LUNCH AT THE ROYCE
By
T. Chester Harrington
ACT 1 – Scene 1
Wednesday like every other day for the past five years started with the routine of getting the housekeeper situated with her list of “to do” chores, feeding the pets and making telephone calls. This day, unlike the other six, involved doing a days work in a few hours and then rushing to be on time for a standing 12:30 PM lunch appointment with Karen, Beverly’s closest friend.
From the day they arrived in Corpus Christie, Texas, following her husbands transfer, Beverly was unhappy but pretended to be a loyal corporate wife of a busy of an upwardly mobile executive, who unlike her, felt the need to relocate at the whim of his Company’s President as an integral step up the corporate ladder.
Lying in bed every morning she would be awakened by the alarm clock at 8:30, opening her eyes and focused on the past, struggled to work up the courage to face another day in the South Texas heat. Adding to her unhappiness was the arrogance of Southern folk who refused to accept as friends, transplanted northerners. As if in a trance, every morning she relived 20 years of life in New England, which despite its inclement weather were very happy years. In South Texas, every day is summer and the only thing that changes is the humidity. Almost intentionally allowing a wave of melancholy to drag her down, Beverly relived these flashbacks which she found helped her get out of bed and start another day; but she always looked forward to Wednesdays.
Beverly’s husband, though at times exciting and entertaining had become consumed by the “corporate ladder” and became compulsive about being the first one in the office every morning and the last one to leave at night which combined with a hectic travel schedule left Beverly almost too much time with nothing to do, except for Wednesday, at the Royce Hotel with Karen D’Angelo, also a transplanted and just as unhappy.
For some reason, on this particular day and feeling rushed to shower and dressed, she became overly agitated when her Doctors receptionist put her on hold when she called to make an appointment for her husband’s annual physical. Patiently waiting and entertained by an infomercial, Beverly’s mind wander back to the morning, several months earlier when Karen called, introduced herself using a contrived Southern accent, and invited her to lunch “at the Royce” explaining that she gets depressed often and needed a friendly shoulder to lean on; Beverly reluctantly agreed.
Karen, like Beverly found Southern living difficult and also agitated by her “southern neighbors” who also refused to accept them; she did not mask her almost desperate need to develop a friendship with Beverly. They agreed to meet at 12:30 but before hanging up, Beverly warned Karen that she is almost never on time for an appointment and to be patient if she is a little late. Ending the phone call she joking said, “in case I am late (knowing full well that she would be) order me a very dry Tanguerary Martini with 3 olives; “I’ll meet you at the bar”. Despite being late, this first lunch was the start of a wonderful friendship and a standing appointment, every Wednesday.
The Royce is a luxury hotel situated on the outskirts of Corpus Christi, close to the corporate offices of many of the areas Fortune 500 companies. The exterior centerpiece of the elegant six-story chrome and glass building is its circular driveway and large black granite pond and fountain. Its gray granite Foyer is elegantly furnished with dark mahogany, leather covered high back chairs arranged in several carefully situated seating clusters with thick glass tables and brass lamps that intimately light each area creating a comfortable, but masculine environment for casual and business conversation. Off to one side is an intimate cocktail lounge and restaurant, decorated in dark wood paneling and illuminated by overhead brass lamps and spotlights focused on oil paintings reminiscent of Remington. Each table is set with elegant bone china, silver service and crystal wine glasses; off to one corner is a massive, well-stocked walk in wine cellar.
Completing her call to the her doctor’s receptionist, Beverly looked up at the clock hanging over her desk and freaked; as usual she was running late, but this time she knew that she would be very late. She rushed into the bedroom, slamming the door, stripped off her tights and sweat shirt and bra and jumped into the shower hoping that the refreshing water would cool her off; in a word Beverly was pissed and did not want a phone call with a arrogant receptionist to effect her lunch with Karen. Finishing her shower and drying off, Beverly pondered what to wear, knowing that at the Royce she had to dress the part. Standing nude and staring at the mirrors over her sink, Beverly put her make up on, combed her long red hair and thought long and hard on what to wear; and then almost mechanically stepped into her dressing room to dress. She rushed out taking a fast look in the mirror, thinking, this will have to do.
Storming out of the bedroom, she called the housekeeper to remind her that she was leaving and though she expected to be home by 4, in case she was late, to lock up and set the alarm. She rushed out the back door, opened the car door and sat down; a shock wave overcame her and she screamed, “oh fuck this, I have had enough of this bull shit”; she jumped back out and stood outside the car foaming. What Beverly forgot was that her dark blue car with black leather seats was a magnet for the South Texas heat and when she sat down, she scalded her butt; she was pissed that the housekeeper forgot to start the car and turn on the air conditioning to cool it off. She reached in, started the car and stood there waiting for it to cool it off. She looked back toward the house and saw the housekeeper standing at the door with an expression of horror in her eyes; Beverly stared, and then smiled thinking, “you bitch, you’ll pay for this”. She got back into her car, slammed the door, put it in gear and drove off blasting music from the new stereo system her husband had installed several weeks earlier as a birthday present.
Exiting the neighborhood, Beverly looked at her watch knowing that she had at least a 20-minute drive, depending on traffic and it was already 12:45, she snickered and thought, “oh well, I have never gotten there before 1:00, so I am not only 15 minutes late”.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticstories/comments/l6zcig/royce_hotel_part_1_a_almost_accurate_sexual