When I heard the words “Are you staying at the hotel?”, I froze in my tracks. I was speechless. I was shook. The infamous phrase that we’ve all heard so many times in movies and on television. The very question that typically leads to the recipient paying the woman to eventually leave his room later that night/early the next morning post-intercourse. I couldn’t believe it. I could not believe that those words were communicated to me in sequence. She wanted to know if I was staying at the hotel. What did that mean? If I said yes, then what – would she ask to see my room? Would she say she was also staying there, and, if so, would that even be true? My mind was going a million miles an hour, yet time was moving ever so slowly. There I was sitting at the bar adjacent to the hotel lobby, enjoying my glass of Sancerre (delicious if you’ve never had it), and this woman started chatting me up. Not even sixty seconds later she wanted to know if I was a guest in the hotel. What a development. She took control of the conversation right then and there.
Long story short, I don’t think she was a hooker. But she may have been. She had no trouble striking up a conversation with me out of the blue despite the fact that I was about half her age. Was she hot? No. Not at all. I had not even an inkling of an idea that she may have been a hooker at first. But as soon as she asked me that one question, my mind was locked in on that possibility, and now I was looking for clues. Was she gonna ask me for a drink? What if she touched my leg? If I stopped talking, would she reel me back in? All of these questions plus more came to a crashing halt when she started talking about her kids. I have to think that if she was a hooker trying to pick scoop up a young lad like myself, then she would try to make herself appear younger. It was obvious that she was not very young, but the unknown was what kept me intrigued, searching for clues.
Shortly after I committed to my conclusion that she was not propositioning me, her friend showed up and sat on the other side of me. They could have easily asked if I would move over so that they could sit next to each other. Nope, now I was sitting in the crossfire of two women, dressed up like they were hitting the town. Oh so casually the one woman mentioned that she lived in Long Island. Yet here they were staying at a hotel in Midtown Manhattan. Curious. Unsolicited the other woman said they had to “get going” soon, almost as if they were baiting me for an invitation to stay for another drink. I finished off my glass of wine and came to the realization that I was looking for hints that weren’t actually there. I was overwhelmed with the possibility that they both could have been hookers when in actuality, they were not. At least I don’t think they were. Looking back now I should have entertained the idea to see what would have happened had I offered to buy them a drink. Instead I quickly got up and left to inhale a ribeye steak by myself.
I did call refer to them both as “ladies” on my way out though. That was some Rico Suave shit.