My Funny Valyntine: Book One - The Pull

Chapter Twenty-Four - Anything Goes

i.

Valyntine waits, alone, in the nearly-bare room, the one adjacent to the infamous sitting room, for more than two hours. Someone placed bottles of varying refreshments and spirits and a small tray of food on the back table. She eats half a sandwich out of necessity and plunks down on the sofa aimed at the two-way mirror. With the lights turned off, it appears as if she's looking in on the ghost of a room.

Latin enters at half-past seven o'clock. As the door opens, the raucous noise from the lobby bleeds through. For all the time Valyntine has spent in The Robin's Nest, she has not yet seen it bustling with revelers and charges. The noise dies away as Latin closes the door.

Valyntine withdraws deeper into her corner of the sofa, crossing her arms, making sure to keep her gaze focused on the mirror. Latin walks straight to the bottles and pours himself a measure of something. She can't be sure of which because she refuses to look in his direction but assumes it's whisky. Drink in hand, he sits at the other end of the sofa and opens his notebook. Fifteen minutes pass when the light in the sitting room glows to life. Valyntine sits up straight, eyes wide.

Two men, dressed in crisp tuxedos and bow ties, enter the room, putting on gleaming white gloves. In fast, sweeping movements, they inspect all surfaces while dusting and wiping down anything they deem not up to snuff. Soon after, two more tuxedos enter with their arms full of various items. The four men move the furniture around in well-practiced synchronicity, setting up a small table with a thick, white tablecloth, place settings, silverware, glasses. They light tall candles and even clean the mirror. Valyntine watches as the man takes a cloth, upends a bottle of cleaning solution onto it, and then makes tight, fast, circular motions on the glass.

"They won't be able to hear or see us," Latin says, without looking up from his notebook.

Valyntine does not reply.

At a quarter of the hour, the men depart, leaving the sitting room looking like an elegant dining room for two. Valyntine continues pretending Latin isn't there.

"They'll be up soon," Softly Moses informs them, entering the viewing room just after eight o'clock. The noise from outside has grown in volume and intensity, lowering to a slight din after he closes the door.

"Sounds busy out there," Latin says, taking a sip from his glass.

"Quite," Moses replies, though Valyntine senses a trace of worry.

Five minutes later, the door to the sitting room swings inward, opened by one of the white-gloved, tuxedoed men.

Valyntine has never seen a photo of Holiday Bassie. The woman who enters the room looks every bit the overpowering personality as Mrs. Jones, at less than half the size.

She is a full head shorter than her companion and as thin as Valyntine. But she also looks sturdy, with straight, healthy posture for someone of at least seven decades. If women of the West Borough make it to their elder years, they walk with a hunch due to their decades in the mines and logging camps. Wearing a red pantsuit with a gold necklace and matching earrings, Holiday Bassie glides into the room with composure, grace, and familiarity.

"One day we'll enjoy a meal without having to ascend that staircase of yours, Jay," Holiday says with a laugh.

Two tuxedoes followed them in, pulling out chairs, placing napkins across laps, pouring water and wine. Valyntine watches these rituals of wealth with judgmental amusement.

"I prefer this room," Mrs. Jones says with a flick her wrist, her bracelets jangling. "It's the only room I can have some privacy."

Valyntine lets out a disgusted noise, something between a laugh and a bark of derision.