Tuesday, 9/28/10 - Maiden

The room contains none of the scattered haphazardry of women. There is nothing hanging over the curtain rod in the bathroom and what few toiletries are out on the counter are all neatly arranged. There is no suitcase, half zipped, oozing clothes onto the floor and no shoes poking out from under the bed or the desk.

There are no wrappers or crumpled tissues littering the counters or the spaces around the trash cans.

She wants to open the closet but she knows she will not. A maid attends only to open spaces and should never open closets or drawers.

But she wants to. She wants to open the closet to see clothes hanging evenly spaced on the bar and shoes arranged in pairs on the floor, heels together, left beside right, laces tucked. She wants to open the top drawer and see undershorts folded and stacked beside undershirts, socks paired and folded, not balled, and in the next drawer the crisp, creased t-shirts and shorts.

She will go through the motions of cleaning this room but there is little reason.

She takes the bedspread from the chair where he had placed it, fold upon fold, as if it were his own and he didn't want it soiled or wrinkled, and spreads it on top the fresh sheets.

Who is this man? she wonders briefly before answering herself. He is a prince.

She smiles at her silliness while laying out the spread.

Then it occurs to her that he could very well be a prince. The Waverly West is the best hotel in the city and the cost for one night in this room is more than she makes in a week.

She pulls a clean case onto a soft down pillow light as a cloud and lets her imagination float.

An almond eyed man with cinnamon skin enters the room. Excuse me, she says to him, shall I come back at a later time? No, he replies, please continue, I just need to grab a few things and I will be leaving. She continues straightening the room feeling his eyes upon her. Did you happen to see a book lying around here? he asks her. She does remember a book. There is one over here on the night stand, she replies. She holds it up for him to see. Yes, that is it, thank you.

He takes the book. Have you ever read Bradbury? he asks. No? Perhaps I could read it to you. Would you like that?

Yes, yes, I would like that.

And dinner? Tonight?

Yes, yes, dinner tonight.

Wine, miss? Do you prefer red or white?

I prefer something golden and summery like Dandelion Wine...

She smiles to herself again, dusts the top of the nightstand then positions the book in the same exacting way that she found it.