Last time, I had us riding up an elevator in an Austin Skyscraper toward what I suspected was a scam.
It was while we were riding up that elevator that Martha turned to the same page I had been reading. She’d been all for it...until right then. As I watched, the Scotland Forever lights flickered out. The guys in kilts tossing telephone poles at the Highland Games all got hernias and headed for the ER. And Nessie? She snorted twice and made for deep water.
There were a couple of reasons for her change of heart. First, like me, she was concerned by the fact that the elevator, which wouldn’t work except for people who had a special key-card... i.e., a guard...was sort of keeping us in a box. It meant we couldn’t leave without the assistance, and permission, of our hosts.
About the photos: Three today. First, a picture I took out the window of the waiting room of the hotel company. I will say one thing. They had a good view. Second, the waiting room itself. This, too, is a photo, but I’ve used AI in a (mostly failed) attempt to make it look like a painting.
And, third, a picture of Martha having coffee at the Slow Burn cafe in Albuquerque, New Mexico, which is another story entirely, but I will tell it in time.
Second, a smaller thing, but still significant. The young Guard consistently referred to us as “You Guys,” as in “Wait right here and I’ll take you guys up.” Martha hates that. She is not, after all, a guy.
Finally, as we rode up in the elevator, she asked him not to do it again. To give him his due, he was sort of polite about it. He said he didn’t know that anyone objected to being called “guys,” even if they were girls. He implied that he’d be more careful.
But...he also didn’t stop referring to us as “You guys.” He would do so again, later, on our way out.
Anyway, by the time we got to our floor...in the penthouse...Martha was on a burn. Maybe not as hot a burn as mine. But still pretty darn scalding.
We arrived and found ourselves in a kind of waiting area. It was sterile and cold. There were some seats about. And, there was a little refreshment counter with water and coffee. Plus we saw doors for bathrooms.
We heard voices, but saw no one. Finally, we helped ourselves to coffee and sat. Just then, a woman appeared. She was forty-something, wearing a green business suit. She looked at us, somewhat surprised. Then she said, “Oh, you must be early. Someone will be right with you.”
We thanked her. She vanished. Then, other people started to appear. There were other staff-members...all in business attire. The women tended to be young, pretty, and decked out in black suits and black sky-lift high heels. The men were also young, and they all looked as if they’d recently stepped out of a cologne ad.
We waited and waited. Some other customers came in. A man and woman, about our ages, entered and we ended up having a conversation with them. The man began our chat with, “Are they holding you prisoner, too?”
I said we hadn’t talked to anyone yet. And...uh...say...I said...are they selling timeshares?
“Oh, you didn’t know?” the man said, alarmed. “Yes. That’s what this is all about. They’re selling timeshares here. That’s what they do.”
“I see,” I said, and I felt rage rising from the general vicinity of my bile ducts. “You know, they never said that.”
The man took a sip of his water, then said, “Doesn’t surprise me. They’re not exactly forthcoming, are they?”
“Are you considering buying a timeshare?”
He laughed. “Oh, we already bought one. This is our yearly upgrade meeting. They want us to upgrade our membership to the next level.”
“Ah,” I said, with my usual wit and eloquence.
He looked at me, suddenly very serious. “Listen,” he said, “keep your eye on the clock. “Don’t let them keep you for more than two hours.” He sighed. “We haven’t even had breakfast yet. They just let us out to use the restrooms.”
Oh, holy hopping Hasenpfeffer on steroids , I thought. Or maybe not exactly those words. But you get the idea.
But, at least, my paranoia was vindicated. This was exactly what I’d feared it was. A lie...followed by high pressure sales tactics...followed by God alone knew what.
I glanced at Martha. Her eyes were round with alarm.
Okay, I thought. Now we just needed to figure out how to get out of here...
As quickly... and as inexpensively...as possible.
Copyright©2024 Michael Jay Tucker
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