Part III
Conclusion of: This is Your Captain Speaking
For unexpected behavior nothing rivals people. I have always been an
avid observer of animals. I have also read a number of books about animal behavior.
Desmond Morris wrote a fascinating book called The Human Zoo. In the
book he describes characteristics of chimps in a social grouping. It presents a
very convincing case for their behavior mirroring our own or more likely the
other way round.
I could scarcely believe what had just happened between the Australian woman and her friends. I could find no reason why she would start an altercation among her friends without provocation. However, there was a chapter in Morris’s book that did just that. Whatever the reason, it had no bearing on my plans for the evening. I certainly couldn’t do anything about it and as it turned out I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and get ready for the theater.
I could scarcely believe what had just happened between the Australian woman and her friends. I could find no reason why she would start an altercation among her friends without provocation. However, there was a chapter in Morris’s book that did just that. Whatever the reason, it had no bearing on my plans for the evening. I certainly couldn’t do anything about it and as it turned out I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and get ready for the theater.
There is a great little restaurant downstairs from the lobby of
the hotel called Vienna Coffee House. It’s a great place for any meal but I
found myself there for breakfast and dinner on a pretty regular schedule. The
wait staff was very well schooled in the service ethic. They made you feel at
home and were quick without hurrying.
There was a predictable clientele that frequented the rooms and we all
showed up about the same time for our evening meal. It was one of those natural
harmonies that formed without being planned.
When I arrived on most occasions there was a man with snow white
hair and a navy blue uniform of some kind that implied sailing. I later learned
that his wife lived in Hong
Kong and
he resided here as the Executive Director of the Pacific-Union Club. At the time
of the event I am recalling I did not know his name or his calling. That would
come later. Another man, quite elderly would also be present and seated
along with his Scottish terrier. I had met him and his companion. He lived at
the hotel in a penthouse apartment, the only apartment. His name was I. Magnin.
Yep, that’s the one.
If the schedule was in its natural flow the next arrival would be
a woman with long dark hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She was then
and has remained a complete mystery even though we nodded to each other many
times over the course of my stays at the hotel. She only attended for dinner.
Finally, always in quick step with perfect posture, impeccable
dress and a courteous yet clipped pattern of speech Mr. David Thorn, General Manager of the hotel would
arrive. He would sit at the very end of the coffee counter and order claret in
a bulbous stemmed glass. That would be followed with his order for a New York
Strip Steak, medium rare and baked potato. The salad required no comment from
him. That must have been memorized.
Not this particular evening but once while in that harmonic
pattern I had been waiting without the usual quick and courteous service from
the wait staff. When Mr. Thorn made his entrance and sat down, but before he
ordered, I interrupted the silence with, “Now that Mr. Thorn has arrived
perhaps we can begin.” The comment was followed by a remarkably loud silence
that seemed to extend beyond reason. Everyone was looking straight at me with a
look of utter despair except Mr. Thorn. His eyes were trained upon mine but he
was completely unruffled. Then, he broke easily into an unrestrained belly
laugh. “My apologies for being tardy,” he said and the entire room joined in a
chorus of laughter. From that moment on we all had a connection that was quite unique.
But, I digress, back to the night of the story at hand. I had a quick and simple meal, returned to my room and dressed for the theater. It
would be the Orpheum tonight, a beautiful venue for one of my favorite plays,
Camelot. I asked the doorman to order a cab and went to the theater.
The theater was
clearly sold out. The magic of a gifted concierge is not to be trifled with. I
looked at my tickets for the first time. I had not been in the theater before
so I ask for assistance. My seat was in the orchestra section, fourth row and
dead center, beautiful. This was Burton 's
last performance in Camelot. And, for my money, he was the only actor who could
do justice to the role. It was time for things to change for the better. I was
a bit early so people were still finding their seats but my location caused no
impedance to anyone. I simply sat back and enjoyed a little people watching. I
had the best seat in town.
It took only a
short while to fill the seats. It was nearly time for the curtains to open when
I noticed the empty seat on my right. That’s odd, I thought. That must be the
only empty seat in the house, one seat?
Oh well, doesn’t matter. The lights began to dim when I heard a
disturbance. From back by the doorways to the auditorium a latecomer was making
a fuss about something. They were coming down toward the Orchestra section. I
turned to see what was happening and there at the intersection of the aisle and
the fourth row, just as the lights went down and the curtain was drawing open
stood the woman from Australia . I was reduced to
a state of complete emptiness and utter consternation.
There is a feeling that goes with realizing you are
inextricably conjoined to your fate and it is not a good one. I didn’t want to
leave, I wanted her to evaporate and leave me alone. Then I started thinking of
disguises. Logic disappears in the face of abject terror. Short of putting my
overcoat on my head I could come up with nothing. Ignore her. Yes, I would
ignore her.
She did not display even the tiniest amount of grace as she
stumbled into the center of the fourth row. The overture was playing and the
stage was set for the opening scene. She nudged me. I ignored her. She pushed
me and began to apologize loudly. With as much distance as I could muster I
assured her that her apology was unnecessary. I remained fixed on the stage.
She remained fixed on me and her apology. I finally turned to her and looked
directly into her eyes. I told her that I accepted her apology, thanked her and
reminded her of the play that had begun. I explained that I wanted to focus on
the stage and urged her to do the same. She continued to talk to me. I turned
the temperature of my right shoulder down to its lowest setting and refused to
allow her to see that I was disturbed. She began to cry. She didn’t just whimper
and sniffle, she cried out loud with large gasps, snorts and moans. I remained
in a state of frozen stoicism. I tried desperately to ignore the woman and
engage with the play. It wasn’t working. The assault on my mind, my spirit and
my body continued until intermission.
When the lights came up I turned away from the woman and
headed in the opposite direction I expected her to travel. When I got to the
lobby I discovered that she had either stayed in her seat or gone the other
way. She was no where to be seen. I went outside and smoked four cigarettes all
at once. OK, that’s not quite true but you get my meaning. As the nicotine
began to calm my body and mind I was able to relax a bit and gather myself.
That was not good because then I started worrying about the second half of the
program. Should I just bag the whole thing and go back to the hotel? Why should
I be the one punished? No, I would go back but if she so much as looked at me I
would report her to security. So, it was settled. The lobby lights flashed
signaling us to return to our seats. I took a deep breath and began walking
toward my seat.
My heart was beating slightly faster than normal as I
contemplated my fate. When I got to my row the Australian woman was no where in
sight. There was still a little time before opening curtain so I settled into
my seat. There was an unnatural interest in me by the patrons surrounding my
seat. At first I nodded and smiled. Then, realizing they were not acknowledging
me because of my wit and charm, but because they too were worried about the
remainder of the play, I pulled within myself and pretended to be very
interested in my program. The lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the music
began. It was time to lose myself in the play and so I did.
She didn’t return to her seat. And while I did suffer some
angst waiting for her to show up, I gradually forgot about her. And that’s what simple folks do, so they
say.
By the time the play ended and Richard Burton made his
multiple curtain calls I had all but forgotten about the strange woman from Australia . I
walked back to the Hotel. I needed it. It had been a very long day. I was very,
very tired. When I placed my head on the down pillow all my troubles went away
and I fell asleep like a new born baby. I had no idea this ridiculous
vaudeville act was anything but over.
What’s left of
the story can be told in just a few words. There was one more encounter with
the woman from Australia
and it happened in the Lobby Bar at the Mark Hopkins. It was essentially a
replay of the first encounter. I was sitting at the bar after work a couple of
days later. She came over when she saw me to apologize for the previous
encounters. She began with apologies, they turned into tears, her friends came
to rescue her, she fought with them and they took her away. And that was it! I
never saw her again.
There was however
one more piece that tied it all together. The last day I was there, after I
checked out, I stopped by the concierge, Dan Sotelo’s desk to thank him for the
ticket for Camelot. He wasn’t busy and I
wasn’t in a hurry so I asked him if he had a minute to hear about the crazy
tale of the Australian woman. He said he did.
When I finished
telling him he actually blushed. It seems the woman had been to see him before
me and ordered two tickets for the play. When I came and picked up my ticket he
gave me one of those seats. That, of course, explained why we were sitting
together. He thought we were together surreptitiously. The reason he thought we
were together is because we had adjoining rooms with a common door.
I had no idea. I
had never seen her on the floor. As a matter of fact I had never seen her other
than the times I mentioned in my recollection. And I have never seen her since.
What is kind of
strange is that for as much as I remember the events of that day I wouldn’t
recognize her if she stood next to me at the registration desk at the Mark
Hopkins. But, I’d be willing to bet Dan Sotelo would, he’s still the concierge there.
©Herb Ratliff, August 27, 2012, All Rights
Reserved
What a strange story. How funny the concierge was facilitating your unfortunate encounters! And what a mystery woman. You can't help wondering more about her. It's a great story with a funny ending and yet unanswered questions.
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