“Name is Wendel Floyd,” an older gentleman confirmed. The balding desk attendant lifted his fingers to the small terminal, tapped out a few gestures, and steadied his gaze back to floyd.
“The room will be free at half past eleven Mr. Floyd,” the attendant said in a small voice that betrayed his stature.
Floyd looked at his watch, making sure the man behind the counter saw his displeasure. Fifteen minutes. He figured he could deal with the wait. As he looked up from his watch his eyes met with the oafish attendant, and for a moment he wondered how much shit this guy took in the average day. The look in his eyes read like a cry for help.
“Not a problem,” Floyd threw out quickly with a slight nod of the head, much to the attendant’s relief.
“You can wait in the restaurant.” The attendant leveled his arm again pointing down the hallway opposite from the front door. “It has a bar and—”
Floyd had already turned and started walking toward the restaurant. Just because he would have felt bad for contributing to this poor guys heart attack doesn’t mean he had any more time to waste on him. Over his shoulder he could still hear the desk man making sounds that probably had every intention of being enunciated words. He just raised a hand without looking back. Any excuse to make a trip to the restaurant was ok with him. The restaurant was what Floyd really liked about this hotel. It was the only thing that made the cost of the stay worth it. The original restaurant had suffered a fire years ago that forced the hotel to move the dining room to one of the large faux victorian ballrooms. For some lost reason it never moved back.
He had stayed here a number of times over the years, though it felt like an eternity since the last time. As he rounded a corner the doors came into view. He suddenly felt better about everything that had happened today. No matter what happened now, he was at least going to get a last meal before it did. His gait went a little wider, and a little hop arose in his step. Just as a smile was about to crest his face a middle aged man in an expensive suit yelped an obscenity into a telephone he held to his ear.. Floyd had not even noticed him and it had startled him a bit. Collecting himself he turned and continued his pilgrimage. After there were about five meters between them he turned and gave the man a heavy look.
The man now had his back to Floyd, but the content of the conversation, and the swaggering stance the gentleman was attempting to maintain indicted the man was just drunk. He turned on his heels setting his sights back on the restaurant. He could see the tall double doors open just waiting to take him in. The doorman at the velvet rope had always puzzled Floyd. All the times he had eaten here the dining room had never been full, and had never seen anyone turned away.
Floyd never made a reservation. He always wished he had. Every time he was almost at the doors he wished it. The thought that this little secret place of his being found out by the locals, and turned into some hip night spot, made him cringe. Until he made it to the door and caught a glimpse of the dining room full of empty tables he was prepared for the worst.
“Ah Mr. Floyd, its a pleasure to see you back so soon,” the door man exclaimed. “A table for one, or is your wife joining you?”
“Ah, just me today,” Floyd was a little distracted by the familiarity in his voice.
“Very well, a seat at the bar?”
“Thank you.”
After crossing the dining area Floyd was seated at the far end of the bar. A five credit tip to the host and a little glad handing out of the way the next mission was to get a drink.
The bartender stood at the opposite end of the bar hands under the counter giving some lucky customers drink a final touch. Just as Floyd was about to raise his hand, and make his presence known, the bartender was walking his way, drink in hand.
The forty something barkeep had round face, and a distinguished mustache that fit it well. With a deep smile he approached Floyd, reaching to snatch a napkin for the drink with his free hand.
Before he had a chance to react the drink was in his outstretched hand, and the napkin on the counter at the other.
“Gin martini Sir,” the bartender reported.
Before Floyd could add anything the gentleman was already retreating back to the other side of the bar. “The service is impeccable here,” he mused as he sipped the martini. With the bartender otherwise occupied he was going to have to amuse himself. He spun in his seat to take a look at the dining room.
The huge cathedral ceilings and wide walls made the seating arrangement look sparse, but that was what he liked about it. He had asked his wife Becky to marry him here. Not out of consideration of the mood or ambiance, but more the spacing of the tables.
He turned his attention to look for the table. It was easy for him to spot. The most embarrassing thing about the whole ordeal had been that horrid painting over the table. He had planned the moment for weeks, and so far everything had been going right. As the host sat them at the table the painting caught Floyd’s eye. Following his attention Becky in turn took her own mental inventory, followed by a disgusted, but comical look on her face.
Large and ornately framed the painting depicted a naked man floundering in the water with sharks as a handful of men reach for him from the safety of a boat. He had all but decided not to ask her that night, but Becky made a joke of it, and acted like it was something they would remember forever. In retrospect Floyd would now recognize that she knew he was going to ask all along. I was her way of showing him that she wanted the same thing. It took years of being with her for him to notice what a take charge kind of woman she really was.
As he was staring at the painting something caught his attention just at the bottom of his vision. Glass extended in a friendly gesture a beautiful young woman sat at the table in front of the painting. Floyd just stared for a moment until he got his wits about him enough to raise his glass back in salute. A little embarrassed at his trespass, he turned on the seat and faced the bar again.
He was about to order another drink when the bartender had served him again, in the same fashion, but this time without the report.
He tried to forget about the young woman who had caught him staring, but she was hard to shake. He could remember feeling embarrassed like that around Becky all the time. He suddenly felt the urge to call her and connect for just a moment to know everything was all right. Just as he was turning to let himself off of the stool he felt a hand decent to his shoulder. He turned quickly, not startled this time, only mildly surprised.
“Hello, I’m Monica,” the young woman from the table said as she extended a hand to him.
Floyd took her hand and fumbled an instant before producing his name. “Wendel Floyd.”
“Are you waiting on someone?”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” Floyd responded with a hint of mistrust, and instantly regretted it.
“Well Mr. Floyd,” she said taking a step back to make a show of stepping out of his personal space.
“Wendel would be fine,” he said standing in an act of contrition. “I’m sorry for my lack of manners. It’s not often I’m approached by beautiful women in restaurants.”
“Wendel then,” she said while regaining the ground she had given bringing them even closer. “I came over to ask if you are free for diner?”
He looked her up and down working the angles. Could this be a joke? No. No one even knew he was here. She was beautiful though, she reminded him a lot of Becky. The forwardness he really admired. “No harm in some company. If you will still have me.” He gave her a sincere laugh and offered his arm. She didn’t expect the gesture, but showed pleasant surprise as she took his arm.
He walked across the dining room with her on his arm. They were both silent until he had offered her a seat and taken one for himself.
Thats all I have so far….
New OpenTTD map. Been working on this one in stages. There are no junctions, just one train per line. All of the city center stations are 12 long, and the tracks use tunnels to keep the maximum amount of building space.
