“The magic was all in the finishing touches.”
That’s what they all say, anyway. I’m not so sure about that anymore. I used to think so when I was young and naive and working as a lowly housemaid for the local motel. Note that I said “motel”, not ‘hotel’ or ‘inn’ or ‘b&b’. The slutty, nasty place where I worked was a very far cry from anything that would be considered civilized.
Now, as I stand in the parking lot looking at the shabby, weather cracked paint slowly drifting down to the searing pavement, I have to question the old mantra. Still, as I pick up my tattered suitcase and head for the office, I’m thankful. Maybe, I hope, the room will at least be clean…or should I really hope for such a magical touch?
The old motel, like me, has seen better days. There was a time when I was the most beautiful girl in town. My long, blonde tresses were always styled to perfection. My clothes came from the top designers, and my car was the newest one off the local sports car dealership’s lot. Yeah, at one time, my life was magical. That was before….
I accept the key from the grizzled old man behind the counter. It’s not the same grizzled old man that was there so long ago, but after a while, they all look and smell the same. Stale beer, stale smoke, stale body odor, and stale sex hang about him crinkling the nose and causing my stomach to lurch inside. The sooner I get out of the office, the better.
The key catches in the old lock. I jiggle it, thinking that this was one touch that had been ignored for entirely to long. All it needs is a puff of graphite, I mentally add as I swing the door open. I stop and blink…then, I blink again…
The magic, after all, is all in the finishing touches…