Anything Else
By Olivia Nicole McLean
The bright city lights illuminated the small hotel room and pierced the darkness of night. I lay across the sunken sofa, trying to get at least a little sleep. The sofa was hard, and it smelled like and cigarette smoke, but I wasn’t about to leave it for Jenna to sleep on. The bed was small and not much more comfortable, but it certainly smelled better, and fresh sheets awaited her once she finished her shower. I refused to shower in that plastic shoebox; the water smelled strongly of chlorine, and there was barely room to turn about and get clean. Through the kitchenette window, a red neon sign lights flickered the words, ‘Flamingo Hotel’. We had requested a non-smoking room, but no such room remained to be booked. The furniture was old, rickety and mismatched; it made me wonder if the owner of the hotel hadn’t stolen some of it, or went garbage diving for them. The walls were patched with newspaper and paste, so as to hide the holes that were there previous. So far, it was not expected to be a restful night, not unlike earlier in the day. We were too tired from countless board meetings and speaking engagements that ran from morning to late afternoon.
We both worked for the New Harlem Press, an independent newspaper that published literature written by colored people, as well as local events and the latest news. Jenna and I both were attending college to become journalists; she was older than I was, and she had divorced her husband of eight years before returning to school. We became fast friends when we started attending the women’s writing club at our college; she was the president, and I was the treasurer and ran public relations. We would talk about the next edition of the newsletter over coffee in the basement cafe for hours. I was smitten by her from the beginning; her dark skin and tiny, neat afro that framed her pixie-like face and high cheekbones. She was tall and svelte, and her voice was strong and persuasive. She always smelled like a thousand roses; I could smell her perfume drifting from under the bathroom door and into the tiny room. In the midst of the old, cigarette-smelling hotel, it was like a cloud of heaven filling the room and soothing my soul; I think it was the body that graced the perfume that made the smell so much softer than it would otherwise be.
“Athena? I can’t seem to fasten my bra.” Jenna called from inside the bathroom.
I slowly crept into the steamy bathroom. Jenna had a towel about her waist and her back was facing me, with her hands behind her back, holding the bra fasteners. I secured her bra, and was about to leave. Then I paused and turned in the doorway.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I asked.
Jenna let out a short, gentle laugh, “Yes, but… I’m not sure I should ask.”
“You can ask me anything.” I replied.
Jenna proceeded to slip on her dark green, satin nightgown, then she turned and looked at me, “Maybe. But I cannot ask for your love.”
“Yes you can.” I pulled her in for an embrace.
I stood in that rundown bathroom with her in my arms. I had never felt such peace fill my chest. My heart nearly stood still as I pressed her head against my shoulder with one hand, and caressed her with the other. Oh the feel of her thick, downy curls in my hands, the smell of her perfume; I could feel her kissing my neck, and putting her arms around my waist. I couldn’t wish for anything else but to be with her.
© 2022 Olivia Nicole McLean. All rights reserved.