Read Online Following the Summer by Lise Bissonnette - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lise Bissonnette
Ads: Link
bridges to the accompaniment of windshield wipers, guessed at the tall cages of Harlem past 100th Street, then the private fortresses around the United Nations. There were no New Yorkers on the streets, iron curtains had been brought down across a thousand shops, not even a beggar on the corners. They didnât know what this desert resembled: they had never seen a full city, theyâd wait for the taxi to stop. It pulled up in front of a hotel whose lighted sign was extinguished. The cousin had recommended the Roger Smith Winthrop Hotel, heâd never been there because he lived in the centre of town, but it was just across from the side entrance to the Waldorf Astoria, where they were sure to see the best of what New York had to offer in the way of jewels and limousines.
The Roger Smith managed without a doorman and it opened directly onto a counter that was almost in darkness. The clerk was a thousand years old and as dusty as the pigeonholes from which he took a key, not looking at them: with just one suitcase, they could manage by themselves, the elevator was on their left. An ornate mirror sent back to Marie the image of a girl in a wrinkled suit, it should have travelled better, but you bring the rain along with you. In the dim light Ervant was smiling, he saw only the succession of mirrors, heâd probably been afraid there would be old-style woodwork. Tomorrow, he said, weâll see everything.
A pretty room. There were many lamps, which broke up the mauve corners, the sirens howled their wonderful wet sound, the furniture was French provincial and there were floral prints and a writing desk that would make you want to write to Europe if you knew anyone there, because the Roger Smith provided stationery with its picture. A strange expenditure, since they scrimped on everything else, thin towels, thin bars of soap. Ervant wanted to go out, he knew all the places, including Rockefeller Center which must be quite close by. She declined, she wanted to fall asleep with something to look forward to, with the rain beaten back. To comply with the notion of a honeymoon she pulled him to her and opened herself to him. She knew he was thinking of tomorrow as he took her, thinking of the sun and sunlight on every window of every skyscraper.
They had forgotten to hang up the Do Not Disturb sign and to double-lock the door. It was half-past seven when the chambermaid came in without knocking; a voice apologized, then went away. As far as they could judge, since the room gave onto a high blank wall, the day would be grey and dry. The Roger Smith didnât offer room service and Ervant wouldnât have wanted it, he was eager to try the snack bar heâd spotted last night, its revolving door next to the elevator. Fresh butter on toasted white bread, coffee so insipid that they gulped it down, music stirring under the counter interspersed with an announcerâs chatter predicting that the day would be mild. She understood every word and was surprised, it was the same English that was spoken around the mine, sheâd never have thought it would sound the same. Ervant knew. They headed towards Rockefeller Center.
Ervant had drawn a map that started at the hotel and took in all the observation points, all the high places that would offer a view of the city. The contours stood out surprisingly well, although the day was grey. She cared little, in fact, about knowing exactly where the two rivers met, beyond the green mass of Central Park. His manoeuvres touched only the centre. He peered out through binoculars at the long avenues, spotted the most bustling places and decided on immediate destinations. He would never have enough of plazas where the only trees grew scrawny, in soil that looked more like asphalt. Of the summer there remained some strolling vendors of fresh-squeezed orange juice, office workers from the skyscrapers who went outside to wolf their plastic meals, the open air invective of escaped mental
The Roger Smith managed without a doorman and it opened directly onto a counter that was almost in darkness. The clerk was a thousand years old and as dusty as the pigeonholes from which he took a key, not looking at them: with just one suitcase, they could manage by themselves, the elevator was on their left. An ornate mirror sent back to Marie the image of a girl in a wrinkled suit, it should have travelled better, but you bring the rain along with you. In the dim light Ervant was smiling, he saw only the succession of mirrors, heâd probably been afraid there would be old-style woodwork. Tomorrow, he said, weâll see everything.
A pretty room. There were many lamps, which broke up the mauve corners, the sirens howled their wonderful wet sound, the furniture was French provincial and there were floral prints and a writing desk that would make you want to write to Europe if you knew anyone there, because the Roger Smith provided stationery with its picture. A strange expenditure, since they scrimped on everything else, thin towels, thin bars of soap. Ervant wanted to go out, he knew all the places, including Rockefeller Center which must be quite close by. She declined, she wanted to fall asleep with something to look forward to, with the rain beaten back. To comply with the notion of a honeymoon she pulled him to her and opened herself to him. She knew he was thinking of tomorrow as he took her, thinking of the sun and sunlight on every window of every skyscraper.
They had forgotten to hang up the Do Not Disturb sign and to double-lock the door. It was half-past seven when the chambermaid came in without knocking; a voice apologized, then went away. As far as they could judge, since the room gave onto a high blank wall, the day would be grey and dry. The Roger Smith didnât offer room service and Ervant wouldnât have wanted it, he was eager to try the snack bar heâd spotted last night, its revolving door next to the elevator. Fresh butter on toasted white bread, coffee so insipid that they gulped it down, music stirring under the counter interspersed with an announcerâs chatter predicting that the day would be mild. She understood every word and was surprised, it was the same English that was spoken around the mine, sheâd never have thought it would sound the same. Ervant knew. They headed towards Rockefeller Center.
Ervant had drawn a map that started at the hotel and took in all the observation points, all the high places that would offer a view of the city. The contours stood out surprisingly well, although the day was grey. She cared little, in fact, about knowing exactly where the two rivers met, beyond the green mass of Central Park. His manoeuvres touched only the centre. He peered out through binoculars at the long avenues, spotted the most bustling places and decided on immediate destinations. He would never have enough of plazas where the only trees grew scrawny, in soil that looked more like asphalt. Of the summer there remained some strolling vendors of fresh-squeezed orange juice, office workers from the skyscrapers who went outside to wolf their plastic meals, the open air invective of escaped mental
Similar Books
