The front steps of the hotel are crowded and noisy with people sheltering from the snow and uniformed staff in peaked hats and white gloves trying to politely stop them trampling on the potted poinsettias. One man wearing a black wool overcoat with shiny gold buttons is fighting a losing battle trying to carve out a safe path through the slush to the front door with a monstrous shovel, while another is furiously blowing his whistle at a line of cabs with their lights off. It’s bedlam.
‘Sorry, coming through. Woman on a mission here.’
I squeeze past a knot of old ladies in fur coats and one of them tuts at me loudly. ‘Do you mind? This is chinchilla.’
My hand is on the gold handle of the enormous glass door, but when I go to push it, it swings open so fast that I almost fall forward onto the logoed mat. I peer over the doorman’s shoulder into the opulent foyer with its high ceilings and massive twinkling Christmas tree, the sound of laughter and clinking glass travelling through the air. It might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, and I was in the VIP suite in Krystle once. It had a round pleather bed.
‘Welcome to the Plaza,’ the doorman says.
****
I make my way through the lobby anxiously scanning the faces around me, but there’s no sign of John.
‘Ais!’
My head snaps in the direction of his voice. He’s jogging down the hall towards me in a faded grey T-shirt I recognise from a Christmas years ago when he got six different vouchers for Jack & Jones and won another one in Majella’s school raffle. I helped him pick it out.
A bellboy walks past and I catch him also taking in the view appreciatively.
When John reaches me, he waves a hand in front of my face. ‘Hellooo? Are you frozen solid or what?’
I snap out of it. ‘The Plaza! What are you at?’
He laughs. ‘I know, it’s mad. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get a decent room in Manhattan during a snowstorm, though? And anyway, I wanted to take you somewhere special. So we’re booked in for three nights.’
‘Three nights?!’
He grins. ‘I want this to be perfect.’ Two puce spots high on his cheeks under the tan.
‘I’m starting to get that impression, alright. Careful now, or I might get used to it.’
He steps forward. ‘So how did he take it?’
Poor Jeff. Such a golden retriever of a man. He’ll be snapped up by the weekend, though – I’m sure of it. ‘He was a bit put out, but I think he understood where I was coming from.’
‘So you’re officially single?’
‘I am.’
‘That’s funny, so am I.’
I feel weightless, like a helium balloon that could float off up into the rafters at any second.
‘I’m going to kiss you now.’
My legs feel like they’re going to buckle if he doesn’t. ‘Let’s go upstairs and you can do more than that.’
I tilt my chin upwards and try to calculate how long it will take me to get him up to the room and finally get that tracksuit off him. I’ve thought of little else since our PG romp on the couch last night.
His lips are millimetres from mine when a short bald man with a huge camera around his neck barrels in between us, jamming his gigantic lens into John’s stomach. ‘A bit of space, dude?’
Then, like lemmings, a group of around fifteen people of various ages and nationalities starts to gather around where we’re standing under a giant crystal chandelier.
I step backwards, confused. ‘What the …?’
A woman in a crisp black blazer with her hair in a French roll so tight it’s giving her a facelift clears her throat. ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Valentina, and I will be your guide on today’s tour of the historic Plaza Hotel here on the corner of 5th Avenue and Central Park South. You’re all very welcome.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t think we’re meant to be here,’ I say, taking John by the hand and skirting around a family wearing identical backpacks in the direction of the lifts. ‘Come on,’ I hiss.
Valentina’s brown eyes flick over to where we’re trying to sneak away. ‘This is the last tour of the day, miss. Complimentary for all our guests.’ Her tone is gentle but firm.
‘We’ll catch it tomorrow,’ John says, pulling me in to him and throwing an arm over my shoulders. ‘We have somewhere to be.’
But Valentina is not taking no for an answer. ‘Oh, but I’m afraid our tours only run on the weekend, sir. Gratuities are discretionary but very much appreciated.’ Her eyes are stony and I can feel the rest of the group staring at me too.
I sigh, knowing full well how much the hospitality industry in this country relies on tips. ‘Okay, then, you might as well lead the way, Valentina.’
****
An hour and twenty minutes later, and forty dollars lighter, we’ve finally managed to extricate ourselves from the group with promises to look up the Russell family if we ever find ourselves in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.
After an excruciating twenty-second wait, the lift eventually arrives and is thankfully empty. John pulls me inside and jabs the close-doors button frantically. They inch together slowly, and finally, finally, after what feels like an eternity, we’re alone again. He puts a hand on the small of my back and pulls me to him in one movement. My pulse starts to quicken at the hardness of him.
‘This lift better be fast,’ he murmurs.
‘Excuse me, miss!’ A white-gloved hand appears just as the doors are about to meet, and in steps a smiling uniformed woman. ‘What room, please?’
John takes a step backwards, embarrassed, and I feel so frustrated I have to literally bite my fist.
My voice is shrill. ‘It’s okay, we can press the button ourselves.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it, miss. It’s all part of the Plaza experience. Now, what’s your room number, please?’
‘Two three seven,’ John barks, and she jumps.
‘Yes, sir.’
We travel the rest of the way in silence, my arse pressed firmly into his crotch.
****
‘Your terrace room, madame,’ John coos, pushing the door open.
My eyes quickly take in the luxurious carpet and antique furniture and the sweaty champagne bucket, and while I normally like to open every door and drawer before I make myself comfortable in a hotel room, my investigation can wait till after. Later.
John shuts the door with his foot and is already kicking off his runners while I run to the enormous bed, shedding my parka on the way, and throw myself on it.
‘Quick, John, or I’ll have to start without you.’
He smiles and pulls off his T-shirt, and the sight of him knocks the breath out of me yet again.
‘Jesus Christ,’ I croak. ‘Get over here before I combust.’
He walks slowly and purposefully to the bed and climbs up so he’s kneeling on the end of it. Then he pulls off my boots one at a time. His eyes never leave mine as I take in all six foot two inches of him. In the first of many new moves, he then takes the gusset of my eighty-denier tights in his teeth and starts to drag them down slowly. Painfully slowly. The anticipation has me in agony, but I don’t want it to stop either.
When he eventually deposits the tights in a pool on the carpet, he glances up at my knickers and waggles his eyebrows. ‘Now for these.’
I burst out laughing. I’ve never felt more weak or more powerful in my life. He’s moving forward slowly when a sharp rap at the door stops him dead. My hands instinctively fly to my crotch.
‘Turn-down service!’
I grab one of the many jumbo pillows on the bed, put it over my face and scream into it.
****
It’s still dark when I wake up the next morning in a panic about work. It feels so bold to be here and not on my way to the office. John is sleeping silently beside me, and the bed is so vast and soft it takes me a minute to wade to the edge to locate my phone on the locker. I fire off a quick text to my colleague Aubrey to give her the heads-up that I won’t be in today or tomorrow and to go ahead contacting the suppliers for Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Thanksgiving Potluck. There’s a statewide shortage of free-range organic turkeys, but Aubrey said she’ll raise and slaughter one herself in the next fortnight if she has to, rather than let Maggie down. That’s the kind of dedication Mandy expects from her staff.
I sink back into the pillows and think about last night and John and the fact that we comfortably broke our previous record of three times. Well, I don’t think the first time counts. My cheeks flame when I remember the use we made of the shower and the massive free-standing bath. It’s a wonder one of us didn’t drown. At one stage we were in the walk-in wardrobe! If that luggage rack could talk … I also spotted four robes. Maybe one is a day robe and one is for evening? Nothing would surprise me.
‘Hey, what are you doing awake so early? C’mere.’ He turns over in the bed and gathers me into his arms and I realise that I feel so happy, so content. I feel safe with him, and it’s not just because I’m in the Plaza Hotel on a snowy Monday morning in November. It’s because of John, and that scares me a bit.
‘What are you thinking about?’ He shakes me out of my little daydream.
‘About you, you big gom.’
‘Oi.’ He tickles me in the ribs. ‘Does it involve the luggage rack?’
‘No. Well, maybe a bit.’
‘There’s a chaise longue in there with our names on it.’