We always have this disagreement about room service: I don’t like to eat where I sleep, but women, I’ve noticed, love room service.
Charles asked us, “Would you like to schedule a massage in your room?”
I asked, “During breakfast?”
Kate said, “We’ll see what our schedule looks like tomorrow.”
“Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
Kate replied, “Not at the moment. Thank you, Charles, you’ve been very helpful.”
I asked him, “Do you have pigs-in-the-blanket?”
“Sir?”
“For the bar.”
“I’ll… ask the chef.”
“With mustard. I like the crust a little brown.”
“Yes… I’ll let him know.”
“Ciao.”
We left the rotunda of the Main Lodge, and I said to Kate, “Wasn’t I nice?”
“Not exactly.”
She opened the car and retrieved her briefcase, and we walked the thirty yards to the building called the Eagle’s Nest, in which was the place called the Pub.
The Pub was yet another rustic room, and a rather nice one at that. It was cozy, with a small fire in the fireplace, and a game and card room that held a pool table, bookshelves, and a stereo system. I noticed there was no television. The pub half of the room had a long bar, behind which were shelves of beautiful liquor bottles, and no bartender. In fact, the place was empty, the guests being at dinner. This was like dying and going to heaven.
I slid behind the bar and said to Kate, “Good evening, madam. May I offer you a cocktail?”
She went along with my silliness. “I believe I’ll have a small sherry. No-make that a double Stoli, twist of lemon, two cubes.”
“Excellent, madam.”
I set two short glasses on the bar, found the ice, the fruit, the Dewar’s, and the Stoli and, with a bottle in each hand, filled the glasses to the brim.
We touched glasses and Kate said, “To Harry.”
“Rest in peace, buddy.”
Neither of us said anything as we each decompressed from a long, eventful, and very sad day.
Finally, Kate said, “Should we call Tom?”
I checked my cell phone again, and there was actually service. “The use of cell phones is discouraged at The Point, madam.”
“What if it’s important?”
“Then he’ll call again.”
I freshened our drinks and said, “If the alcohol is free, how do they expect to make any money on us at twelve hundred dollars a night?”
She smiled. “Maybe they’re hoping you go to bed early. By the way, you should not have used your government credit card.”
I replied, “Look at it this way-if the world is coming to an end, what difference does it make?”
She thought about that but didn’t answer.
I continued, “And if we save the world, do you think the government is going to make us reimburse them for this place?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Positive.”
“Then what’s my incentive to save the planet?”
“That’s your job this week.” She sipped her drink and stared into the fire. “Well, if the world is going to end, this is a good place to be.”
“Right. So is the Custer Hill Club.”
She nodded.
“Do you play pool?” I asked.
“I have played. But I don’t play well.”
“Sounds like a hustle.” I came around the bar and went to the pool table, where the balls were already racked. I set down my drink, took off my leather jacket, pulled my shirttail out to hide my pancake holster, then I chose a pool stick. “Come on. Let’s play.”
Kate slid off the bar stool, removed her suede jacket, and pulled her sweater over her holster. She rolled up her sleeves and chose a stick.
I lifted the rack from the balls, and said to Kate, “Since you’re such a ball breaker, you break.” I actually didn’t say that. I said, “After you, madam.”
She chalked up, bent over the table, and shot. Good break, but none of the balls went in.
I ran three balls, then missed an easy shot. I think the scotch was starting to affect my hand-eye coordination. Or maybe I needed another scotch.
Kate ran three balls, and I could see she’d played this game before.
I missed another easy shot, and she said, “Are you drunk, or is this a hustle?”
“I’m just not on my game tonight.”
She ran another four balls, and I conceded the game and racked up. I said, “Let’s play for five bucks a ball.”
“We just did.”
I smiled and asked her, “Where did you learn to play?”
She grinned mischievously. “You don’t want to know.”
The second game was closer because she was getting tipsy.
I was actually having fun, playing pool with my wife, who looked good leaning over the table, and listening to the fire crackle in a nice, cozy room in the woods with a free bar.
A young lady entered the Pub carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres, which I helped her set on the bar. She said, “Hi, I’m Amy. Welcome to The Point. Can I make you a drink?”
“No,” I replied, “but make yourself one.”
Amy declined my invitation and said, “Here’s a breakfast menu. Just pick what you want, and the time you want it delivered to your room, and call the kitchen.”
I looked at the tray of sissy hors d’oeuvres and asked Amy, “Where are my pigs-in-the-blanket?”
She seemed embarrassed as she replied, “The chef-he’s, like, French-says he’s never heard of that.” She added, “I don’t think we have any hot dogs.”
“Amy, this is
Kate interrupted. “Amy, ask the chef to use breakfast sausage.” She explained helpfully, “Saucisses en croste. With mustard. Okay?”
Amy repeated the French in an upstate accent, promised to return, and left.
I said to Kate, “This country is going to hell.”
“John, give it a rest. Try some of these.” She handed me a smoked salmon, which I refused.
“I expected real food here. I mean, we’re in the woods. You know, like buffalo steaks, or hunter’s stew…” I recalled my phone message to Harry and poured myself another scotch.
“I know this has been a very tough day for you, John. So, vent, drink, do whatever makes you feel better.”
I didn’t reply, but I nodded.
We took our drinks back into the game room. I sat at the card table and Kate sat across from me. I opened a fresh deck of cards and asked her, “Do you play poker?”
“I have played. But not well.”
I smiled. “Red chips are a buck. Blue are five bucks. You’re the bank.”
I shuffled as she gave each of us two hundred dollars’ worth of chips.
I put the deck in front of her. “Cut.” She did so, and I dealt five-card draw.
