Page 95 of Plane Passion

“We’ve got to get out of these skates,” said Millie, wobbling dangerously as she stood up.

They hobbled back over to their shoes and rushed through changing into them.

As they returned their skates, the man at the rental stand said, “Congratulations!”

The snow was picking up. People were starting to leave as the light sprinkle turned to heavy flurries.

“We need to get out of this storm,” Ernie said, putting a protective arm around Millie.

“The Plaza Hotel is right around the corner. Let’s go there.”

He was thinking the same thing, even though it was likely to burn a hole in his pocket he wouldn’t recover from anytime soon.

They ran through the storm into the palatial lobby, filled with potted palm trees and soaring arches.

“We need a room, please,” Ernie said, praying one was available.

“Do you have a reservation?” asked the man at the front desk in his spotless suit.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Hmm. Let me see.” The man looked through an enormous ledger book, drawing his finger down a regimented line of room records. “It seems you’re in luck. We were booked solid this evening, but we had a cancellation in room 325. It has two twin beds. Will that do for you and your wife?”

Ernie grinned at the word. It wasn’t true yet, but it would be soon enough.

Beside him, Millie started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Ernie asked.

“Well, it’s the Brockerhoff all over again. A snowstorm, one room, two twin beds… It’s fitting somehow.”

“We’ll take it,” Ernie said. She was right. It wasn’t just fitting. It was perfect.

“Very good, sir. That will be twenty dollars.”

Ernie opened his pocketbook and paid up. He’d expected an expensive night tonight, so he was prepared.

“And if you could just sign your names in the guest register,” the man said, gesturing to a leather-bound volume with creamy, close-ruled pages and handing Ernie a fountain pen.

Ernie signed Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Pritchard.

“Thank you, sir. Here is your room key. The elevators are right over there.”

Heading over to the elevators, he told the operator, “Third floor, please.”

“Yes, sir. Going up.”

If they didn’t have an audience, Ernie would have kissed Millie into oblivion right then, but he had to wait.

As soon as they stepped out and the elevator door closed behind them, they broke into a run, laughing as they went.

Ernie fumbled with the key in his excitement to get the door open.

“Here. Let me,” Millie said, sliding the ornate key with a tassel into the keyhole and turning it.

The door opened, and Ernie swept her off her feet, carrying her over the threshold and kicking the door closed behind him.

Alone at last.