Blue Glass

The first thing I did when Manfred steered me through the great double doors of the Hotel Bristol was freeze in my tracks and stare at my surroundings, my eyes stretched so wide I could feel them straining in my sockets.
This sort of place only exists in dreams and fairy tales, and yet—it's here. And I'm in it. With the man of my dreams. Maybe I am dreaming, and all I have to do is pinch myself and I'll wake up...
I discreetly pinched the tender skin of my arm and winced at the pain, although that was quickly drowned out by the giddy realization that I was still where I was, in the expansive foyer of the Hotel Bristol, now clutching Manfred's hand like a lifeline.
Manfred laughed at the bedazzled expression I wore. "How do you like it?"
I had no words to describe my surroundings that only grew even more beautiful the longer I stared at them. Thick, ornately carved Corinthian columns stretched skyward, curving to form elegant arches. Countless chandeliers hung suspended from the ornately painted and engraved ceiling, bathing everything in resplendent white light. A sprawling receptionist's desk, crafted of dark, polished mahogany, appeared to be the main focus of the room, with its ornate and elegant carvings. It was supplanted only by the gold fountain in the center of what looked like three athletes standing back to back in identical gravity defying poses, jets of water rising and falling in delicate patterns all around them. In another corner of the room was an elegant black piano, in front of which was seated a man in a tuxedo, playing the opening notes to what sounded like Beethoven's Für Elise.
To our right was a forked staircase that spiraled twice and then out of sight on each side, no doubt leading to the numerous rooms on the multiple floors of the hotel. The stairs, as well as just about every inch of floor I could see, were blanketed in a blood red carpet that was so thick one's feet sank a good half an inch into the luxurious material. Countless bellboys and hotel staff, smartly clad in tuxedos, hurried this way and that carrying suitcases, garment bags, and domed trays of food here and there.
"It's beautiful!" I said when I could find my voice, turning to Manfred with a completely starstruck expression. "I've never seen anything like it in my life!"
"So it seems." His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. "Your eyes look like they're about to fall out of your head."
"It's just—" I just can't stop looking around. "I'm so—"
"Wait until I show you upstairs." Manfred's left eyelid fluttered down in an ever so slight wink. "This is nothing compared to the cafe and the room itself."
The man at the desk gave him a respectful nod as the two of us passed him on our way up the stairs. I ran my fingers wistfully along the stainless steel railing and the oaken banister, remembering my elementary school days of bypassing entire flights of stairs simply by sliding down it.
"What's so interesting about the stairs to you?" Manfred asked teasingly when we reached the top of the first spiral.
"I was wondering how fun it would be to slide down the banister of these stairs," I said, drumming my fingers on the polished wood.
"You wouldn't dare. Not now, at least." He didn't seem to have a problem with the fact that I was still holding his hand. "Maybe at night, when the hotel is asleep and I can convince the receptionist to turn his back for a few minutes," he added jokingly.
At night?
The prospect that maybe he would let me stay made me dizzy with excitement. I let him pull me away from the staircase and down the hallway, past door after door with a number affixed at the top of it in gold metal.
We went up another flight of stairs and then another to what looked like the topmost floor. Manfred tapped on a door marked "125", producing a tiny silver key from the pocket of his uniform pants.
"My humble abode," he said. "Or do you want the tour of my room later? There's still plenty for you to see."
I nodded mutely, swiveling my head this way and that although there was nothing to see but numbered doors. I was secretly hoping he would let me stay with him and not walk me back to my house, which now seemed like a cottage when juxtaposed with all this luxury.
Our next stop was the cafe, a spacious room with a sprawling wraparound counter and enough tables and chairs to build a miniature castle with and still have enough left over to make the servants quarters and a soldiers' barracks. The chairs were all upholstered with buttery leather that was smooth and supple to the touch; the tables were polished to an impeccable shine, reflecting the subtle, calming , orange-yellow glow of the individual bulbs that hung in frosted glass casings from the ceiling and in sconces on the walls. They were set for as many chairs as there were around the table in question—in twos, threes, and fours. The cutlery was exquisite as well—bone china plates, clear glass cups, and stainless steel forks, spoons, and knives polished to an almost unnatural shine, all symmetrically arranged next to snow white napkins neatly rolled inside cylindrical napkin holders. Yet another piano was tucked away in a corner of the room, the man at the piano playing a tune I didn't recognize.
"You said you like oysters, didn't you?" Manfred turned to face me. "If you don't have anywhere else to be, you could join me for some. They're not as good as the ones at the Hotel Metropole, but they're good enough."
I kept my nod as steady as possible, although it was taking me all of my self control not to hop onto one of the tables in my excitement and turn a cartwheel.
"I would be honored," I said.