Pete had tickets for a 7:00am flight that left Logan Airport in Boston and was set to arrive at Charles DeGaulle by 7:00pm Parisian time. He had arranged to have dinner with old Tom the night before he left since he happened to be in town with his production company and was staying at the Fairmont hotel. The old Fairmont (as opposed to the new Fairmont that was just built in battery park) was right next to the Trinity church on Copley Plaza and it only took Pete about five minutes to walk from the Back Bay train station to the hotel with his heavy leather bag. He had grown up in Boston and as he walked he thought it was strange being back with everything smaller and cleaner and being able to cover ground so much faster. A hot dog vendor outside the station had made Pete remember his hunger but if he was up on things he knew Stefan Jarausch was still the head chef at the Fairmont and he wanted to take absolute advantage. He had never actually been inside the hotel before but once he arrived he was impressed by all the dark oak and the gold used in the decoration. The woman working behind the desk had a hell of a bad attitude as he placed his bag down and asked for her to call Tom down and he was wondering about it all until he looked down at his own wool suit that was maybe a touch too simple for the decor.
Tom came down the stairs after a few minutes and they shook hands and clapped each other on the back. It was noted by both the lady at the counter and Pete that Tom’s suit matched the decor quite well indeed. “How are you man? It’s been a while” said Tom, taking Pete’s bag and handing it to one of the grim looking bellhops who took it upstairs without a word. Pete wondered about the tipping situation but was too hungry to worry “I’ve worked up a helluva appetite pal lets go see what they’ve got in the chow hall.”
“Good ol’ Pete.”
“Good ol’ Tom. What are you drinking?” Pete asked as they sat down in a pair of the heavily padded and ornamented chairs on either side of the square table.
“Black label on the rocks, you?”
“I’ll have the same but I’ll need some club soda on the side old man - I’ll have the agita with this empty stomach”
The waitress took their drink orders and they arrived fast with a separate glass of ice for each whiskey and one of those old fashioned pressurized glass bottles with the tube for the soda. Another round was ordered with the food and Pete very much enjoyed utilizing the soda tube. They both agreed that the whole set up was quite civilized indeed so they drank to “Adolf Loos and The Fairmont.”
Pete ate more than he could remember eating in a while, following the cheese and paté appetizer with an enormous steak and mashed potatoes and glazed green beans. They talked as most longtime friends tend to, referring back to the old days and how those experiences had informed their more recent decisions. When he was finished with his plate Pete sat back in the chair and sprayed some more soda in to the fourth whiskey of the night.
“You know Tom, I’m feeling pretty good right about now.”
“Well I’d hope so Pete, we’ve practically finished the bottle of the black stuff”
" Now that's certainly a contributing factor, but let me tell you, I feel pretty good right about now and I felt pretty lousy about coming in to town on such a nice day as today.”
“Well thanks buddy.”
“Of course, nothing personal old pal it’s a strange thing really.” Pete looked up at the big twelve point bucks head on the wall and wondered about it before continuing. “You know I grew up here in town and I wasn’t happy about moving out there to the country in the slightest but now, it seems like the only place I can imagine spending my time. It’s nothing serious but just some vaguely considered idea that I have about people from the city - not just Bostonians but I'm under the impression that most city folk seem to have their moral compasses poorly calibrated.”
There was a long silence at the table as they each considered this profound statement and Pete knew this was his last drink of the night.
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