Lewis knew that a number of hours had passed, but only because he had become very hungry. Seated on the edge of the bed, he leaned forward slightly. He began searching the top of the bedside table. He knocked over the lamp, then managed to set it upright again. He found the phone and put the receiver to his ear. He reached over to the dial pad but couldn’t remember where zero was. He tried to picture its location and became reasonably sure it was the middle button of the bottom row. He pressed that button. He counted to five and began to speak.
“Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello? Hello?” he said, loudly repeating the salutation for fifteen seconds. Knowing that the concierge usually answered the phone on the second ring, he was sure this should be enough. “This is Lewis Taylor in the Vice-Regal Suite,” he continued. He spoke quickly, leaving no room for interruption, at a greater volume than was necessary. “I would like room service. A clubhouse sandwich. Fries. Please leave the tray outside the door.”
Having ordered food at least twice a day since he’d checked into the hotel, Lewis knew if he had successfully placed the call that his sandwich would arrive in almost exactly thirty minutes. He sat in the middle of the bed and waited. After what felt like thirty minutes, he stood up. He stretched out his arms and made his way to the door.
Opening the door, Lewis crouched in the hallway and felt a tray. He took off the lid. The sandwich was cold. The bread had started to harden. His hunger overwhelmed him, and, holding the door open with his body, Lewis began to eat, taking large bites. He ate quickly, almost savagely. When he felt he’d eaten everything, he backed into the suite, leaving the dishes in the hallway.