Anastasia was going to be in New York and wanted to meet up. Maybe a dozen times, over fifteen years, we’d spent a night together. We worked in sales, first meeting at trade shows. Ana switched jobs and we lost touch, but then I ran into her randomly in Sedona. Ever since, when we were close, we’d connect. I lived in Albany. I booked a room at the hotel she’d sent me, clarifying it had to be that hotel. I told my wife I was going to a Knicks game.
Ana showed up at the time she’d said she would. She wore a ball gown, her hair and makeup done fancy, a diamond choker around her neck. Black velvet gloves climbed to her elbows. I had on the hotel robe. Ana dragged me to the bed and wiggled out of her dress. Between kisses, she said she was on a clock. I helped with her heels and bra. She kept the gloves and choker on.
Entwined for a moment, she stopped and said she had to play something. She fiddled on her phone. I thought it would be music, something sexy. It was a guy talking.
“Is that a podcast?”
“It’s my husband.”
“Huh?”
“Clifton’s downstairs, giving a speech, getting an award. That’s why I’m here. I have until he’s finished.”
Ana licked my neck, then my ears. I could hear her husband speaking from the nightstand. I couldn’t follow, but it sounded technical. Sciencey.
“Careful with my hair,” Ana said. “I’ll need to go back down.”
Ana climaxed right away, then again soon after. The second time, I heard applause.
“Fuck,” Ana said, springing off, fumbling for her phone. “He was supposed to go for an hour.”
Ana rushed into her dress, skipping underclothes. Within seconds, she left. “Sorry, lover. See you when I see you.” The door slamming shut sounded uncannily loud.
I contemplated what’d just happened. It didn’t seem real, like Ana hadn’t been there. I wondered when I’d see Anastasia again. It could be years. It could be never.
I jerked myself off then showered. The hotel lounge was calling.
~
Sitting at the bar, I watched the entirety of the Rangers game, inhaling a steak and three old-fashioneds. I was contemplating another when a man sat next to me. He wore a tuxedo, the bow tie hanging down. He was large and handsome, hair thick like a younger man’s. He placed a leather binder in front of him and ordered an old-fashioned.
“Same,” I called out.
Neither of us said anything until the man ordered another. I said, “Me, too,” and “Both on my tab.”
The man spun to face me. “Obliged, stranger. I’m Clifton.”
The old-fashioneds appeared and I clinked glasses with Ana’s husband, Analess. He ate the cherry from the toothpick then downed the rest. He ordered two more.
Clifton asked what I did. I told him sales, based in Albany. He asked why I was in the city. I told him I had Knicks tickets. He said he used to follow the Mavs but not for years.
Clifton explained he was a researcher, oncology. He’d gotten an award, was in town for that. He opened the binder. Inside, his name was embossed in calligraphy. Inlaid underneath was a gold medallion, probably real gold, featuring the doctor symbol, the staff, wings, and snakes.
“Congratulations.”
We drank more old-fashioneds. I lingered, hoping Ana would show, fetching her impressive husband. I imagined the look on her face, the two of us next to each other. She’d pretend she didn’t know me. I’d wink when Clifton looked away. She’d mouth Sorry several times.
Ana never came. Chairs went up on tables. Two bills arrived. Clifton insisted on paying both, even for my steak. I protested but quickly relented.
In the elevator, I pictured Clifton going to his room, telling Ana about the guy he had drinks with, describing me. I wondered if she’d make the connection, imagining her face when it hit her.
Clifton was on 44 and I was on 39. When we reached 37, Clifton hit the emergency stop.
“I’ve saved a lot of women’s lives,” Clifton said. His voice was cracking.
I noticed then Clifton didn’t have his award—he’d left it on the bar.
“I’ve saved so many, but my Staci, she’s gone.”
Staci’s gone? I thought about what he could have meant. My stomach turned, all the sugar, alcohol, and beef. I suppressed vomit.
Clifton bawled openly. He wiped his face in his sleeve then remembered he had a hanky in his pocket.
Staci’s gone.
Clifton turned to hug me. He squeezed me like we hadn’t just met, that we shared something—we did, but he didn’t know that.
“I’m glad I met you,” Clifton said. Before I could reply, he leaned down and kissed me on the top of the head, then pressed his forehead against mine.
“I’m sorry you’re Staci’s gone,” I said, my voice muffled. “I’ve lost someone, too. I’m hoping she comes back some day.”
“So do I,” Clifton said, separating. He hit the button and we elevated again.
I got off. Just as the doors closed, I remembered the award. I yelled into the crack but wasn’t sure if anyone heard.
~
My room felt enormous. I wanted another drink but didn’t have it in me to go back out. I undressed in the dark. My wife called and I sent her to voicemail. I checked for Ana’s texts and found them, the hello, the proposition, the hotel info. I moved toward the bed, stepping on Ana’s bra. I rubbed it against my cheek, smelled it—it smelled like old-fashioneds. I tried putting it on, but it didn’t fit. I pictured giving it back to Ana the next time we met. “Lose something?” I’d say. She’d narrow her eyes, then smile, reply with something like, “That’s where that went!” She’d kiss me and I’d hold her. I’d wonder how I’d ever let go again.
