Gresham Getaway

                                                   

Testy nearly tore the door off its hinges such was the haste with which he entered the flat. Jenny extinguished her cigarette and came in off the balcony.

—“Slow down, love,” she said. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

Testy’s face was red from exertion. Panicked and spooked, he had run all the way home from the pub and deep fear now showed on his beetroot complexion.

—“Pack a bag, Jenny,” he ordered, breathlessly. “We’re getting out of here for a couple of nights. I’m freaked out!”

—“What do you mean, what’s wrong? Where’ll we go?” Jenny pleaded.

—“Just get your bag and c’mon!” Testy said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

Knowing from experience (several prominent shiners down through the years) not to argue with him when he was wound up like this, Jenny went to the bedroom and packed an overnight bag.

Twenty minutes later the pair stood at the reception desk of the Gresham Hotel on O’Connell Street. The assistant manager eyed them suspiciously. Though, seeing the colour of Testy’s money—a fat wad he could practically smell—the fellow promptly gave him the key to room seventy-seven, a fifth floor premier suite with a view of the bustling street.

—“Wow!” Jenny said, surveying the plush surroundings into which they were shown by the bellhop. The young lad insisted on accompanying them to the room even though they had hardly any luggage. Testy knew the kid was angling for a tip, and—anxious to be alone with Jenny—thrust a small note at the gossoon to send him on his way.

—“It’s a fairly cool room, alright,” Testy said, plonking onto the expansive bed. “I can relax here. I was freaked out earlier. The last couple of days have been a total head-wreck. My arm is still sore from where they pulled off that tattoo. I haven’t been right since. I don’t know what’s got in to me.”

—“Are you sure we can afford this room, Testy?” Jenny asked. “I mean, you could have just rested up at home. I still don’t get it. Why do we have go hiding in the feckin’ Gresham Hotel of all places. My auntie Maisie was a cleaner here. It’s not our kinda place. You saw the way that fella at the desk was lookin’ at us, like we were a bit of dirt on his shoe. He only changed his tune when he saw your money. And that’s just borrowed. We still have to pay it all back. We’re mad comin’ here.”

—“Will you chill out, girl!” Testy said.

He’d grown considerably more relaxed since checking into the hotel. His troubles were down the road in the flat, and along Capel Street to the quays. He was cocooned here, safe and free from all of that. Typical woman, he thought, overcautious on the money front. Sure, didn’t I explain to her about my property plan? The only place that the price of houses is going is up. And I have that on good authority, he told himself. I don’t know how many bankers I’ve heard in the last while praising property as an investment. Dozens, I’d say, at the very least. Surely to Christ they know what they’re talking about?

He smiled up at Jenny who was standing anxiously by the bed and spoke to allay her fears

—“Listen, hon. Just like I explained on the way over, we’re gonna stay here for a couple of nights. I’ve got a bad feeling about things back at the flat and thereabouts. I think I’m being followed. And I’m definite that something really fuckin’ weird happened to me the other night. But it’s like I’ve got amnesia. It’s only coming back to me in faint flashes. We’ll lie low here for a few days and enjoy the luxuries. I need to be able to think straight and not be looking over my shoulder all the time. I told you, I think I can make some serio dough in the property game. Just gotta work myself out a little strategy. It’s the Gresham Hotel, Jenny. Start lookin’ like you’re enjoyin’ yourself, will ya? That’s an order!”

His words seemed to work and the tense expression on Jenny’s face softened. She smiled and tousled his hair before going into the bathroom to unpack the few toiletries she’d brought with her.

—“I still can’t believe we’re in the Gresham,” she shouted from the bathroom. “This place is absolutely gorgeous. I remember Maisie used to say that only a very select type of person stays at the Gresham. I guess this makes us très select,” she laughed, inflecting her voice to sound upper class.

But Testy was barely listening to her. He’d found the controls of the humongous flatscreen that the room came equipped with and was scrolling down the channel chart looking for a Country & Western station. It was always his favourite kind of music whenever his soul needed calming—and this was certainly one of those occasions. As a musical genre, some people called it mawkish; Testy called it sublime.

He quickly found CMT who—to his great delight—were playing Gram Parson’s Return of the Grievous Angel. Black and white shots of the youthful Gram appeared on the screen as the strains of his haunting song filled the room:

‘And the man on the radio won’t leave me alone, He wants to take my money for something that I’ve never been shown…’

The man from the other night won’t leave me alone, Testy thought, and he felt his anxiety rising again. He knew that Jenny’s touch—and nothing else!—was the only thing on God’s Earth that could put him completely at ease. He had never longed to feel her beside him as much as he did just then, lying on the hotel bed with the ghostly sound of a dead country singer hanging in the air.

—“Come here to me, baby.” he called out. “Just lie down with me. I need you to help me stop this racing mind of mine. I thought that coming here would chill me out, but I’m still not right. And the worst part is: I don’t even know what’s haunting me.”

Jenny stopped arranging her toiletries, undid her shoes and her skirt and got down onto the bed beside him. They clung to one another with the ardour of a couple who had been in love for a long time. Soon, they were off to the Land of Nod. Their bodies linked like hibernating rattlesnakes.

It was around nine when they awoke. The sounds of O’Connell Street were as lively as they had ever been. Jenny, her face peaceful after sleep, went to the window and looked down on the buzzing scene.

—“Never saw O’Connell Street from this angle,” she said. “This is how the posh people live. There should be a law against those drunks singing down there. Come to think of it, there probably is!”

Testy laughed; happy that Jenny seemed happy. The sleep had done them good.

—“I’m hungry,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

—“Yes. Let’s order room service!” she answered, clapping her hands like an excited child.

They had a sumptuous spread sent up to the room and spent a wonderful half hour consuming it. Testy’s main course was ribeye steak served with rich garlic butter and baby new potatoes—certainly not the kind of fare he ate every day of the week. Jenny, meantime, had a catch of the freshest Dublin Bay prawns—an absolute delicacy as far as her normally humble diet was concerned. For dessert they gorged on the hotel’s famous homemade ice-cream.

When they were finished they lit cigarettes and lay back on the bed like a pair of post-coital lovers, sated and staring at the ceiling.

After about ten minutes of this blissful idling, the peace of the scene was shattered by a loud rapping at the door. Testy got up and peered through the peephole into the corridor. He saw the bellhop from earlier on.

What does this fecker want? he wondered, and opened the door.

—“Telegram, sir,” the lad said, proffering a folded piece of white paper on a small silver tray under Testy’s nose. The paper reminded Testy of the Belvedere Bond his mother used to write formal letters on when he was a child.

—“A telegram?” he said, snatching up the paper. “That’s a bit retro. This is the age of the internet, dontcha know?”

Saying nothing, the lad scampered off. Testy returned to Jenny’s side.

—“What does it say?” she asked him.

He unfolded the telegram and began to read aloud:

“You can run, Testy…But you can’t hide…Meet me at the Spire…Seven a.m. tomorrow…You don’t need to know who I am…Just be there…I’ll be carrying a bouquet of cactus…The consequences of ignoring me will be hell for both of you…”

Their alarm grew.

—“Jesus H Christ!” Testy said. “What’s going on? I knew I was being followed!”

—“I’m scared,” Jenny said.

—“Well, we can’t stay round here any longer,” he told her. “It’s time to pack up again. We’re gonna have to leave Dublin.”

Jenny wasn’t going to argue that point with him. She started to get dressed and gather up her things. Every raucous sound coming from the street set her nerves further on edge.

Seeing his lover worried so, broke Testy’s heart. Nevertheless, he kept his mind focused on what he knew he had to do.

He called reception and told them to prepare his bill. He was checking out in ten minutes.

© Brian Ahern 2011