Long Time Gone

Chapter 21

The door to Room #09 opened, revealing an old lady dressed in a pinafore dress with an apron fastened around her front. Her hair was pulled in a messy greying bun, and she wore an exhausted frown.

"Yes?" She demandingly questioned.

I was taken aback by her strong tone, but answered altogether. "Delivery for Mr Bob Dylan and Albert Grossman. Orders from the dressing parlour."

"The dressing...?" The housekeeper questioned with a curious twink in her eye, before crying out in realization,
"Oh yes! The dress orders! Do come inside!"

"I am to deliver these to Mrs Ross." I stated, eyeing the housekeeper observantly.

She raised her eyebrows at me indignantly. "That'll be me, Miss! I'm Mrs Ross! Now come inside and have a seat till I bring you your paycheck!"

She disappeared inside the first room located on the right of the narrow hallway. I followed her with caution, looking around and taking in the busy environment that surrounded me. People of different ages, male and female, bustled around from one room to another. Some were housekeepers while most were important looking people dressed in suits or dresses. They were all talking in loud tones, laughing, screeching, shouting, drinking and smoking everywhere.

I panicked at the noisy state of the hotel room, silently following Mrs Ross in the room through a sheet of beady curtains. The room in question was merely a sitting parlour that held few sofas. It was mostly decorated with Bob Dylan's records and like collectibles.

Speaking of his records, all of them were lined against the wall, displaying the different eras of Bob Dylan. My gaze lingered at them, studying the face of the man that the album covers portrayed. Mrs Ross brought me back to attention.

"Now take a seat! How many times should I repeat myself? I've got no time to spare! There are many things to be done! Hand me over those boxes and wait till I arrange your payment!"

I quickly handed the heavy boxes to Mrs Ross, who to my satisfaction, took them away with immense trouble. I watched her old back get hunched with weight as she retreated to the main lounge through an another opening in the parlour.

The opening from where she disappeared sperated the lounge from the room where I was sitting through the same beady curtains. I could see the people bustling there, some walking around with lit cigarettes in their mouths and some lounging on the chairs with wine glasses in their hands. All of them were laughing and talking loudly. Such an extroverted environment made me feel nauseated and overwhelmed.

As I took a seat, I scanned the section of the lounge which was visible from my direction. It was crowded, yes, but I could not spot Bob nor I could hear his voice among the others. However, I still strained my ears, leaning forward a little to scan the remainder of the lounge.

There, by the window, my eyes caught the thin figure of Bob Dylan. He was as silent as a ghost, leaning on the window sill as he smoked his cigarette. I gasped as I looked at him, feeling my cheeks blush because he looked very handsome. He had his hair styled in a messy way, dressed in a white buttoned down shirt, a black blazer and an equally black skinny dress pants. He still had those dark shades hanging on the nose of his bridge. Smoking as he was, he held a frown on his face, gazing out of the window inattentively.

I stared at him and his silent figure. I awed at his demeanor and how he maintained his composure, highly unbothered by the people around him.

I continued to watch Bob as Mrs Ross approached him in a haste, loudly saying as I caught onto their every word in the bustling room, "Mr Dylan! The orders just arrived! Now the delivery girl is expecting a payment!"