The Blacks

I returned to the front desk later that afternoon to check guests in.  While organizing the registration cards a short, paunchy, balding man burst through the front door and stomped over to the desk.  He wore a belt cinched tightly around his middle giving him the appearance of an obese hourglass.  He had a thick brown mustache and glasses, and panted audibly as he addressed me.

“Excuse me young lady,” he puffed, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

“Good evening Sir.”  I replied, standing up from my seat.

“Where on Earth do we park?” he commanded.  “I’ve my hazards on at the corner and the Mrs. is waiting.”  A heavy draft of alcohol hit me straight on, making me blink a few times.

“Happy to help Sir,” I said, stepping back slightly.  “There’s a lot just across Coast Highway at the corner.”  I pointed in the general direction of my instructions.  The incredulous look on his sweating face gave little reassurance that he understood.  Meanwhile his spiritous pants continued streaming in my general direction.

“Here, let me show you.” I said as I passed a small area map across the desk, keeping a good distance.  “We are here,” I circled the hotel “and the lot is here.”

“Ah” he sighed in relief.  “Appreciate it love.”  He leaned in close and lifted one eyebrow rather raunchily.  “The name’s Black, Marvin Black.

“Yes Mr. Black I remember you and your wife from last year.”

“Alright then.  We’ll be back in a flash.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk and spun around quickly, tramping back towards the door.

I pulled Mr. Black’s registration card from cubby 307.  He had requested this room from a previous stay last year around the same time when we first opened.  He had paid in advance, so further interactions with him would be limited beyond a signature and giving him keys to the room.

A few minutes later the sound of traffic came through the front door as Mr. and Mrs. Black tumbled in with their suitcases.  Mrs. Black was equally stout with an enormous bust that seemed to connect seamlessly with her corpulent belly and thighs.

“Mr. Black you’re back in one piece.” I said.

“Yes, found the last spot in that lot.  I tell you the traffic is horrid in these parts.” he snorted in a pretentious tone.  “Worse than the Bay Area even.”

“That’s for sure.” I replied.  “You can always find more vacancy two blocks up in the residential area. “

“We certainly appreciate that young lady.”  Mrs. Black chimed in, smiling widely as she approached the desk.  “Did my husband provide you with payment?”

“Yes ma’am, he’s already paid in full.”  I said.

“Honey munch, you are so prepared!”  she said in a sort of sing song turning back to Mr. Black who was hunched over, fussing with a suitcase lock.

“Mrs. Black if I could please have your signature here?”  I passed the registration card across the desk, but she was already heading to the aperitif table.

“Oh my, it’s your Mother’s famous limoncello and brie!” she squealed, clapping her hands together quickly atop her breasts.  Mrs. Black had spent an evening last year consuming an obscene quantity limoncello by the fire.  When I came down the following morning to set up breakfast she was passed out on the settee.

“I’ll just pour myself a little sip before dinner.” she said picking up the bottle and sniffing the opening.  “Darling would you like one?”

“Bastard lock!” Mr. Black grunted, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his brow.  Mrs. Black ignored his obvious frustrations and gulped back a glassful of the yellow spirit.

“Well hello Beverly!  Marvin!” Mom called out drifting elegantly down the stairs in a casual, floor-length burgundy dress.
“Mona!”  Beverly replied enthusiastically with a mouth full of bread and brie.

They embraced and quickly started exchanging compliments, making their way to the settee.  Mr. Black looked on wearily, as though perhaps his immediate plans were suddenly scrapped.

“Well, there goes our dinner plans.” he huffed looking on to the ladies now chattering by the fire.  “She’ll fill up on cheese and your Mother’s limoncello and that will be that.”  He sighed and picked up one suitcase in each hand and lumbered up the stairs, not bothering to notify Mrs. Black.

“Good night Mr. Black.”  I said.  He didn’t respond.

“Darling, bring us the Limoncello will you please?”  Mom called out from the settee.