My Hotel Peculiar
I leaned as far over the railing as I could, the tips of my toes barely scraping the wood floor.
I was trying to peek at the people below. My parents were having a dinner party. Not the big party they have every year, the one with dancing and games, but still a lot of guests.
When I heard my mother’s voice, I pulled back over the bar. Peering through the balusters, I saw her walk by below. She was with a woman.
“This house is amazing,” the woman said. “How do I get a hotel peculiar of my own?” She laughed then, a funny sound, like she had a potato stuck in her mouth. And when she stumbled, my mother grabbed her arm.
Keeping the woman steady, my mother led her down the hallway, whispering to her with words I couldn’t hear.
Once they left, I sat on the floor and thought about it.
What was wrong with that woman? Why did she call our home a hotel peculiar? Was she making a joke?
I didn’t understand and decided to ask Mother the next time I got the chance. She’d know I was spying on the party and up past my bedtime. She might be angry. But not too much. Not as long as I stayed upstairs.
Which is why I had to be careful.
I waited a few more minutes, until I could no longer hear the clack-clack-clack of their shoes. Then I crept down the stairs, hurried down the hallway, and headed toward the blue salon. But I didn’t go inside.
Peeking around the corner, I saw all the people had finished dinner and moved to the salon. A quartet had set up their instruments in one corner, and an area of the floor was cleared for dancing.
Keeping my head close to the wall, I looked around the room. A flash of silver caught my eye. The woman again.
Her sparkly dress was hard to miss. Only my mother was gone, and the woman was leaning into my father.
He smiled in a way that made me uncomfortable, and he pulled her into his arms to dance. I kept looking until I found my mother. She was watching my father and the woman. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look angry, either.
Until she turned her head and spotted me.
I raced back down the hall, but my mother’s sharp voice stopped me before I could get away. “I thought I told you to go to bed.”
I turned back to her, afraid of how much trouble I was going to be in. I’m not supposed to be downstairs when guests are here.
She walked up to me and crossed her arms. “You know the rules.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Instead of chastising me, she put a hand on my shoulder. She sighed and stared at me, running her hand over my hair.
“Are you tired?” I asked her.
“Yes.” She took another heavy breath. “Very tired. And this party is for adults.”
“Yes, Mother.” Lowering my eyes, I pretended to be sorry and let her lead me back to the stairs.
I walked up three steps and turned around. “Why did that woman call our house a hotel peculiar?”
“What?” My mother pulled her attention back to me. She seemed distracted. “Oh, her. Don’t mind her. She’s deep in her cups.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means she’s had too much Champagne.”
I nodded. I’ve seen my mother drink too much Champagne before.
She waved her fingers at me, shooing me upstairs, but I didn’t go. Not yet. I had another question before being pushed up to my boring bedroom.
“Why does Father smile at her that way?”
My mother jerked her head back to me and frowned. “That’s enough now. Don’t concern yourself with adult matters, or with that woman. She’s not important.”
My mother gave me a light push on my back, and I could tell she was out of patience.
Frowning, I dragged my feet and took one step at a time. But halfway up the stairs, I heard my mother mumble, “She’s not important at all.”