Room Service

Cupcake

"Good morning, Ms. Kingsley."

I flashed a smile in his direction, annoyed at the fact that the doorman here still referred to me as Ms. Kingsley even though I've been telling him to call me Winnie since I was seven.

Walking through the Empire, I could see the staff taking the Christmas decorations down, new guest checking in at the front desk, and through the windows, shiny stretch limos taking people back to their homes and away from mine.

Passing the grand stairs on my way to the elevator, I paused seeing that maintenance was taking down the white fairy lights that wrapped the rails.

"I think we should leave them up for a bit longer, no? The lights will fit in with the black and gold new years decorations for the party, anyway." I said to really no one in particular but I was sure someone would hear me. In this hotel, someone always hears me.

"Oh yes, Of course Ms. Kingsley," the man unraveling the lights at the base of the stairs chimed, immediately re-wrapping what he had already undone.

I walked up to him glancing at his name tag, "Paul, is it?"

"Yes Ms. Kingsley?" He stammered.

"Call me Winnie, Ms. Kingsley makes me feel old."

"Of course Ms. Kingsley." He responded immediately.

I cocked my head at him and sighed, before making my way to the elevators and pressing the last button.

I had been trying to be all smiles all week, hopeful that my father would come see me, or at least call me for Christmas, but as usual, all I got was an expensive gift, picked out by one of his assistants, and a text message saying he wouldn't be able to make it to New York for the holidays, on Christmas morning.

I was twenty-one, nearly twenty-two, and although as an adult it wasn't deemed necessary to spend Christmas with my father, it doesn't mean I like spending it alone like I have for the past six years.

But in two days, this year would be over, and new memories and new bad habits alike, will rise to take my mind off of the god forsaken holidays for another ten months or so.

I walked to my closet looking for something to change into from the business dress I had on from this mornings brunch, with my fathers investors. Spending two hours with pervy old men is not something I usually do, but when daddy asks, I must. He says it gives me an eye into the business world, although every time, the brunch usually just consist of old men in suits trying to get an eye on me.

After slipping on some tights, and my favorite Chanel black skirt, I threw my hair up into a loose bun, and slipped on a pair of black booties, before walking over to my bedroom.

"Bosley?" I sang out.

I watched my sheets wriggle a bit, trying to hold in my giggles, as my already over- weight bulldog puppy jumped off my bed, like he could fly, landing on the ground with a thump.

I bent down to attach his leash to his royal blue collar, and walked back to the elevator, laughing the whole way down to the lobby at the way his little booty shakes when he tries to run.

As usual, on Sunday afternoons, we sat on the outdoor deck of the restaurant attached to the Empire hotel. I drew while drinking my favourite wine, 'Cupcake,' and Bosley sat at my feet, snoozing, tired from the short walk next door, yet still somehow finding the energy to greet everyone he saw.

Today I was drinking while people watching, the book I had brought with me unable to maintain my attention like the man across the street.

His hair was far past shoulder length now with dark brown ringlets that moved slightly in the wind. His arms, covered in tattoos, on full display in a sleeveless wife-beater, despite the cold weather. His eyes were covered by a dark pair of sunglasses but I could tell his attention kept darting behind him every so often as if he was being followed, and as I glanced about twenty feet behind him, it became apparent that he was. A hoard of teenage girls stayed a safe distance behind him while memorizing his every move. I snorted silently into my glass of wine.