Buck and I had stayed several nights at a Marriott Hotel attending a meeting for a corporate trust. It involved helping to equitably divide proceeds of a defunct, albeit profitable, business. The last event of the meeting was a large cocktail party/dinner in a palm-tree filled room, complete with a separate art auction in a theater setting, a bell choir in a glass tower atrium, and an art exhibit lining the walls.
Buck and I had gotten separated, but it was time for us to leave and we found each other near the elevators, where a large crowd was gathered. Some men in taupe colored suits with matching hats monopolized us, talking as though we knew each other. Consequently, when nearby elevator doors opened, we stepped in quickly, cutting off conversation with the strangers.
The elevator was mostly glass, with walls to the outdoors. One wall was partially open. It had a girder-type beam jutting out into the air. Two men in suits sat comfortably on the girder, rolled up blueprints in their hands. Buck and I exchanged long looks. We were on the wrong elevator. This one was an express going straight to the top, all 122 floors to the very top, to the Dreamland Express, a restaurant, bar, swimming pools, and a lake at the peak of the volcano, around which the hotel was built.
A perky 1960's stewardess type in a pill box hat began handing out big keys to everyone. Buck and I refused a key, saying we were just trying to get to the parking garage. She couldn't believe that we wouldn't want to stay. Everyone else chuckled.
The elevator stopped. In the rush of people exiting, I was swept out, and for a few moments, wandered around, almost in shock.Throngs of people, in full swim resort regalia, were sitting at floating tables, drinking tropical cocktails with little umbrellas in them, lots of young men who looked like they were part of some college athletic team with goofy looking grins staggering around, lots of old people on floats. There were even rafts designed to looking like living room sofas. One person shouted over to me, "Try one! There are plenty of them!"
Shaking myself, I ran back to the elevator. It was empty. I felt a cold shiver. Where was Buck? Then I heard him, talking to someone. An ancient man, with an ancient-looking pair of bleached out cut-off shorts, no shirt, and a long beard, muttering about how it's just not done, accompanied Buck back into the elevator. "Stay put, Twitchy Baby," Buck said to me, "we're going home." The elevator had changed from a sleek interior to one that looked old, covered in white dust and rickety feeling. The old man banged on the doorway to get the door to shut and had a little trouble getting it started. It finally came to life, shuddered, shook, and headed down.
I woke up in a sweat.
Must have been that chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup and walnuts I ate just before going to sleep. . .
