An English Compliment

Lambent Literacy--that bright and shining gift of words--focuses on a lovely example of short fiction in this post.

In the tradition of Charles Dickens, whose Victorian novels arrived in sequence to his readers who awaited in eager anticipation each subsequent episode, I thought it would be fun to emulate the enthusiasm created by Dickens by publishing my English friend Ian Turnbull's short story "An English Compliment" one chapter at a time for the next five days.  Enjoy Chapter One!

 

An English Compliment

by Ian Turnbull

 

 

Chapter 1: At the hotel

There must be a better way to herald your entrance into the gleaming environment of glass and polished marble, than the ever present melodies, of yesterday's pop music subdued by anonymous musicians, on some never ending tape. Thoughts often idled through Bernard's head relieving the boredom of days spent away on prolonged business trips.  Wondering passed away the loneliness of the hotel rooms. Monologues in his head of imagined scenarios replaced conversations with his friends at home, how things had come about or how they might be. There was never any shortage of things to wonder about for life presented persistent little mysteries, beauty and ugliness, the uplifting and the depressing. When he wasn't by himself he loved the company of others, particularly fellow wonderers, for he felt there was something special about conversations that wandered through wonders.

He strolled through the hotel vestibule, its enormously high ceilings giving it a cathedral like atmosphere, an impressive space dedicated to the god of commerce. He stood at massive horizontal slabs of marble which was where Sam was usually stationed, the front of house manager.  Sam and his surroundings seemed incongruently slick and immaculate,  there was a poshness  at odds with the rest of the town. The town had definitely seen better days. He wondered about that too. Why was the town so depressed, and why had someone built such a smart hotel there? It was a town of contrasts. Here and there were smatterings of sleek architecture as with the hotel but turn the corner and you'd be back in the dilapidated and unmaintained. Well the hotel had been built there, and he wasn't the only person staying so maybe there was an underlying current of regeneration.

He knew Sam would have a law book tucked discretely under the front board of the desk, passing the quieter times of his shift catching up on his course work. His plan for his future was definitely not hotel reception work. He'd had a few sessions with Sam in the resident's bars over the months he'd stayed in up state New York. Sam also doubled as the barman. The overtime suited him for he was working to pay his way through his further education. Many times Bernard found himself the only resident in the bar, and had welcomed Sam's easy going chat. Sam was a wonderer too, a closet wonderer, until one particular evening then after some shared wonderings as they checked the hotel's Bourbons, he'd had been outed.  Their best session, whilst they travelled from one end of the bar to the other sampling the optics, had been a Wednesday night, which was big game night in the bar. There was a large screen television where many residents would watch a match to while away their business trip evenings.

Sam had explained the rules of American football to an Englishman. Bernard was amazed that there were rules, except to allow frequent stops in playing the game, and do a lot of shouting. Bernard had enjoyed the unprecedented confused look on Sam's face, as he'd explained the difference between rugby league and union. An explanation that had made perfect sense to the bourbon soaked Bernard, but one which completely perplexed the equally well lubricated soon to be legal beaver.

Sam had already acknowledged Bernard with a nod and his dazzling smile as he approached the desk. “Have you got a bin liner I could use?”

 “Ah, of course Bernard, I see you're checking out tomorrow, so your car's going back, taking steps to avoid a lecture from Maine? “

“No, no, just tidying up!”

The grin grew on Sam's face,  the reception lighting picking out his perfectly white teeth. Bernard, asked himself how was it that so many Americans have such white teeth? Did dental practitioners moonlight on building sites, honing their skills on marble slabs? He didn't mind the lack of formality from Sam, when no other management was present. He really welcomed the friendship he had gained! Business trips were a soulless existence, and a friendship like this made things seem, well more human. Bernard wondered if Sam would smile like this, in some future encounter across a court room, when he had nailed some half truth from an unfortunate witness trying to outsmart him. He decided that he had better cough himself, rather than risk a further enquiry.

“Well, yes, yes I am, she got me with an empty sandwich wrapper in the back foot well last time!”

“Ha, Bernard, and did you get the lecture about would your girlfriend or wife approve of going out on a date in a trash laden car?”

“Yes I've had that one too!” Bernard replied with a grin that emulated Sam's but not quite so brilliantly white, even though for some weeks now, he'd only used American toothpaste!

“Oh you've had more than one lecture, hey, she must like you, I bet she still hasn't applied the dirty car returned surcharge though, has she? You either get a lecture or the surcharge, never both!”

“No she hasn't, well not yet, and this time she won't have any cause to either!  So I've just got to deal with the packaging from a couple of days lunching in the car. I hoovered out when I filled up with petrol, at the gas station!” Bernard knew what he'd said didn't really make sense, gas and petrol in the same sentence, in some ways he wanted to keep his Britishness intact, and not let his speech be invaded. However he'd had to adapt if just to make himself understood. Sometimes this resulted in hybrid sentences that belonged on some mid Atlantic meridian.

“She's actually a distant relative of mine you know, and a major shareholder in the company. However she keeps the shares in her maiden name, and registered at her address in Cancun. She only works at the place to keep an eye on her investment.  Management there are amazed how a shareholder so far away asks such probing questions, that keeps them on their toes.”

“That makes sense all right, she certainly has more savvy than any of the other clerks booking in and out the vehicles, I thought there was more to her!”

“You haven't made a reservation for dinner. Are you out tonight?”

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“Out? Ah, could it be a certain Steak Shack, where the only reason to go is........... for the steak?” Sam's smile continued to gleam, his comment prompting a further answer!

“Yes, it's the Steak Shack I'll be off to. Well they do a good steak and you can order one in a size that's not half a cow on your plate!”

“Of course Bernard! And you like to dine late, and it's absolutely nothing to do with who takes your order!” The perfect grin had not abated for one moment.

As if in anticipation Sam had retrieved a bin liner, or trash bag as he called it, and held it out for him to take. 

“You know I can get the porter to give your car a quick once over Bernard. We're not busy he could do it straight away!”

Bernard thanked him for his offer, adding;

“No, no thank-you,  I think I should do it myself. It's my mess, and I should do the tidying up!”

“Okay Bernard, and of course if Maine asks you can tell her, it's all your own work!”

 Smiling, Bernard, bin bag in hand, headed to the car park, wondering just how big are the drawers in that desk, and do they hold every conceivable guest's requirement. There was purposefulness in his step,  purposefulness was something that had been missing in his life, missing for some time, like the town he was in, Bernard had areas of his life that needed attention and updating.  He determined to improve his valeting skills if only for the appreciation of Maine........... and …...any future girlfriend or wife.