The only problem with staying in hotels is that the sound of thrashing carries.
I went to New York with the following CP items:
Governess strap
Heavy paddle
Light tawse
Small strap
Small martinet
Small whip
Sadly, they did not get nearly enough use in my humble opinion. I did have some wonderful scenes in New York, but due to The Lover’s slightly more considered sensibilities (especially at the Thanksgiving weekend, when the hotel was full of families with small children), the CP was measured, infrequent and above all, quiet. He found plenty of other ways to torment me, but as the days wore on, I began to long for some solid punishment, the kind that makes you sob and leaves you lying on your front*.
I’m not sure if other people have quite the same worries when staying away – I have a very good memory of an excellent thrashing from Abel at a hotel-based playdate in London – but I could see that we didn’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves!
There was a particularly funny moment though, on the Saturday night. The Lover and I had been playing over dinner, when we ate at Sparks, a well-known, ex-mob restaurant where Gambino crime boss, Paul Castellano was famously whacked on the sidewalk outside as he approached the door in 1985, dying before he got his steak. Poor bugger. It was bloody good steak as well! So we felt inspired by this….
The Lover was therefore a convincing and bloody scary gangster and I was his rather dim moll girlfriend who’d had the temerity to go to the police precinct and be interviewed by detectives. I was quite proud of my moll outfit, a dark-green fifties style dress in homage to Betty from Mad Men and a short fur jacket. Having been thoroughly terrified into submission over the oysters and steak, and still in our roles as the town car whisked us back to the hotel, it was disconcerting to share the lift up to our room with a lovely Mom and Dad and their two impeccably behaved small boys.
Mom was chatty.
Mom: “I love your coat! Beautiful fur**. You look gorgeous, Have you been to the theatre?”
Pause.
I had a wild impulse to blurt out “This is my boyfriend, the mobster and he’s about to torture me in his room for squealing on him to the police. Help me!”.
Another pause.
Mom looks quizzical, perhaps assuming that I am an idiot or possibly dumb.
Jessica: “Er, no, we’ve just been to dinner.”
Pause.
Mom: “Oh, how lovely.”
Pause.
Jessica: “Yes.”
Pause.
Mom: “Where did you go?”
Pause. The Lover is totally inscrutable at this point, but raises a single eyebrow. It’s a bad sign. It usually means pain in the next ten minutes.
Jessica: (unsure if revealing restaurant location is a hanging offence in gangster’s eyes and means trip into Hudson river with concrete block tied to self.) “Um, I er…um…we went, …. – I had Oysters!”
Mom: (now very confused): “Oh, nice!”
Lift then finally limps its way to the relevant floor and disgorges Jessica, The Lover – and the family. Who have the room next door.
Mom: “Oh well, goodnight! Say good night boys!”
The children chorus goodnight with charm and grace and a touch of preppy android-ness.
At that point I realised that no matter how hacked off the mobster was, there was going to be no beating that night. Not with such apple-pie wholesomeness next door.
Maybe next time?
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*Incidentally, this has been promised for a later date
**Not real. Honest!
I’ve never played in a hotel, so still have these dilemmas to come!
But I hope you had a fantastic time – and I’m really wanting to see what sounds like a beautiful frock!