Jane Unrue - Love Hotel

She said But now I’m thinking about that ugly ugly

In her face I saw his image taking shape.

In days that followed it

(THE NIGHT WE MET

FIRST FRIDAY NIGHT

NIGHT ONE which could have led to OVERNIGHT ONE

FIRST OVERNIGHT

continuing into

SATURDAY MORNING ONE

FIRST SATURDAY MORNING

MORNINGAFTER ONE

DAY TWO extending into NIGHT TWO

OVERNIGHT TWO

FIRST SATURDAY NIGHT which could

or more significantly

SUNDAY MORNING ONE

FIRST SUNDAY MORNING

MORNINGAFTER ONE

TWO

No. Get back. Look at the END OF THE WEEKEND ONE.

He said The reason that he chose to carve the flowers into the façade had little to do with decoration.

Well at first it did she interrupted.

Yes he said. At first. Quite right. But

Shall we have our brandy now? she interrupted.

He got up advancing toward the cart that held the brandy things but then continued to explain that there was something sinister that he

MB she interrupted.

Yes. MB. Of course she knows I’m talking about MB he said.

was something sinister that he was planning for the next inhabitants of the manor whom he did not want to sell it to. He said He had no choice. He said He had to sell. He said As halfway through the building process he lost all his

NIGHT ONE.

NIGHT WE MET which should have led to

millions.

THE BEGINNING OF THE REST OF

Just imagine that she said.

Yes just imagine that he said.

but did not lead to that at all)

I often would experience a kind of achy feeling in my limbs as though I’d taken a tumble.

On those days my eyes as if engaging in a nearly constant effort to adjust from darkness often ached a little too. I felt a residue accruing on my skin. More frequently I washed my hands my face I even took an extra shower after work. One night just TWO NIGHTS AFTER WE FIRST MET my shift beginning I was lighting the candles on the little tables. On that night which could have been FIRST SUNDAY

END OF WEEKEND ONE

but wasn’t

I discovered that a previously somewhat meditative workplace ritual now left me feeling desolate inside. Cleared out. Abandoned.

Looking down regretfully at a blackened fingertip I stood behind the curtain that concealed supplies employee toilet that week’s schedule cartoon clippings pushpinned to the wall. I watched the patrons enter through the open door across the lounge all smoking glowing like a crowd of ghosts that simply could not wait to get inside.

Far more distressing though was what would happen on the nights when I had laid my freshly shampooed head upon my pillow. Sleep uninterrupted would arrive however entering into sleep I’d hear a sound. I right away interpreted this sound as having traveled up the elevator shaft to squeeze between the elevator doors turn left accelerating down the hall another left another hall to drop down to the space beneath my door. This sound as I was somehow made to know originated as a whisper under my apartment building. Such an up down corner whipping voyage rushing underneath my door had been responsible for the whisper’s gradual amplification of itself into a voice.

I’ll buy a post card

write a sentence

indicating that I

mail it

go home

never see them

speak to them again

I never spoke to them again.

I left the Public Library behind to return to the City Museum where hungry after a somewhat forced examination of the items in the cases arranged down the center of the long adjoining halls of Ancient India I went for late lunch in the courtyard followed by an educational (Headphones: Y) slow exploration of Baroque . As on the previous day I felt so lonely in the crowd

handcuffed in fact

As if I had been strictly ordered not to meddle in that local war my time within Baroque was not in line with outward objects conversations or activities.

Don’t look.

Don’t let yourself be seen.

yet there were instances when I was sure that I was being followed. After a sudden departure from the room in which a famous series of enormous allegories covered the walls I slyly disappeared into Contemporary then from there I quickly slipped into a small performance space where a movie was showing to a room of empty seats.

Such interruptions to his waking life in which he found himself transported back to

hovering

dangling

did not end when he grew out of

Passing for example through the outdoor winter market he might find that he

No child

Not anymore

had been transported back into a corner of a floor to see that floating

yellowed now

the inset going brown the pearls among the tarnished bugle beads comprising one long panel of decaying

lady

You see on THE NIGHT WE MET I also met a man who asked if he could take me home.

On one of these occasions she the lady slowly exited her dim boudoir in time for him to skitter past her into where at the conclusion of a journey partway up the doorframe he was gazing half in sorrow half in rage across the dismally deteriorated room.

The grape leaves then appearing at their edges to be curling

fruit appearing to have shifted slightly

bottom of a peach gone flat

there even was a little bruising in that precious painting given to the lady by his mother on that fateful night when

In the open cutting of the pomegranate he could see among the myriad shades of red the introduction

like a wicked presence in the paint

of black. It was as if within a scene in which it previously had been impossible to read the time of day that very day had now grown dim the futures of those fruits no longer guaranteed. Composed against a background clouded as if to suggest eternity

that carefully arranged array of angles shapes all guided by the level of the table top which now appeared to lean a little on the left

The basket. Look what’s happening to the

Wait!

What time was it?

had started showing cracks the cracks increasing at the edges where the canvas met its tattered frame.

That’s how it’s creeping into there.

He meant of course the evil in the air.

To get to that first time (Night Two) when in the DRAWING ROOM the invitation came to stay the night I did not do a thing to show that I could see it coming. I just waited. Then I answered yes. That night I found a satin nightgown in the wardrobe in my bedroom. Satin robe. Pink slippers. In this bedroom moonlight softly passing through the gauzy sheers in layers white with cantaloupe I felt so good I felt real happiness I felt as though I’d slipped into a dream. I listened. I relaxed. I started out awake but as I drifted into sleep

my sleep uninterrupted on that night

I thought I felt a tongue between my legs but when I checked there wasn’t any tongue between my legs.

I closed my eyes to see a floating figure in a placid sea of pink. Translucent figure. Veins illuminated. Blood as white as snow.

The following morning

MORNINGAFTER ONE

DAY THREE

I woke up with a feeling of foreboding. Although fleeting there were aspects of this feeling that were substantiated as my gaze began to settle on that room traditional in its style of furnishings walls papered in a floral pattern corals pinks a space just occupied not dominated by the simply carved four poster canopied antique bed. On top of satin sheets there was a coverlet of white awash in roses pink with tangerine a springtime pattern made to look alive by lime green satin thread embroidered into leaves appearing to have nestled permanently among the blooms. The carpeting a deeper shade of pink there were two nightstands each draped in a doily underneath a crystal lamp. A whisper thin ornately shaded floor lamp arched above a little country English chair rose velvet with a fuchsia cushion unexpected as an accent reminiscent though of matching objects in the sitting room as well as bathroom hand towels.