i was re-awakened by the sound of emergency responders and flashing lights: apparently one of the lords-a-leapin' (forgive me if i cannot remember at the moment how many there are) had leapt into the lounge's plate glass window.
i have instructed francisco to have the glass men come out immediately to fix the damage. i saw the injured lord's face, looking a bit abashed, through the rear window of the ambulance. his plumed chapeau was knocked askew.
the other lords were milling around in the lobby, and one guest intimated that he spotted one with one of the ladies dancing taking rather a long time to return from the vestibule which houses the ice machine. i shall have to ask snake if the machine is faulty.
no sign of mr. rocco.
to take their minds off the trauma, i ordered adair to have cook prepare a lavish repast for the lords, ladies, midgets et al. eggs benedict and fresh-squeezed juices, ricco's specialty, will be involved. you are all welcome to join us, that is, if you can stand the cacophonous jingling of dozens of elf boots.
THIS EVENING'S FEATURED ENTREE: partridge. the distributor sent too many.
at 2:30 am i was awakened by the sound of repetitive banging, there is nothing more irritating than that apart from a manicurist who runs a half hour late. i had forgotten i had my sleep mask on, so i stumbled over a slipper chair, a drinks trolley, and two room service trays as well as my parcheesi partner, a mr. j_______ (whatever he was still doing there, i had no idea), found my way into a cashmere kimono and opened the door ever the slightest inch with the chain still across.
"yes?"
a man with a superfluous toothpick dangling from his lips said, "miz meadowsweet?"
"yes?"
"i'm rocco, you wanted to see some samples?"
ah yes. the flocked wallpaper salesman.
"mr....uh, ...."
he said an italianate last name which at present escapes me.
"i know it's late but i had a little trouble finding the motel," he said.
"a common problem," i assured him. "we really need better signage."
"signs? i gotta guy can help you out."
"i'm sure you do."
at this point mr. j____________ rolled over on the chaise and emitted a loud snort. the parcheesi board, which had been perched ever so precariously on the frilled edge of the piece, toppled to the thick mauve pile with a slight thump.
"i didn't realize you had company, miz meadowsweet."
"he's just a friend," i insisted. "we're practicing for an upcoming tournament."
he looked past my shoulder to the goblets and french-toast plates that were scattered to the floor from my clumsy personal navigation of the room. "i'll say," said my sicilian pal.
"mr .... italian man, it is very late. if you're tired, may i suggest a room. our night clerk, mr. snake, would be happy to assist you, and we can discuss wallpaper samples in the morning. i hope you've got something in a pale olive."
"one question, miz meadowsweet...."
"yes?"
"the reason i came up here is because the lobby is filled with birds and trees ... i couldn't find anyone and i've been knocking on doors for the past hour."
"snake is there, behind the pear tree."
"the bird in that tree is pretty flashy."
"i'm sure you feel right at home then, mr. rocco," i said. "we shall speak in the morning."
and i closed the door just as mr. j_________ toppled off the chaise in a moment of somnolent stretching. luckily the deep pile came to the rescue once again, because he did not stir. i shall have to thank francisco for convincing me to install it.
i have just read that the total cost of our twelve days of holiday follies will be $19,507.
there is a donation box in the solarium for those of you who wish to contribute a small gift of record.
i slipped on a mango skin, a paring on the floor from a delectable fruit which was carelessly peeled by my cook, matilda. long story short, i fell down a flight of stairs in barcelona, and i ended up in pittsburgh via portugal, and it took a very, very, very long time to recover from the injuries sustained thereupon.
put it this way ... if you meet a nice man in a cafe and he smiles at you and does that little trick of making his eyes twinkle (how do men do that?) and says he has the answer for you, the answer to all of it ... life, the universe, et al ... and then asks you out for a drink and you are completely demoralized from living in ... god, it makes my skin crawl to even type it again ... pittsburgh ... and you miss all your dear friends who were helping you renovate your motel and you still don't know what happened to all the manolo blahniks that your cross-dressing assistant absconded with from your suite, which later burned down from a lightning strike, taking your beloved hedgehog, chuckles, with it ... do not go to his "mountain chalet," i am warning you, it is no chalet.
no, instead you will find yourself sentenced to hard labor in the raspberry patch, picking picking picking under the hot midday sun without a floppy, stylish straw hat to offset your toil, having your fingers stained pink and growing to dread the sight of that little artistic drizzle of syrup on your plate when you order "death by chocolate" cake in the commissary ...
....because you know from whence it came ... having your only friend be a chicken named edgar, who later turns up fully dressed (and i'm not talking tuxedo) at a good-works open house for the compound ...
edgar in better days
...knowing that there are no good works at the compound and the man with the twinkling eyes actually believes he is a prophet of some sort, but he promises you your freedom in exchange for your banana bread recipe, which, granted, is prize-winning, even if it is not really your banana bread recipe, but that of francisco, your handyman who was also in charge of the renovations at your hotel ...
... which you gladly hand over, now that you know that is all he wants, even though it was a secret family recipe, and soon you find yourself on greyhound, of all things (there is not a shower long enough in the world to wash off the effluvium of that trip, and the spiritual wounds incurred) in order to arrive at your little motel near the turnpike exit in jersey, only to discover that ...
... your former other assistant, adair, is now in charge, and there are oily-lady-shower lamps in every beautifully-appointed room, and snake, the former soaps salesman, is the maitre d' in the bistro, where once upon a time there was a lounge where the ceiling caved in during a performance, but those days are gone and all but forgotten ...
...and to learn, that not only are the orphans in calcutta thriving, but that all your friends are here to make merry for the holiday party, which will last for twelve evenings just like the song, and that that partridge and the pear tree (in an attractive faberge planter) will be delivered any day.
...the only fly in the ointment being that our blog was neglected all this time, and some poser masquerading as a housewife with a husband and child was hogging all our glory, blathering on about her cheap cosmetic finds and her fashionably idiotic angst, and frankly we are all tired of her whingeing on, there is nothing interesting in her life whatsoever. so i shall redirect our attentions here, my angels. and if she pipes up with some "not of general interest" commentary in the meantime, so be it, but honestly. some people are always pushing themselves forward.
my darlings. it's fabulous to be back.
i am being summoned to calcutta for several days, apparently the orphans need me.
if you require additional tubs of marmalade during my absence please contact the front desk.
we are here to serve you.
if only the airconditioner piping hadn't've burst halfway through the interpretive presentation of "stardust" and wrecked the beautiful ostrich plume fans covering the dancers! if only they'd thought to wear bodysuits! if only it hadn't've ended up on the front page of the local rag!
there was a very flattering portrait of me, but i'm not sure i wanted it reproduced under those circumstances.
and the lamps finally arrived, but they are not maidens surrounded by wires which replicate a secret shower in a leafy glade. NO! instead they sent two hundred lamps depicting a genie seated on a cushion, with his arms folded, looking ready to grant a wish. next to the genie is a pensive-looking elephant.
they'd be fine if they weren't turquoise with faux precious stones.
the paper with the number of the lamp company on it was left atop the grand piano in the lounge accidentally, while i was assisting with choreography for rehearsals, so there's no calling it now.
i wonder if we should keep the lamps. what do you think?
the photo you see to the right was taken yesterday in the alex comfort lounge. i borrowed the boa from one of the dancers for our tuesday night revue, to which you're all invited.
the only problem is the lounge isn't quite finished, there's a large hole in the ceiling from which the air conditioner leaks, and the only person who can fix the air conditioner is at present in mexico attempting to get divorced from his fifth wife. or so they tell me.
so try not to sit in the right hand corner, we'll reserve that for the man who contracted with the person in mexico.
i was thinking a sort of barry manilow/judy garland/air supply/joao gilberto medley. the choreographer has been in there screaming at the girls all day, and frankly if i hear "fivesixseveneight" one more time accompanied by tinkly saloon piano i am going to scream.
but i have to go lie down with cucumber slices on my eyes so i'm fresh for the occasion.
hope you like the look of the place. it took much less time to renovate than i had planned. i went away for the weekend (tenerife, my former employee adair has an attractive goduncle there whom i became acquainted with at a recent wedding reception) and i return and ... lo!
ciao! my bella! construction company has redone the whole place.
the maiden oil lamps are being delivered tomorrow and not a moment too soon.
this week's special: three nights for the price of one! your choice of ecru or taupe down comforter! and the brand new evergreen suite with freshly applied flocked wallpaper features a revolving king-sized bed and a home theater system with surround sound. don't wait, reservations are pouring in.
each stay includes free continental breakfast with mini individual marmalade tubs in the flavor of your choice: lime or orange.
it is a mistake to drink the entire contents of a minibar while entertaining.
today i got a bill from yvonne, she of the ivory matelasse and hideous little dog b&b. it was for $59.870, which is about five times more than i paid for this entire place, if you don't count the personal sacrifices of the strip poker game. i turned the bill over and scrawled a question about paying in installments and mailed it back to her.
i hated that B&B.
i wish you guys had been a little more careful with the antique wicker drinks trolley that one weekend you came to visit, i'll never live that down.
but who cares? yvonne and her pack of miniature snarling curs were hardly from good breeding.
anyone who has to tell you that their husband is a "highly successful business executive" every single day has a problem.
just in case you're wondering, i am having this window INTO the motel redesigned in the next few weeks, as my alter ego did on the rowhouse. look for pleasant changes here soon.
adair sent me a postcard from calcutta. he is working with the orphans even though it is not christmas. he asked if he could have his old job back when he returned.
i am up all night because the diner next door's sign outside keeps flickering, complete with that "expiring fly" noise at maddening intervals. you know the one i mean. BWHANT! silence. BWHANT! silence. BWHANT! silence.
and me without my earplugs.
and francisco out carousing and wooing his lady friend ("guadalupe") and not here to give me a backrub and put me in a trance state when i most need it.
there is a visible oil stain on the adjacent pillow from when snake slept here. i had the handymen change the sheets, but apparently the stain didn't wash out. i will have to invest in oil-repellent fabrics when i buy linens in bulk -- or battenburg lace antimacassars.
so, as i've said the work here is unfathomable. luckily, between them, francisco and ricco have a combined 263 friends in the building trades, all of whom owe them favors (they are generous men by nature; i'd trust them with my life). so they will be coming round in the next few days to assess the place and make recommendations. i hope the recommendation is not to raze the entire place, as it has a certain charm under the grit.
so by the second week of september, we should have a new and pleasant facade which honors our historical heritage while incorporating the latest fashions in velveteen draperies. now i have to decide between burgundy and sage for those.
decisions, decisions. thank god i got the soap fragrance choice out of the way, that one was keeping me up at night.
well, i have to say that the chenille bedspread salesman (yes, it turned out to be a salesman -- "hank" -- god only knows at what motel "lindsay" ended up) wore me right out. all that testing and all those swatches! who knew there was a such thing as a "loftier" chenille? and now i can't decide between eggshell and ecru, they look the same to me. perhaps i'm colorblind. can women even be colorblind?
and then francisco neglected to give me my wakeup call, so awakened at 2:37 pm thinking i was in a dark dungeon somewhere, surrounded by bedbugs. but no, i was just wearing my satin-and-lace sleepmask and it was, in fact, a bright sunny day outdoors.
not that there will be any leisure for me. you should see this place. i mean, i know you all saw mr. snake passed out in 443 but there are sixty six units here, each one more dilapidated than the last. the previous owner, a mr. b________, sold me the entire place for ten grand plus three rounds of no-holds-barred strip poker.
how was i to know he'd make off for his native country moments before settlement, leaving my lawyer (recommended to me by my former employee, adair) to sort out the sixteen leins against the property? luckily i was found faultless and allowed to proceed.
but i have had to hire my former newsletter editor to sort out all the building permits and so forth. forgive me if i cannot at the moment recall her name.
francisco got a little enthusiastic playing desk clerk so he booked the entire place solid beginning the 20th of september. i realize we are in a desirable location along a main artery but that means that we need to have not just bedspreads but gilded naked lady oil lamps AND flocked wallpaper all hanging and completed by that date.
i suppose i can't be leaving for vacation anytime soon.
by the way, i chose "bergamot" as the custom-soaps fragrance. i went with the ovals, snake wanted an extra quarter a piece for the hazelnuts.
snake showed up late and reeking of spirits. his armani suit was not as impeccable as last time. he said he'd just returned from a business meeting at the knights of columbus -- apparently there was a big contract for liquid soap dispensers being debated all night long amidt the dishes of party peanuts at the back bar in the "st. josaphat" hall. snake didn't indicate whether he won the contract because he nodded off halfway through describing the difference between custom hazelnut-shaped soaps and the conventional oval. apparently they come in six fragrances, but after rifling through his brochure collection i still could not figure out what they were.
i was forced to leave a snoring snake in the conference room. he was drooling on the only decent round table we have in there at present. i summoned francisco and ricco, my handymen, who carried snake gently into room 443, the only one we have renovated to basic hygiene standards. we have our work cut out for us.
this place is a complete rubbish tip. i can't write more at the moment because the chenille bedspread distributor ("lindsay") is coming for a light breakfast (cooked by francisco -- he is an artist with a spatula and a wrought iron skillet). but in case any of you are wondering how i ended up here ... i bought this place for a song from an old friend. yes, there is a connection to suite 666, that hooligan (i cannot at the moment recall his name) who stole all my shoes before he departed, and the annual christmas calcutta orphan trip. unfortunately the kettle is whistling, and i only like earl grey a certain temperature. more later.
... and in the interim, i bought this fleatrap of a motel.
don't mind the bedbug infestation, the entire place is being fumigated tomorrow.
i also have the small novelty soaps salesman coming in. should we go for whimsical scallop shells? ergonomic ovals? or utilitarian ridged rectangles?
by the way, the salesman's name is, inexplicably, "snake." i had to ask him to repeat it over the phone. i only met him one other time, at that hospitality expo i went to with pax last spring, but he was wearing an armani suit at that so i tried not to notice the prison tattoos on his knuckles.
as you'll see from this motel, everyone has to start again somewhere.
one of yvonne's hideous little maltese dogs vomited on my ivory matelasse. and i got blamed for it! "you shouldn't've let him into your room," she insisted.
i told her i thought he snuck in while i was helping sergio shop for exotic mushrooms for the morning fritatta. as a longterm guest i have tried to take an interest in the inner workings of the B&B, and not to be a bother, but this is the final straw. i have looked into a week's stay at the Sleepe Inn, the one with the mirrored waterbed suite. if i can convince my dear old friend louis, who is an exterminator by trade, to give the room a pass-through prior to moving in i will quit this hellhole of antique china teaseats in an instant.
and i am not leaving the maid a tip. i realize that is not typical for me, but it is i who had to clean the soiled matelasse!
still no sign of lyle with the swatchbook. he's probably sitting in a starbuck's someplace.
we can't move back into the suite soon enough.
one of you asked what style the restored-after-fateful-lightning-strike suite 666 was going to be in, i was thinking a sort of gotho-eclectic-revival-classicist-colonial, but who knows? this is because the boy ("lyle") who was supposed to nip round with the swatch book got lost no fewer than a half dozen times trying to get here by plane, train and automobile, and he wouldn't stop calling my cell phone.
finally the hostess ("yvonne") made that face she does and did the cut-throat thing across her neck and i had to turn the cell phone off. you know after 9 pm loud noises upset her trio of hideous little maltese dogs and i have no wish to get kicked out of the B&B. not tonight anyway. the mirror-waterbed room at the local "honeymoon hideaway" motel is booked, and besides the cook ("sergio") is busy this evening. after canasta he had to go attend to his aged mother.
at least that was his story. i don't know if i liked him as much as i thought at first pass. he wears polo by ralph lauren, and one small whiff and i'm transported back to glasgow in 1986 -- or was it the christmas trip to visit the orphans in calcutta that year? anyway, there was an unpleasant encounter in a train compartment, and you know scent is the swiftest road to memory.
ANYway, swatch boy never arrived. he had a nasally tone that i would find offputting after a bit. you know how some people have distinctive voices? and there is "distinctive good" and "distinctive bad." his was the latter. first thing this morning i will call the decorators and give them what-for. i know the hotel is footing the bill for the entire restoration of suite 666 but:
a. they have never had a tenant as long-standing and generous-tipping as me.
b. the manager ("dean") afforded me the privilege of redecorating as his forfeit in a recent round of texas hold-em.
so, unbeknownst to me and while i was asleep at 3am one evening, i'm sure one of you at least noted the errant lightning strike that came at le hotel hazel and took suite 666 with it. good thing chuckles passed on several weeks ago: his former terrarium fell victim to the strike. also our computers blew out and blah blah blah, and the blog was deleted and my entire shoe collection was destroyed (what sven hadn't managed to abscond with) and so on and so forth.
so the suite is undergoing renovations while we are staying at this b&b.
it's very quaint isn't it.
feel free to pipe up at any time. i know the doilies are a bit much. the hostess, yvonne, says they're vintage, but she's very impressed with herself.
(shhh! i don't like her very much and i swear to god she spit in my nutmeg porridge the other morning after she heard me cackling, sotto voce, to pax about her visible panty lines.)
anyway, the bed is comfortable and they let me have spike the piranha in my room, and they booted out a pair of inbred-looking honeymooners to give me this room so i could have a view of the gazebo (it's fun to gaze AT a gazebo -- try it sometime!), because money talks.
and i have plenty of that, but not enough to bribe sergio, the cook, into making me berry french toast -- perhaps after he comes by for a few rounds of canasta this afternoon.
feel free to join us. i'll have new curtains made soon. and eventually we will make our way back to 666, i promise, darlings.
goddamn you, adair, you deleted the blog.
i didn't say "orange button."
hmpf.
