Friday, December 19, 2008


I am going to the Hotel Vancouver with an envelope in my hand - some important business that I must complete. I discover that, due to economic conditions, the hotel is surrounded by women - workin' girls - desperate for money. I practically have to shake one off my arm on my way in the door, as she begs me to take her up to my room. I complain to the desk clerk - a very professional young man - about the aggressive solicitations and he says he knows, he apologizes, says things have really gotten out of hand. Maybe he even helps get this particularly needy woman to leave me alone. I drop off my envelope and leave...

...when somehow either this same woman, or another one - slim, blonde, in her 40's, with short hair and intelligent eyes - approaches me again and convinces me that she needs my help, and that the right thing for me to do is to have sex with her and pay her. I have no idea how she convinces me - I cannot recall - but the feeling is, afterwards, that "I'm on her side;" I have no doubt that this is what I want to do, because it will help her (for some reason just giving her money is not part of the scenario; my motivator, though, is altruism, not lust, or so it seems in the dream). The same young professional desk clerk greets me with great skepticism when I go back in (the blonde waits outside) and explain that I want a room for two. He is trying to dissuade these women from soliciting, he tells me somewhat sadly, since it's bad for business to have them plaguing every man entering the hotel; he understands that they can make some pretty convincing pitches, but I shouldn't feel obliged. He's clearly sighing inwardly, thinking, "They've got another one."

No, I lie, I want a room for me and my wife. She's meeting me here. She's probably outside now.

He looks at me, unconvinced, and I try to hurry him along, registering us. It takes some hassling. Then I go outside and find this woman, hoping she'll know to play along that we're husband and wife; she does. I put my arm around her and we go to the elevators, but the desk clerk follows us up. He is carrying the key. He is watching us. He won't relent. He follows us down the hallway. I turn to him: "Are you going to give me the key, or what?" I'm maintaining the pretense: THIS IS MY WIFE, this is the woman I love, why are you insulting her? He continues to haunt us. He makes comments. He won't leave us alone, it's apparent. Finally I fly into a rage and turn on him, beating him, screaming at him. How dare he - his snide implications, his sanctimoniousness. He cringes under my blows. My "wife" and I never make it into the room.

Afterwards - for reasons I cannot recall - we are outside the hotel, the prostitute and myself, and I am sitting with my arm around her on a bench. We're talking; we have developed some sort of bond. Another woman - more gaudily dressed, an obvious hooker, approaches, talking at me, desperate; I stick my foot up to block her approach - I get a POV shot in my dream of my shoe rising (just like in "Sock and Awe," except my foot is still in it) - and immediately feel guilty, wondering how the woman I'm with will feel about my so rudely turning away one of her own.

There is nothing more that I remember.

No comments: