CLEVELAND

by Cormac Foster Morrison

I'm sitting in the hotel lobby trying to decide whether to go in the bar or not. I'm supposed to meet her in the lobby. She was very specific about that. "There's a couch," she said, "at the back, near the stand with all the tourism brochures." So I'm sitting here looking at pictures of Jacob's Field. I've been in the city four days now and I still haven't seen the ball field. Well, it is winter. And it's cold cold cold outside, especially tonight.

She said to wait but she was supposed to be here almost 45 minutes ago. And I haven't moved from the bench other than to look at all these ads for the local attractions since I got here 10 minutes early to meet her. There's a brewery right here in town, and a working dairy farm just an hour and 15 minutes away, down out on 480. She knew the hotel when I mentioned the name even though it's a little off the beaten track, as they say. The job's downgrading their policy regarding executive travel and me being only a junior executive at best I suppose I'm lucky to even rate a hotel with a bar in the lobby.

The Brown's are playing on the TV in there and they must be winning for a change judging by the noise. The girl at the front desk keeps glancing my way. I like to think she's just taking a shine to the cut of my suit but I'm pretty sure it's more that I'm something of a loose end in her shift. Not a lot of traffic in the lobby at this hour, at least not people checking in. Sure, there's the occasional question about where there's a steakhouse in the neighborhood or a "where can I find a pharmacy nearby," and so the guy sitting in the same spot for close to an hour must be wearing on her. "What's he doing over there?" she's thinking.

I look again at my shoes; scuffed still from the flight and having to jam them under the seat in front of me, the fat guy from Charlotte wouldn't get off the cell phone at take-off. Had to be told, specifically. A special trip had to be made, down the aisle of the 707, and even then he held his ground. It was like he didn't even hear her. I wish I had that set of balls. It's not even a question of authority or anything like that. More like a consideration. She made the trip specific to tell him to shut down. I would've turned it right off. Me--I had my phone off already and my seat belt buckled soon as I sat down. That's me.

What's she see in me anyway? She's got everything going for her, that's why I'm waiting here. Yeah, maybe she's had it tough but who hasn't? My life's sure hasn't been a picnic. Still though, someone beautiful like that? Coming to meet a guy with what, scuffed shoes? Says it all doesn't it? I take another look at the clock, not bothering with my own watch. Ah, I'm gonna go watch the game in the bar. She'll find me. I'll stop at the front desk and ask about the pay-per-view, let on subtle that at least I'm a guest in the hotel. A guest that likes to hang out alone in the lobby.

"Hello," says the voice, sweet as honey.

Looking out at me over that same old scarf. Cheeks rose red from the wind off the lake. Man, I could get lost in those eyes.