It's getting better, isn't it? I think so...so much so I can't even bear to look at the older stuff at the bottom! I worry at what shocking errors I will find...maybe it's better that way; signs of progression!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
...the excelsior
The air in the Excelsior Hotel hung heavy with stale meals of years gone by. Mathieu the Concierge taps his pen against the edge of the diary of bookings. He sighs audibly as he looks away from the near blank page to the clientele that have chosen to sample the delights of the once majestic Excelsior.
As he casts his eye over the tables, a tall gentleman in a fedora flaps a napkin over his legs…and twice more for good measure. The gentleman, for that is most certainly what he is, adjusts each and every fork, knife and spoon on display, shaking his head in the process. Mathieu shudders; mortified at the sheer audacity of him of meddling with his own handiwork.
The gentleman continues to manoeuvre the cutlery to his preference. Nothing was left untouched, as he continued to adjust himself. He smoothes his shiny black hair in the mirror of a knife, shifting his chin from side to side, as if to admire his undoubted handsomeness. Self-gratitude lights up his entire being.
Mathieu, bored of the bore of a gent shifted his attention to the only couple present. The room was still quiet enough to hear their giggles and sighs, both were light, airy, and feminine. The young ladies were holding each other's hand, one stroking the thumb of her opposite. Both were unashamedly comfortable with each other and their surroundings. Mathieu beamed with a knowing smile as his attention was distracted. Out of the corner of his eye, someone had arrived to dine.
A chubby man with a face like a blown bubblegum stood before him shabbily dressed in a suit that was too small with a tie far too big. He wrung his hands constantly and could barely stand still.
"I...I...have a table booked for 8pm." he stuttered.
"In the name of, Sir?" Mathieu remained polite and professional, as ever.
"GARY LINEKER!" he exclaimed. Mathieu continued to look in the journal for a Mr Lineker.
"I'm sorry, Sir, I have no Mister Lineker on the list for tonight."
"No, sorry, um...it's my tour...tourettes. My name is Jen...Jenkins. Gary Jenkins."
Poor man, Mathieu thought. What an affliction to have!
"For yourself, Sir and one other?"
"Yes, that is right. Me and DIEGO ARMANDO MARADONA!" Gary automatically exclaimed.
Mathieu was sure he had heard the name before but couldn't place it. He ushered Gary to walk ahead of him towards the raft of empty tables.
"And will Diego be arriving shortly?" Mathieu questioned.
"Oh, um, sorry, Diego is a lady. And her name is D-D-D-Diane. I hope she will arrive soon." Gary said, almost questioning himself.
"Very well, Sir. I am sure she will be along shortly." Mathieu attempted to reassure the solo diner.
She'll never turn up, Mathieu cruelly mused.
"Can I offer Sir a drink whilst you wait for your Lady?"
"Yes, pl-please. Can I have a pint of...um...ah..." Gary pondered eternally. "hmm....of GEORGE BEST!" Gary twitched aloud as indecision got the better of him.
"Coke?" Mathieu offered, with his patience worn thin.
"Please." Gary nodded, keeping the conversation as brief as possible before another twitch overcame him.
The waiter disappeared as Gary waited in his seat. With one eye on the door to the room and one eye on his watch he multi-tasked. He checked his watch again, his phone and the clock on the wall. Each one of them betrayed him. Diane was late. Again.
The thin gentleman man in a smart black dinner jacket sitting in his chair was staring at him. The light shone off his shiny hair; a style like his granddad used to have.
"STANLEY MATTHEWS!" Gary involuntarily spurted.
The smart man snorted and looked away.
Gary looked away also, his attention shifting to the other occupied table on the other side of the room.
Two girls sat intently gazing into each other eyes; lost and loving. He studied how naturally they seemed to be, as if they were deserted on an island, engrossed and care free.
His admiration soon crumbled to dust as he spied one of the doting couple.
"PAUL FUCKING GASCOIGNE!" Gary shrieked at the top of his voice. "DIANE?!"
"Oh shit!" she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. "Wrong night, wrong NIGHT!"
The tall smart man gave out a single booming laugh and looked at Mathieu as if to find a fellow to share the shadenfreude.
Gary rose sharply, flipping the table over in the process. The clatter of cutlery and china had barely stopped as he ran past Mathieu from the restaurant, swearing continuously.
As the noise subsided, Mathieu clicked his fingers three times and gestured to a waiter to clean up the catastrophe that had just ensued. Just another night in the astonishing history of the Excelsior, he thought, as he turned his gaze to the a la carte menu.