Liminal Spaces

THREE

I often find myself in liminal spaces. Places like your bedroom a 5.00 am, the sun is coming up after you haven't slept all night, and the birds are congregating in preparation for their morning song. The whole house is quiet, and sunlight is spilling through the cracks in your curtains. For some reason, you feel more soporific than ever before. Turn over, bury your face in the pillow, and block out the world.

Sunny and I had kicked off our shoes and thrown off our coats, well at least I had. Sunny had her Louboutinsas at the door, and she didn't bring a coat. I imagine if she had, however, that it would be neatly hung over the sofa, and not on the bathroom floor like mine was. Sunny ran out onto the balcony, to observe the view over Los Angeles from the penthouse floor of the hotel. I watched her through the room's floor-to-ceiling glass windows, that offer the most spectacular panoramic view of the city, worth every penny.

The mane of black hair that cascaded down her back blew in the nighttime breeze and her dress hugged her tightly as she stood on her toes and leant against the railing.

I dove face-first into the sofa, it was so large and grand you'd suspect it had fallen to earth from Olympus. A throne fit for Zeus, and all of his children. As my cheek began to sink into the lounge pillow, I reached my hand out to retrieve the room service menu. Turning on my back, I squinted at the late-night menu and indulged in wildest desires; not women, or money, or glory, but a chocolate fondue fountain and a platter of strawberries arranged in the shape of a heart.

I heard Sunny return to the room. With an unlit Marlboro Gold between her teeth, she turned on the television and switched the channel over to MTV. A Pet Shop Boys music video had just started playing. The song filled me with that special, nostalgic feeling you only get when you hear a song you haven't heard in many years.

Sunny grabbed a lighter from her bag and lit the cigarette, you're not supposed to smoke in the hotel rooms, but considering how much I'm paying for mine, I'm sure we'll be excused just this once. Sunny climbed onto the bed, the cream-white duvet crinkles under her feet as she begins to dance.

In a West end town a dead end world;
The East end boys and West end girls...

She reminds me of being a kid, jumping up and down on my childhood bed to the sound the radio. The only difference being that in my story, my dad catches and reprimands me, telling me some gory story of how jumping on the bed can lead to almost sudden death. While Sunny's story ended only with a knock on the door.

While Sunny had been lost in her world, the front desk had sent up a complimentary bottle of Dom Pérignon. It never ceases to amaze me that it's only when you have the money to pay for these things that somone is willing to give it to you for free. No wonder the rich keep getting richer. I was standing in the doorway with the bellboy who was unveiling a tray of fresh fruits and European chocolates from under their stainless steal serving cover. "Personally, I believe that with this particular champegne pairs well with your preferred citrus fruit. Can't go wrong with an orange slice, or even a wedge of our California grapefruits if you're feeling adventurous."

I looked at the label. It was a 2011, not bad at all! Can't expect anything better than that unless you're John fucking Travolta really, and I imagine they save the 2002s for when the royal family visits. I'm nodding along to the bellboys monologue, going "mm hm" and "uh ha" on occasion.

I tipped him generously, even by a celebrity's standards and wished him goodnight. I wheeled our compliments into the living room. I threw a grape in my mouth, a slice of Californian fertility alive on my lips. MTV has gone to commercial and Sunny had somehow gotten the bed to vibrate. She giggled as she stubbed out her cigarette and experimented with the mattress's control panel.

"God! I didn't know these things still existed!" She laughed. I handed her a flute of the champagne and sat beside her on the edge of the bed. My feet touched the ground, hers didn't.

"I suppose they've come a long way since their magnum opus that was the sleazy hotel in the 80s" We cheersed our drinks and took the first sip. It was a bloody good bottle of bubbles, but I suppose you get what you pay for, or rather what the men in the white three pieces on the ground floor think you deserve.

We picked at the fruit for a while; I watched the lights shine in Los Angeles as she enjoys her last hours of serenity before the morning birds song. Neither Sunny nor I had touched any of the chocolates; our eating had grown disordered after years of comparing ourselves to billboard models. My romanticisation of an abundance of chocolate, spilling in its liquard form only existed in a world without weight gain and waistlines. This wasn't candy land, this was La La Land.

I forced myself to try one incase management asked me how I enjoyed them. I would be able to reply with an honest "They were a pleasant surprise! I loved the ones with the caramel coated macadamia inside!"

Perhaps I'd get a "that's fantastic!" In response, and the hotel would send me another box for Christmas or for the opening of my next movie, making sure the ask the manufacturer to add extra caramel covered macadamia chocolates to the box with my address on it.

Lost in my fantasy about chocolates I'll never eat, I feel Subnt touch the side of my face. Two fingers pinch my chin and turn my head to face hers. I smile when our eyes meet. "I want to go swimming." She smirked.