The Heights Part 24

"Well," I said, "it's nearly two."

One thirteen, to be exact, according to the clock sculpted into the lobby's back wall.

"And it would be a terrific help . . ."

You see, I'm meeting Anna Brody at six.

Mahogany pecked hard at the keyboard, searching for a room. "Do you have a reservation?"

"I do. Would you like to know my name?"

"Just a minute, sir." She sssssssss'd the sir with such derision.

Admittedly, I wasn't the regular Infinity clientele, what with my red high-tops and my canvas overnight bag, a gift my mother had ordered from a catalog, monogrammed JTW (John Timothy Welch). But I was a person, G.o.ddammit. I'm a person, too!

"Your name?"

"Trammel. I'm Mr. Trammel."

At the eleventh hour, I had called Anna to suggest we check in using fake names. Just in case. I could tell she was put off by my idea. She said she was coming as herself, but I could be whoever I wanted. I told her that I'd be checking in under the name Trammel.

"I'll need a major credit card, Mr. Trammel," Mahogany said.

"I don't think you will."

"We always ask . . ."

"I was told everything had been arranged."

Which was true. Anna had arranged everything, even for me to be Mr. Trammel.

"By whom?"

"Anna Brody. Or I suppose it could be under the name Ashworth."

Mahogany sighed, clicking the tongue stud against the back of her front teeth. She typed on her keyboard, and whatever came up on the computer screen had a transformative effect on Mahogany, whose features softened. She practically purred when she said, "Oh, yes, Mr. Trammel-you'll be a guest of Mrs. Ashworth. She's taken care of everything."

Soon enough, a bellman/model/actor decked out in black appeared with a cart.

"Mr. Trammel, this is Nils. He'll show you to your room."

Nils gestured toward a candlelit elevator that was open, waiting.

As we went up: "Is this your first time staying with us, Mr. Trammel?"

"Yes, and it will be my last."

"May I ask why?"

"I'm only doing this once."

Nils hesitated, then began his spiel about the Infinity and how, for a year, it had been a well-kept secret, then after a change in owners.h.i.+p, someone pressured Architectural Digest into doing a sixteen-page spread, and ever since last spring, the hotel had been booked full. "You have to be someone to get a room."

"Really," I said, in an attempt to appear interested.

The elevator sprang open on the seventeenth floor. The floor was dark, and it snaked along like an ear ca.n.a.l, a fallopian tube.

"Everybody stays here. We sign a confidentiality agreement because of the rock stars and other famous types. Like I can't tell you who's here now, for instance."

"That's a relief to me."

"It is?"

"I wouldn't want you talking about my business."

"I would never . . ." Nils stopped in front of room 1701. Upon seeing its placement-the center door at the end of the hall, no doors to other rooms nearby-I braced myself for what was to come.

Nils unlocked and held the door as he gestured for Mr. Trammel to step inside, which I did.

"Yes, fine," I said.

"Are you unhappy with the accommodations, sir?"

I shrugged. "Just out of curiosity, what would this normally cost me?"

"You know what they say. If you have to ask . . ."

Ha ha ha ha ha.

"If you would prefer another room . . ."

Room? How can you call it a room? It's the size of Rhode Island.

I couldn't believe it. No way could I ever afford it. What a place. I noted the minimal, high-end furnis.h.i.+ngs in the roughly thousand-square-foot L-shaped room. The bed. The view. The bathroom. The bed. The white fluffy sofas. The white comforter and the big square white pillows on the bed. The bed, the bed, the bed.

"Here we have a complimentary fruit plate."

"Yeah, whatever . . ."

"This folder outlines the many services you'll find at your disposal-"

I noted the folder.

"This door here opens onto your own private wraparound terrace-"

"Lovely."

"And this is my favorite feature." Nils showed me a computerized screen next to the bed. He demonstrated how, with the simple touch of a b.u.t.ton, the various lamps and recessed lighting fixtures could be dimmed and brightened to one's liking, resulting in a myriad of looks.

"I have a question," I said. "Where might I find the ice machine?"

"Sorry, sir?"

"Ice. I like to get my own ice."

Nils, the actor/model/bellman, seemed stumped.

"It would be next to the soda machine and the candy machine. Surely you have . . ."

"No, but we do have a well-stocked minibar."

Nils used a small gold key to open the minibar, where an array of overpriced candies and nuts and cookies could be found. A price list in the tiniest type: Life Savers-$3.50-Snickers Bar-$6.00-Cheese Sticks-$12.00-Intimacy Kit-$20.00!

"No!" I said, waving him off. Then I proceeded to yank open every dresser drawer.

Nils again: "Is something wrong?"

"Well, Nils, I make it a point to always put the Gideon Bible next to my bed. I will be in great need of a Bible by the time I leave here. But I [drawer slam] can't seem [drawer slam] to find [drawer slam] a Bible anywhere!"

"Shall I have one sent up?"

"Could you? Would you?"

"I'm sure it can be arranged."

"You're too kind." I gave him an eleven-dollar tip. Why eleven dollars? I figured he'd had bigger tips and smaller tips but probably never an eleven-dollar tip.

Finally alone, I explored the room. In the marble bathroom, I noted the basket of high-end lotions and soaps. I opened the gla.s.s shower door. Staring up at the Frisbee-sized showerhead, I wondered if Anna was a late-night bath person or an early-morning shower person. I could be either. I could be both.

Using the touch pad next to the bed, I experimented with different configurations in a quest to find the most flattering light. Nils had said, "It takes some getting used to, but once you get the hang of it, there's no going back."

No going back.

I debated with myself over whether I could justify having a fire lit in the fireplace in mid-May at the same time I practiced closing the thick cream curtains, which, amazingly, blocked out all light. I tested out the state-of-the-art stereo and the flatter-than-flat-screen TV. I did not test the bed. The bed, I decided, would remain untouched until . . .

My heart banged against my ribs. Dizzy, I needed fresh air. I unlatched the gla.s.s door that led to the wraparound deck, which was more like a full-fledged terrace, with a gray slate floor and designer table and chairs. I leaned over the ledge, looked down all seventeen stories, and had that rise in my stomach that comes from realizing how easy it would be to fall.

KATE.

DARLA AND I STAYED BACK AS JEFF AND THE BOYS RAN AHEAD. IT WAS SWEET watching them race toward the Magic Kingdom. Jeff had arranged for prime seating at the three o'clock character parade.

"Mr. Slade has given me back my faith in actors," Darla said.

"He's been really nice to my kids, it's true."

"I mean, after what he's done the last three days . . ."

I didn't know what Darla was talking about. "What has he done?"

"Uh-oh," she said. "Wasn't supposed to say that."

"You may as well tell me."

"Well," Darla said, obviously wanting to tell me. "There's a boy from Iowa named Charlie Boxer. He's only six, and he has a rare form of leukemia, months to live, basically. Charlie had two wishes. Like the majority of Make-A-Wish kids, he wanted to visit Disney World. But he also wanted to meet the actor who played Angel Alex on An Angel and His Wings. When Jeff heard about Charlie, he said something like 'Let's make all his wishes come true.' Jeff came three days ago to spend time with Charlie. 'I'm here,' he said. 'Use me.' And we have. He's been all over the park with a number of the Make-A-Wish kids. These kids really face hard stuff-it's all pain and hospitals most of the time, and Jeff has given them more than a little bit of happiness."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"But, please don't say I said anything. I think he wanted it to be a surprise."

"I promise," I said. "I'll be surprised."

While Darla was on her cell phone, I bought myself a small Sprite served in a plastic Mickey Mouse cup. I sat down on an empty bench, and that was when it occurred to me: There is no litter in Disney World. No cigarette b.u.t.ts, no candy wrappers, no warm wads of gum waiting to stick to tennis shoes. If only the world were this clean. And to think thousands of people moved through Disney World every day. Where was the mess? How was it possible?

I was determined to find out. So I finished my Sprite, left my cup on the bench, and crossed to another bench twenty feet away, where I sat down to wait. I wondered who would do the job. Was it an actual person, or was there some kind of machine, or was there a cl.u.s.ter of gnomish midget people who scurried out of a tree trunk, jabbering in their helium voices? I needed to know.

Just then a young father pa.s.sed me, pus.h.i.+ng his baby in a stroller, followed by a man my age, pus.h.i.+ng his dad in a wheelchair. All of them were wearing mouse ears.

I looked at them for all of five seconds. When I looked back at my empty cup on the bench, it was gone.

They've thought of everything at Disney World. For instance, when Jeff and I emerged, drenched, from Splash Mountain-the kids were off with Darla getting ice cream-we had to go through a store devoted exclusively to selling Splash Mountain memorabilia. Splash Mountain pencils, Splash Mountain T-s.h.i.+rts, a Splash Mountain snow globe. Better still was how each person who went on the ride was photographed halfway down the longest and wettest of the three drops. There we were, Jeff smiling slightly with the quiet confidence of a diamond thief. I, on the other hand, had my eyes squeezed shut, my mouth open in midshriek, my arms above my head, as if to surrender.

TIM.

IN THE FINAL HOUR BEFORE ANNA BRODY'S ARRIVAL, I SAT WATCHING THE DIGITAL numbers of the sleek hotel clock blink past minute by minute. My clothes had been unpacked, my toilet kit set out. My wedding ring had been removed and respectfully hidden from view. Using a small hand towel, I'd given myself a birdbath and recleaned my privates.

With nothing to do but wait, I plopped down in the squishy chair next to the baby grand piano. And because I didn't have a Bible, I took out my small black Moleskine notebook and began to review my notes.

Confession: I wasn't a particularly adept or innovative s.e.xual partner, which may explain why Kate and I had settled for traditional and limited expressions of our physical love. It was good, what we had. Comfortable. But the word for it was vanilla.

My hunch was that with Anna Brody, it would be anything but vanilla. With her, I would have to expand my sense of the possible. I would need to read up. So on the Sat.u.r.day before the Weekend, I had taken the boys for story time at the Barnes & n.o.ble on Court Street. While an eager employee read several Dr. Seuss cla.s.sics, I ducked into the Relations.h.i.+ps/s.e.xuality section and began filling the pages of my notebook.

It was astonis.h.i.+ng, the amount of new information one could acquire!

Positions included the old standards, missionary and doggy-style, of which there were many variations. Also: the b.u.t.terfly, the Lotus, the Cowgirl, the Reverse Cowgirl, the Viennese Oyster, the Suspended Congress, the Leapfrog, the T-square, the Modified T-square, the 69 (also known as the Congress of the Crow), the Piledriver. I learned there were nine positions for f.e.l.l.a.t.i.o, ten for c.u.n.n.i.l.i.n.g.u.s. I learned that an Altoid had special powers beyond being a simple breath mint.

Later, online, I continued my studies, where I learned there were names for things I never dreamed could ever be done.

We could s...o...b..ll, she could s...o...b..ow, and we could Toss Each Other's Salad. We could Shrimp, Felch, Flog, Fist, have a Nooner, use a Ball Gag, a Bit Gag, or a b.u.t.t Plug. I could Teabag, leave a Cream Pie, or hang a Pearl Necklace. We could make Foamy Beer. I could ride Bareback or do a Shocker. She could do a Female Shocker. We could go ATM or do the Angry Dragon, the Dirty Sanchez, the Donkey Punch, or the Danza Slap. We might even invent our own signature moves.

We'll do anything and everything. Whatever we feel like.

Her words, not mine.

It was time to put away my study materials. I gave one last flip through the notebook. I didn't know what part of anything and everything was going to happen. All I knew was I felt ready for the test.

KATE.

MICKEY AND MINNIE, CINDERELLA, SNOW WHITE, BEAUTY, THE BEAST . . .