The lobby
A short story about an in-between place.
He felt weary as he pulled into his lane to exit the Grand Central Parkway. The pile of eastbound headlights leaving the city made him grateful for his reverse commute.
Mets batting practice would begin on SNY in twenty minutes. He could forgive himself for congealing into his sofa and riding out the evening.
He pulled into his driveway and turned off the engine, still undecided. Three minutes passed before he remembered where he was.
Just twenty minutes. He convinced himself. When have you ever regretted it?
Pep talk over, he stepped out of the car and wheeled his official NYC Bin away from the curb. He noticed the twin Home Depot and the Department of Sanitation logos. Unlikely allies. He rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and continued down the sidewalk in the direction of Ditmars Boulevard.
Some evenings he’d considered continuing across the boulevard, walking directly into LaGuardia’s refreshed Terminal B and buying a ticket. One day he’d really do it.
Tonight his lobby would be enough. He walked down the sidewalk-less entrance. Am I the only one that comes here on foot?
The lit Marriott sign was just beginning to gleam in the early evening light as he continued beneath the covered entrance.
The glass doors slid open, marking the end of his commute. A slight scent of lavender drifted through the lobby. His evening could begin.
Two flight attendants wheeled past him, off to Kansas City or Buffalo or Montreal. A family of four sat on the small couches to the left of the entrance. “It’s the Uber driver,” the mother said, picking up her phone.
He nodded towards the new kid at the front desk, who he’d seen a couple times but hadn’t caught the name of. Hospitality grad? Neighborhood boy? He’d ask eventually.
Rounding the pillar towards the bar, he heard a familiar voice.
“Mr Miller! Wasn’t sure if we’d see you tonight. Batting practice just started.”
“The usual, Rodney. The Metropolitans don’t have a chance tonight. Tom Seaver retired, you know.”
Rodney uncapped a bottle of Miller Lite, set it on a coaster, and placed it on the bar.
“He also died, if I’m not mistaken.”
“That’s true. How’s the crowd tonight?”
“I think the IT people left.”
“Oh good. I didn’t read up on Denial-of-Service attacks like I said I would.” Miller paused, then said more to himself than anyone else, “That sounds like a tennis move.”
“Have a look yourself,” Rodney said, sliding a square piece of paper across the bar.
“Where did you pilfer this? Your conference center friends must be running in circles.”
“Last meeting in the ballroom ended at 4. Plus you always ask me.”
“What will you do when they switch to iPads by the doors?”
“I’ll leave that to you and the IT gang.”
Miller read the paper. Just two entries.
“You were right, no techies today. The morning was Central Pennsylvania Bridge Engineers and the afternoon just says ‘Hold for Louise.’ I’m happy for the bridge…er…tons? Thursday in the big city.”
“Assuming they got to leave the hotel.”
“You’re right. Thursday on Grand Central Parkway.”
As Rodney stepped around the corner to load glasses into the dishtray, Miller took a sip of beer.
“Stella, please. And could I also get a water?”
A new voice came from Miller’s right. A man climbed onto the stool two away, shirt sleeves rolled up like Miller’s, no tie.
“You got it,” replied Rodney.
Taking a sip of both, the man glanced in Miller’s direction. Then a second time. Miller stared straight ahead.
“Where you headed?”
“Nowhere,” said Miller. With a subtle lift of his bottle, he added, “Best beer in the city. Yourself?”
“No shit? Got in from Cleveland an hour ago. My meeting isn’t until lunch tomorrow but I take my Bonvoy membership seriously. Too seriously if you ask my wife.”
“I won’t.”
Miller spotted a familiar face at the other end of the bar. A middle-aged woman was pouring herself a glass of water from the soda gun. She filled her glass, took a long sip, then filled it again. Returning to the room, she sent a soft smile Miller’s direction.
“Hey Louise. How’d your ‘hold’ go today? It sounded important.”
“They didn’t show. Marriott’s head of northeast sales said he may swing by. Do you see him anywhere?” She gestured towards the lobby. “I’m guessing they are on the 17th green in Westport as we speak.”
“Took a room rated for…what…150…out of circulation for the afternoon.”
“Try 350. It wasn’t booked, but alas.”
Louise refilled her glass of water a second time and came around from the side of the bar.
“See you tomorrow, Miller.”
“Later.”
Miller noticed only a swig remained in his bottle. He wasn’t eager to hear about his barmate’s Bonvoy membership.
“Thanks Rodney.” Miller said, leaving cash on the bar.
He walked through the lobby, out the double doors, and to the rest of his day.
Did Miller come here before Covid too? Or is this a post-Covid hangout? Does it matter? Pretty cool the Bonvoy membership includes regulars like Miller as part of the vibe. They ought to give him a free Miller-lite everyday for stopping by 8-)