Jane Unrue - Love Hotel

Drowsy.

Anxious.

Little bit uncertain about the protocol for such a morning I remained in bed where drifting into thoughts producing frosty images that melted at the corners I recalled the piece of land that we had stood upon where once a tiny house had been. As if in pictures blending into one another I saw trails of footprints made on floors that weren’t there anymore. Above those trails I spied a row of body sized increasing in their size impressions left in beds except the beds were gone. Surrounding all of this were scatterings on top of scatterings of tiny imprints made from fingers up down missing windows missing from the walls that were not there.

I sat in back. Before those rows of empty seats there loomed upon the movie screen a shoeless little pigtailed girl in overalls whose face was never shown. She seemed to be the costar to the dark sophisticated man who wore a hat. That man was constantly together with the girl though both were strangers to each other. She apparently unsupervised he was alone as well inside an art museum where they both were looking at the drawings all too delicate to be discernable by us. In fact they shared that movie screen exclusively until a dark haired woman in dark glasses entered catalyzing the expansion of the picture to include a male security guard. Along with the idea of filming a movie meant to be projected in a gallery inside an art museum

inside an art museum

seeing as the essential action in the movie issued from the man’s encounter with the woman

they

the other characters

both came across as far too obviously contrived. What the moviemaker did seem good at knowing though was how to cause the sexuality of the woman the desire of the man the blandness of the security guard to wipe their hands off

as it were

upon the little girl.

Awakened

standing up

she has her bearings now inside this pale blue room that seems to have been situated on the line dividing one world from another. In that other world there is a pretty little stream bright flowers springtime leaves. She sees the stream as clearly as if she were looking at it through an open window. On the glassy surface of the water myriad luminous beings

tiny little things

go gliding by.

Then suddenly the candle out the room’s gone dark.

I sometimes feel as though I’ve known you since before we even met she told me. We were on a blanket by the river looking toward the complicated NORTH FACADE. He’d gone to get the picnic baskets. Do you feel that way?

(Day Six)

Within the angle of the L comprising the NORTH FAÇADE an elaborate sequence of roofs ran down the hill

She said You may not know this but I

spilling toward the river in three long descending divisions.

She looked back as if to check on where he was.

She closed her eyes took in a breath then said I seize all chances when your mind is open to insert my thoughts straight into you. She said So I must beg you be a little patient with me please because I cannot always be as quick as you would like .

The highest of these three divisions housed the STAIRCASE

MAIN distinguished by large Traceried (Day One) windows he had said. Which means there’s stone around them .

Scooting further toward the blanket’s edge I tried increasing what small distance lay between us but she reached as if to take my hands in hers but then pulled back to say Just think of it like this.

She said I’m working at my desk .

She said You know what I mean by desk?

While water gathered in my mouth a moving image took possession of my mind a towering purple plume black curling lines on crisp white pages turning over in the wind. We saw him coming down the FIVE STONE STEPS. He had the picnic baskets. She spoke quickly And I’m writing. Softly. You are at your desk. Somewhat accusingly. And you are writing too.

When getting closer he called Hungry anybody?

Desperately she whispered Tell me what you’re writing!

Headed back to the hotel that afternoon I took an unfamiliar side street linking up diagonally to a fashionable tree lined boulevard where I could not help stopping at a chic department store display of mannequins dressed left to right increasing in their level of formality. All three had hairless heads that were identical although with added glamour came more makeup on the faces of the heads.

Confused about the way from there to my hotel I turned

disoriented

dizzy even

tired

I backtracked

tried but couldn’t find it on the pullout map included with the guidebook so I

How could this be happening I asked myself.

At last en route as best as I could calculate I walked recalling eyes cheeks lips all features that for those who passed the window from the left would be remembered as a growingly provocative progression.

That’s not right I told myself.

Not merely anxious I was really nervous. It was getting late. I made it back to the department store

Thank God.

deciding I would go the way I came. Get back to the museum. Then from there it’s travel the familiar course. Back to the drugstore. Market.

Then

However this impression would be challenged rather violently

as I had just discovered

by a story of emerging innocence: a gradual diminishment of lips cheeks eyes to be remembered by those having passed the window from the right.

It’s delicate she said.

He said Yes we will give you some advice on how to handle him . He said He’s smart .

She said He’s not just smart . She said It’s more than that. S he looked me in the eye but spoke to him. She’ll know exactly how to handle him she said.

The talk about the giving of advice (DAY THREE or SATURDAY ONE) ideally would have happened in the car when we were riding to the station or when we were stopped outside the station in the car. But this talk happened (MORNING TWO) down near the BOATHOUSE.

That night

NIGHT THREE

START OF WEEKEND ONE

we all went straight upstairs. Its entrance indicated by an antique lyre backed chair my room was saturated. Colored. Patterned. Every surface decorated. Walls red. Carpet red. The bedding an explosion of white roses on the red. No sitting room although there was a fireplace whose grate was painted black. The bathroom walls were papered silver. White towels white carnation soaps white fluffy rug beside the tub all complemented with a little silver chair black cushion silver stars embroidered. In the bedroom underneath a mirror framed in silver leaf there was an ivory painted secretary with an ivory seat. When lights were out the secretary glowed the seat glowed too as if they had been carved out of the moon. Again there were no blinds beneath the gauzy curtains. We were in the country. There was no one sneaking peeks at us out there.

When earlier on that night I stepped out of the car I felt I had exhilaration in my arms my legs as if my soul were suddenly expanding under rays of noonday sun. We all went straight upstairs. I went to sleep. However though my sleep it’s true did pass uninterrupted I awakened. Thus on MORNINGAFTER TWO or SATURDAY MORNING TWO continuing into OVERNIGHT THREE or NIGHT THREE into MORNINGAFTER THREE my day began too early.

I pulled out a red silk robe red slippers. Went into the hallway. All was silent. Dark. Apparently the only one awake I crept around the corner past the little antique bookcase then continuing down the hall until I came up to the door into the NURSERY

DAY. I did not try the door. However when I stopped before that door I suddenly recalled with some confusion that the last time I