Simply "X"

Part 1 - Creature of Habit

When the wheels met the runway at JFK, I was awakened from a much needed sleep. It had been a very long week indeed, and I was genuinely exhausted. Two time zones, coupled with three and a half hours in air had passed since I left Denver. Taxiing to the terminal, I peer out the window to see the sun was already setting in the western sky. This peaceful horizon reminds me that autumn in New York has always been my favorite part of these trips.

Every other Friday, for a little over two years now, I've taken this flight. The plane always arrives at 7:15. I deplane, walk to the parking pick-up, get in the company limousine, and head to the Waldorf Astoria. By 7:55, I'm at the front desk getting the key card to Suite 721 - The Presidential Suite, in route to the hotel restaurant. Every Friday evening that I travel, Victoria, the adorable evening desk manager, meets me with a warm smile and a bit of flirtation to her standard welcome spiel. As endearing as she is, I figure that she can't be a day over twenty-three. And although she is certainly very attractive, she is a bit young for me nonetheless. After an intentional touch of my hand while I sign my check-in authorization slip, and a bit of hopeful banter on her part, I smile at her, then turn towards the hotel restaurant.

The maître-de seats me at my usual table next to the fireplace, as the over sized grandfather clock in the lobby rings out the first of eight chimes. I see my favorite drink awaiting me, right on schedule. To say that Ron Rico and I have a long, close relationship would be understating things. The truth of it is I've been a Bacardi man for nearly two decades now. At 39, I look back and realize that I should probably have bought stock in that company. The thought makes me smile momentarily, as I raise the glass and see the distorted view of dancing flames behind it. The overly long week, coupled with travel stress, always makes the first taste the best one for me.

Holding firm to their sixty second rule of greeting newly arriving diners, Jeremy shows at my table right on time. He greets me with his usual but humble, "Good evening Mr. Greyson." As I nod in reply, I wonder if anyone had ever told Jeremy that Greyson was actually my first name, or if it was simply a custom to address VIP's in this manner. I guess after a couple of years now I really didn't have the heart to correct him.

I order my usual Filet Mignon, and they know exactly how I like it. Baby red potatoes with steamed broccoli always accompany my meal. Jeremy delivers the meal just as the bartender, Milan, brings the second of my two dinner drinks. He remembers the sequence of events to a tee, and never fails to deliver, exactly on cue. The steak is fabulous, the veggies are amazing, and of course the second Bacardi really hits the spot. I enjoy all of the luxuries that I have. I've earned them after all, so why shouldn't I indulge? I guess you could say that as a creature of habit, I wouldn't have it any other way. Although from time to time, I do find myself wishing that I had the company of a good woman to enjoy them with me.

In my profession, as an executive corporate attorney, I really don't have the luxury of much personal time. I travel twice a month to New York, and I oversee a corporate office in Denver. I manage depositions and trials for other corporate clients all over the country. My routine barely leaves me time for myself. So when I do have an opportunity to savor the good things in my world, I take full advantage of them. I do manage my health and fitness properly. I schedule a work out session 3 times a week, and I always try to eat properly on the road. I'd guess you'd say that I'm in really good shape for my age.

From afar, Jeremy sees my empty glass descending to the table. He comes immediately to ask if there is anything else I would like. By pure repetition of our meetings, he already knows the answer, yet the question comes nonetheless. "I trust that you enjoyed your meal Mr. Greyson. Will there be anything else sir?"I nod as the glass meets the table. "Very good sir, please sleep well." Jeremy concludes. I leave my seat, and reach into my pocket for his gratuity. I've always been a firm believer that tipping well for exemplary service leaves a positive and lasting memory. This belief has always been the case with Jeremy and Milan. Their service is always top shelf, without exception. I leave a pair of Grant's on the table, one for Jeremy, and one for Milan. As I depart, I can hear them almost in unison, "Thank you again Mr. Greyson."