Ever woken up and the first thought that goes through your mind, where the hell am I?
It usually happens when I travel which was quite often, to a place where I haven’t been before, and more often than not, a long way from home.
A hotel room, sometimes they were big, sometimes quite small, opulent, or very basic, a view of snow-capped mountains, or pigeon coops. The result is the same, that first look out the window is nothing like that of out your own.
Like waking up in a different bed, in that different room with that different roof, different walls, paintings, lights, and, when you look sideways, clock.
Often, it took a few extra seconds after waking up, to try and remember all the relevant details. Like where you came from, what airline brought you, which cab you took to the hotel, and which room you were in.
The trouble was, try as they might, hotel rooms were not like most of today’s houses bedrooms.
It was this in mind when I went through the same checklist trying to figure out how it was possible there was a woman in my bed when I couldn’t remember meeting one or bringing one back to the room, simply because I didn’t. I know if I had or hadn’t.
The other troubling fact was that this time I had agreed to bring my wife along on this junket, just to prove that I was not having an affair, and now she was missing. That woman that was beside me in the bed was not my wife, and I had no idea who she was.
And, as I watched, she rolled over and opened her eyes. In the silence that followed, along with several changes in her expression, perhaps she was making the same assessment of her situation as I had a few minutes before.
The last expression was of surprise, then, “Who are you?”
Not what I was expecting. I was expecting outraged indignation, followed by a threatening call to the police. It could be argued, since all the rooms in the hotel looked the same, that I had intruded in her room, instead of her in mine.
I doubled checked again that this was my room, then said, “I could ask the same question.”
It took a few more seconds to focus on her. Definitely younger than I by a few years, and very attractive. I had to wonder if I had, how I’d convinced her to join me, or equally so, why I would have entertained the notion of having an affair. I may have thought about it, from time to time, but I would not have acted on it. I was content with what I already had.
“The last thing I remember was my husband bringing me a drink from the bar. We were having lunch in the Starlight restaurant. We were here celebrating our 5th wedding anniversary. What do you last remember?”
“Lunch with my wife, down in the Starlight restaurant. I brought her along to allay her fears I was not having an affair.” Which sounded as lame aloud as it did in my head.
“And yet here we are, fulfilling a prophecy.”
I noticed the quick look under the sheets to see if she was dressed, and in that flash, I could see that she had underclothes on. The dress she had been wearing was neatly folded over the back of a lounge chair and her shoes neatly placed beside it. Another glance, sideways, noted my clothes were folded neatly on the other lounge chair, and I was in my pajama bottom.
“But we are not having an affair, are we?” That also sounded lame, but in my head, it held some significance though I’m not sure why.
“I don’t know you, nor have I seen you before. I don’t even know your name. My name is Glenda Matheson. My husband is Robert Matheson.”
“The Congressman, who’s about to announce he’s running for President in the next election?”
“Then if you are seen here, with me…”
The implications of being caught in a compromising situation with a Congressman’s wife, and even worse, one with such a high public profile, it would be on every front page of every newspaper, and on every TV news channel in the country. Explain that to a wife who was mildly suspicious that you were having an affair.
“It doesn’t bear thinking about.” She rose and sat on the side of the bed, then collapsed backward.
“What happened?” I took a step towards her, but something made me stop.
Instead, I looked sideways and realized what woke me was the sunlight streaming in through the open window. I was sure before I left the room, those curtains were drawn, certainly enough that no one could see in. Now, from the building across the road, and reasonably close, it would be possible to see into the room from a room there. I moved the other window and drew the curtains, darkening the room.
A light came on from her side of the bed.
“People could see in?”
“If they wanted to, but normally it wouldn’t matter. If they were looking, I’d say it was too late.”
“Except there’s a Congressman’s wife in one of the rooms, and a hoard of photographers following them around. You have no idea what fame can do to your privacy.”
I could imagine. And she was right, of course, I’d seen the media coverage of anyone who had a high profile, and they were literally hounded.
“Are you alright?” she was still lying down.
“Dizzy. Lightheaded. This is how I feel when I have two sleeping pills instead of one.” Then, a few seconds later, “and the same taste in my mouth.”
“You were drugged?”
“Are you dizzy, feeling lightheaded?”
It didn’t seem so, but it was possible. “I didn’t drug you if that’s what you’re thinking. The only time I’ve seen you is in the paper, and even then, I didn’t take much notice. If I had, I would have know who you were.”
She was about to say something when there was a pounding on the door. “Mr. Jackson, are you in there. This is the police.”
My heart just about stopped.
Then, almost an instant later there was a voice behind me, a woman, “If you don’t want to end up dead, come with me now.”
Both of us immediately turned in the direction of the voice. Middle-aged, conservatively dressed, could be a school teacher.
“Who are you?”
“Someone who is trying to save your life. Now. The both of you. Before they kick the door in.”
Another few seconds and more pounding on the door set us both in motion. She grabbed her clothes, I grabbed mine, and we followed her through a connecting door, and she closed it just before we heard the door to my room open. The room had another connecting door that led into another room, whose door was in the side wall. After locking one, she came over, opened the third and we went through, out into a passage, and then into a stairwell where on the other side she locked it.
“Get dressed. We have to go.”
“Where are you taking us?” Glenda asked. She had regained her senses, enough to ask relevant questions.
“Away from here.”
“Because the police officers that entered that room have been ordered to kill you.”
© Charles Heath 2021