the left. Bed on a platform straight ahead and slightly to the left. Little bar seating spot too. Grabs me a beer from the refrigerator. Sits down and pulls her seat close to me. This can’t be really happening. Not me.

I’m going for it. Why not? I start kissing her. This is so great! She’s totally into it. Suddenly stops me. Asks “Can I record this? I want to watch it later and masturbate.” OF COURSE YOU CAN! I might want a copy and do the same!

Now we’re really going at it. She’s a fucking wide animal. Talking all kinds of shit. How I’m going to fuck her. That she knew I wanted to fuck her. Such a turn on. I’m losing my mind.

Puts the phone in her hand down on the table. And I hear a voice on the other end, “Hey, I can’t see anything.” Did I just hear that correctly? Eh, ignore it. Probably her ex-husband in Canada she’s trying to get jealous. I have this super hot woman in my arms. I’m naked. I’m about to fuck her. Who cares?

Maybe a minute later. Guy walks into the room. Opens the door and walks right in. Where are my pants? Says, “Don’t mind me. I forgot my phone charger. Carry on.” No reaction from “Marie”. Doesn’t jump up. Not surprised or shocked that a random dude just walked into the room while we’re about to fuck. I’m putting my jeans on inside out. After he departs and closes the door behind him, I ask “Um, what was that?” She replies, “Don’t worry about it.” And goes right back to kissing me and grabbing my dick.

Okay. Let’s do this. Another minute or so. Guy walks in again. I’m dead. He either throws me out the window behind me. Or I have to go directly through him to make it out the door. “Marie” is now annoyed. Gets ups and walks over to the bed and starts masturbating. Sure. Totally normal. Where the fuck are my clothes?

Random dude says, “Hey, what’s your name?” Yeah, I don’t think so. NOW I’m worried about getting fired? Now. “Marie” says, “Jeff.” Hey, at least she knows my name. That’s a good sign.

He says, “Don’t worry about anything. I’m going to grab a beer and be right outside. You’re going to be here awhile. It takes her a long time to orgasm.” “Marie” responds, “That’s true.” What. The. Fuck.

Then he leaves. I’m out of here. Nope. “Marie” comes over and pulls me onto the bed. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to fuck me.”

Thing is. I’m recently divorced. And this is a bit much. Kind of overwhelming, if you will.

“Marie” says, “I told you I was a Scorpio.” She did. That part is true.

“Fine. You’re free to leave.” And with that she climbs off me (ex-military, definitely could have broken my neck if she wanted to). I scoop up my clothes and depart.

And who should be standing right outside the door in the little alcove? Intrusive mother fucker just like he said he would. “Wait! Where are you going?” Where am I going? Look, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on between the two of you. But I kinda want no part of it.

“Hold on. Hold on. What’s your name again?” (side note: my Mom totally mis-named me because no one ever recalls my name).

And with that, this guy has the balls to knock on the door. NOW you’re knocking?! You couldn’t have done this like 15-20 minutes ago?

I’m out. I’m done. Worst fucking closer EVER. I’m the world champ.

I get out to my car. Actually still shaking.

Next day I come in, petrified they’re still here. Ask the front desk, did Room 401 checkout? Yeah, but disputed their bill. Oh fuck!

Manager comes over to ask while on shift. “Hey, do you recall a charge from Room 401 last night?” Yeah, kinda sorta. You mean the hot fucking woman sitting at the bar? It vaguely rings a bell. “Well, the guy says the $90 tab, salmon and red wine, wasn’t his.” No, it definitely wasn’t his. “Well, if you see her, make sure you ask for a credit card.” Pretty sure I won’t.

End of night. Manager comes back over. “Guy called back. Said it was a co-worker”. I’ll bet.

Next morning, I text her. She did give me her number. Glad we could connect. Hope you enjoyed your stay. “Thanks! Was nice meeting you!” Un-fucking-believable.

Best. Story. Ever.

Do it for the plot.