* * *
Twenty minutes later, Dmitry arrived in the village of Oia,
where he would be staying. As he rolled slowly along in the SUV, his pleasant
state of mind began to evaporate. From his research online, the room that Luna
had reserved for him appeared to be at the most luxurious hotel on the entire
island. A five star establishment, naturally, another damn “czar palace.”
He spotted the elegant sign and arrow pointing down the
hill to the hotel, and he felt even more uneasy and out of place. Bits and
pieces of the description popped into his head that he had read last night
online. Spectacular designer-chic living spaces...oozing with charm and
sophistication...unsurpassable luxury. The mere thought of these English
words made him shudder. Even the flowery language describing the place seemed
to be dripping with gold. He’d had to drag out his English-Russian dictionary
just to understand some of the elaborate vocabulary.
He finally brought the SUV to a full stop—he thought he
could see the brilliant white hotel entrance from here. On the website, he had
read that the entire hotel was built into the cliffs, like most of the other houses,
with spectacular panoramic views of the Mediterranean.
“Bozhe,” he muttered. He had absolutely no business
staying in a place like this. Who stayed here but top Mafiosos and crooked
heads of state? And God only knew what strange devices he would encounter at
this one! He had spent some time last night online researching Greek habits and
customs, too, but hadn’t run across anything unusual. Unlike the French, the
Greeks seemed like fairly normal people. He was still smarting from the
humiliating moment at Elaine’s farmhouse when he had casually told everyone
around the dining table about his time at the hotel in Sudan when he’d washed
his big, stinky feet in the bidet. How the hell was he supposed to know
what that ridiculous piece of equipment was used for! Only the French would
think up such a crude gadget for personal hygiene and have it sitting smack out
in the open! To him, there was something immodest about a bidet—he was
sure such an intimate household device that was used to wash your private parts
would never catch on in Russia.
Still sitting in the SUV, he pulled out the burner phone he
had bought at the airport, removed the packaging, and got it working.
He called Luna, punching in her mobile phone number from
memory.
As soon as he heard her deep voice on the other end of the
line, he said, “Why must I stay in hotel?”
“Dmitry—is that you?”
“Da.”
“What’s the matter?” Luna sounded alarmed. “You should be
on Santorini Island now.”
“Da. I there now, in village of Oia, near
hotel.”
“Well, I’m relieved. Now what is the problem, exactly?”
“No problem, I just ask why I must stay in so expensive
hotel.” Dmitry looked down the hill at the entrance with trepidation. Looking
at it filled him with an overwhelming sense of dread. “Maybe I stay some
cheaper hotel?”
“You have to stay there because it fits with the cover
story we came up with,” Luna said firmly. “You’re a businessman, you’ve been
sick with bronchitis, and your doctor told you to go rest for a few weeks in a Mediterranean
climate.” Luna paused. “It’s not just a hotel, it’s a health spa, too.”
“I can sleep in jeep.”
“No, you can’t ‘sleep in jeep.’ You don’t know the area.”
“I find safe place to park, do not worry.”
“I said no, Dmitry! It’s too risky. You don’t want any
encounter with the police, not even traffic cops.”
“But—”
“Listen to me—you stay in the damn hotel I reserved for
you, and that’s an order! I have no intention of flying to Greece and bailing
your ass out of jail!”
“But—”
She hung up on him.
* * *
Why only my ass? Dmitry thought, as he dragged his
suitcase out of the SUV. Luna’s angry words were still ringing in his ears as
he rolled the bag down the winding cobblestone path that led to the hotel’s
front door. It must be some American idiom, he thought it made no sense to say
such “bail your ass out” in Russian. He would have to ask Janet about it.
A framed plaque was attached to the wall just outside the
hotel entrance, and he slowed to read it.
RATED
THE 6TH BEST HOTEL IN THE WORLD
-
UK GLOBETROTTER MAGAZINE.
A low, miserable groan escaped from his lips.
Bracing himself for the worst, he stepped inside the lobby.
It was all white, except for the inlaid pink marble floor and a “floating”
marble front desk. The walls were decorated with sleek mirrors and modern
paintings. The air smelled of lilacs and a heady mixture of expensive perfume. There
were two beautiful young female clerks who might have been Greek goddesses
standing there, looking at him.
One gave a dazzling smile. “Good afternoon, sir, may I help
you?”
* * *
Miraculously, the check-in process went smoothly. Dmitry
did not put his foot in his mouth even once. He was rather pleased with
himself. Luna had told him to “cut his English ability waaaay back” to avoid
much communication, and that had flattered him immensely—apparently she thought
his English was fairly good.
One of the clerks at the front desk gave him an electronic
room key in an opulent white folder. He was almost afraid to touch it for fear
of soiling the paper.
“I’ll show you to your room,” the older of the two Greek
goddesses said.
“I find myself,” he replied, taking hold of his suitcase
handle.
“Oh, no, sir, it is such a maze here, you will never find
it!” She gave another brilliant smile that was worthy of a toothpaste
commercial. “And I have to show you all the special features!”
Dmitry sighed and
followed her through the door and down a paved sidewalk. It wound between
several of the Cubist white-washed buildings that had made the island famous.
When they reached the room and they stepped through the
door, Dmitry could hardly believe his eyes. The space was so large the only
word that he could think of was the Russian equivalent of “obscene”—it was much
bigger than his entire apartment in Moscow, with a separate living room, dining
area, bedroom and patio. The view of the sea from the patio might have been on
a postcard and probably was. The brilliant white, sugar-cube-like houses of Oia
cascaded down the cliffs to the water. The volcanic island he’d read about was
visible in the distance across the glittering Aegean, which was just catching
the soft amber hues of the late afternoon sun. The patio was so spacious that
there were several lounge chairs, an outdoor dining area, and something called
a “plunge pool jacuzzi” that left Dmitry speechless.
He felt dizzy as the pretty clerk led him through another
sliding glass door and into the bathroom, which was also gigantic.
“This is the tropical rain shower,” she said enthusiastically.
She motioned to a touch-screen control next to a large rectangular bath cabin.
Dmitry half-expected to look up and see a rectangular gap
in the ceiling that revealed a patch of the blue sky, but there was just a
panel with rows of small holes in it. He supposed the rain water must have been
collected in a tank on the roof.
The clerk pushed some buttons. Suddenly the air was filled
with the sound of chirping birds and monkey cries. She pushed another button
and multi-colored lights swirled across the shower cabin walls.
Clever, Dmitry thought. They saved on the water bill, and
all those tropical sounds and colored lights distracted you from the fact that
you were bathing yourself with ordinary rainwater, which wasn’t all that clean.
“Do you have any questions?” the girl asked, with another
knockout smile.
“Nyet,” he said. “Thank you.”
* * *
As soon as the clerk left, Dmitry locked the front door and
then went back in the bathroom to take a shower—traveling long distances by
plane always made him feel dirty. He glanced up at the “rain shower” as he
unbuttoned his shirt. At least the rain water was probably cleaner than he was.
Then something in the mirror caught his eye, and he turned
around.
Hanging on the back of the door was a posh-looking plastic
bag in baby blue.
He pulled it off the hook and looked inside.
“Blyat,” he muttered. The person who had stayed last
in the room had forgotten their slippers.
He pulled them partially out of the plastic—they were made
of soft white terrycloth and looked brand new. A small size. Obviously belonged
to a woman.
Dmitry sighed, and he started buttoning up his shirt. Better
to take them over to the lobby now—whoever they belonged to might call and the
clerk would come knocking on the front door while he was in the shower. He was
terrified that someone might see the huge Russian mafia tattoo on his chest. That
was his worst fear about staying at a place like this.
With the baby blue plastic bag in his hand, he found his
way back through the maze and into the lobby.
There was now a family of four checking in, helped by both
of the clerks. From their accents they sounded Spanish.
Probably the Prime Minister of Spain, Dmitry thought, on
the run for embezzling millions in government funds.
He stood there impatiently holding the bag, but said
nothing.
The clerk who had showed him the room noticed him.
“Can I help you, sir? Is there a problem with the room?”
Dmitry stepped up beside the Spanish man and his wife. “No
problem with room. Person who stay there before me forget this.” He slid the
slippers across the counter.
“No, they belong to you.”
Dmitry shook his head. “Nyet, not mine.”
She smiled indulgently. “They’re complimentary.”
Dmitry frowned, puzzled, and looked down at his own huge
feet. Complimentary? What was she saying, they would look good on him? They
were so small his big toe wouldn’t even fit in one!
Noting his confusion, the clerk said, “No, no, they’re
provided free, by the hotel, for each guest. You use them and then you can take
them with you when you leave, if you wish. They’re disposable.”
“Dispo—” Dmitry gasped. “You mean you throw away?”
“Yes, that’s right.” She slid them back across the desk to
him.
Now the whole family was watching him, and smiling, too,
for some strange reason.
Dmitry turned around and left the lobby, dumbfounded. No
wonder the Greeks had financial problems! These people needed a lesson in basic
economics—the rain shower was a step in the right direction, but giving away
these expensive slippers free of charge to everybody in the hotel was just
plain crazy.
Still, he was glad to have them—the plastic bag itself was
of very high quality.
They would make a nice present for his wife.
Next Part =>
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