An evening at a motel
Go up the steep, stone spi-ral staircase and pray that you don’t fall. At the top you see a door and from behind it you hear music, sounds like an inauguration? Of course, it is. Why else would I be here? At this late age would I be sneaking into a motel? It’s one of my laments. I seem to have gotten too old to visit motels.
Inside the door I breathlessly gawk. Spread diagonally before my eyes is a real life-size gondola floating on a bubbling stream of fresh water. The water bubbles so it is aerated, discouraging mosquitoes. The gondola is big enough for two. On top of the gondola tonight is a mime, painted silver. He and the costumed maidens — hooped petticoats and all — are part of the show for the inaugural party. If you consider this room for your use, you will have it all to yourself. Maybe there will be two of you. Or maybe you might have a party here. That would be fun.
When you enter the room, you’ll see the gondola afloat and across it on the left is a corner jacuzzi, which my friend, the young lady who invited me over, says is supposed to be the Fontana de Trevi. It has goddesses standing around, one with a big conch on her head from which water falls, the rest in various poses with vases lying on their sides serving as water spouts. It is very pretty this Jacuzzi. A part of me wants to sit and stare at it but there are too many people milling around.
That brings us to the bedroom, to the king-size bed dressed in red brocade. It has four posters that rise up at each corner, which, my friend Sunny pointed out, were stable enough for people to sit on. Hmmm. No wonder there were no ferns on them that night.
At the foot of the bed is a romantic love seat thrown with pillows of all sizes and draped with brocade. On the right side is a big chandelier hanging over a formal table with two chairs. Should order lunch or dinner, you may have it at this formal table or at the small informal table between the gondola and the fountain of Trevi.
The walls are covered with “paintings” that you vaguely recollect were Michelangelo’s so you got to touch them and realize that they were blown up and turned into tarpaulins then they were mounted on the wall with wood. Above the bed are more frescoes, painted by a painter commissioned to do them, who, I was told, always complained of a strain in his right shoulder from the difficulty of the task. The bathroom is to the left, a straight but elegant one, no mirrors or glass panes, just a straight elegant bathroom.
“How much is this room?” I asked. P6,900 for five hours, I was told. Long enough to rent as a party place, I thought, just to have some fun. “We can set up a table in the middle of the gondola and put floating candles on the water,” my friend said. “It will be very pretty.” Yes, I thought, it would be that. Then they clicked a switch and a daytime effect swept the room, complete with white clouds painted on a blue sky. Another switch and we were back to night. This place is Fantasy Land, maybe Always Land, the opposite of Never Land.
Since we started, we decided to tour the other suites. Next was Moulin Rouge. That was also interesting. It had a swing in one corner. The bed’s headboard was a window through which you could see a portion of the Eiffel Tower. If you went up close and looked down you could see little charming French houses. The sky was littered with a million little stars, little blue lights, different shades, scattered.
Finally we went to the Oval Office, which is exactly what it was. It looked conservative, almost exactly like The Oval Office, with a mock up fireplace and conservative striped sofa and two upright chairs. The bedroom was white with a small refrigerator. I mean The Oval Office felt almost homey! It reminded me of a friend of mine who lives abroad, comes home to visit and is always looking for a place to stay. This room would suit him. But then it is a motel. Would he stay in it and feel comfortable? I wonder.
What can I say about motels except that some of them have grown into the world of fantasy and they carry it off so well. The Venetian Suite, the Moulin Rouge, The Oval Office are escapes into fantasy. All right, the Catholic Church has always preached against motels but I have one question: has it ever stopped them? No, of course not, and nothing ever will. As I grow older I realize that the last thing that dies in a person is desire. In other countries children leave home at 18 and rent their own apartments so they have places of their own. Here we live with our parents until we marry and often beyond that but we need places to go to let off steam. That’s the reality.
I saw my friend who invited me three days later. She said The Venetian Suite had been reserved and used already since the inauguration. Frequently used, so that tells me money is not a problem for most of us. Morality? How many Always Lands are there? I am just happy I got invited and saw for myself the extent of the fantasy at Victoria Suites of the Victoria Court. It is fabulous. I would not mind having a party there. Now I have to find the perfect occasion.
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Please send text to 0917-8155570. If you disapprove, don’t bother sending text. I’ll just throw it away anyway.
