Weekend by Andrew Neiderman, Tania Grossinger Page A
Authors: Andrew Neiderman, Tania Grossinger
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quickly, then slowly rise again.
“I’ll bet.”
“Why bet? Find out for yourself?”
“I just might do that. Take care of my valuables for me?”
“Anytime,” he said. “C’mon, I’ll get you on the express line.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“The first thing I’ve got to do once we get to the room is shower. I’m all icky from the trip. Look how my clothes are sticking to me.” Melinda practically stepped on the bellhop’s foot as she pulled the V-neck portion of her blouse further out and blew air down her cleavage. Grant lingered behind until they got to the elevator, at which point he caught up quickly and sulked in the far corner. He had his hands in his pockets and glared angrily at the floor. He knew exactly what the bellhop was thinking. From now on, whenever they’d walk through the lobby, there’d be looks and remarks and his mother would smile stupidly and wiggle her ass.
“Yeah, it’s a hot Fourth,” the bellhop said, as she rubbed against him not altogether ingenuously in the crowded elevator. Grant squeezed his fingers tight against his palms. The elevator ride was gratefully short and they followed the boy to their suite.
“Just put those suitcases on the rack, sweetie,” she told him, pointing toward the open double closet to her left. It was a gigantic walk-in model, almost as large as the bedrooms in some of the newer high-rise luxury apartments in Manhattan. The bellhop moved slowly, enjoying the way she moved around to open the drapes and inspect the furnishings in her room and Grant’s. Her tight red skirt clearly outlined the well-shaped behind and the way she wiggled it left little to the imagination. Nonchalantly, she unbuttoned a button on her blouse.
“Don’t you just feel like walking barefoot on these rugs?” she said as she shook off her heels. The thick brown nylon pile carpet would be good for more than wading in without shoes, it occurred to her. Her eyes moved critically over the large antique end tables and dressers covered with Carrara marble. Whoever had decorated the room had exquisite taste, she was glad to see. The powers that be at the Plaza and Waldorf could certainly learn something from the Congress.
She walked around to the queen-size bed, wondering if she could possibly get away with stealing the elegant comforter for her bedroom at home. Her hands rubbed sensually over the rich brass headboard. Without giving it a thought, and much to Grant’s embarrassment, she began to bounce up and down on the mattress, letting her skirt rise well above her knees. “Not like those roadside motel numbers,” she said, giving it the Melinda Kaplan seal of approval. “Not that I really know,” she giggled. She fluttered her eyes coyly at the bellhop who she knew was enjoying every minute.
Her jumping had caused another button to become undone on her purple shantung blouse. With her bra nearly exposed, she went for her purse. She hesitated a moment, catching her own image in the wide mirror above the small vanity table to her right. “God, I really do need a shower!”
“Here you go,” she said, holding two dollars out with her hand while the other brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder.
If only they were alone. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing the bills, at which point she turned, unbuttoned what was left of her blouse, and headed for the bathroom. Before she could close the door, he saw the remaining clothes peel off her body and drop to the floor. When he stepped out in the hall, he leaned against the corridor and prayed his hard-on would disappear as fast as it came. Room 1465. He made a mental note. He’d have to figure out a way to get back at some point when that gawky kid was out of the way.
Grant didn’t move from the couch the whole time she showered. He stared up at the pale white ceiling and tried to understand why it annoyed him so that she was so damned attractive. Sometimes he wished she’d cut her face with glass and get a terrible scar. Even
“I’ll bet.”
“Why bet? Find out for yourself?”
“I just might do that. Take care of my valuables for me?”
“Anytime,” he said. “C’mon, I’ll get you on the express line.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“The first thing I’ve got to do once we get to the room is shower. I’m all icky from the trip. Look how my clothes are sticking to me.” Melinda practically stepped on the bellhop’s foot as she pulled the V-neck portion of her blouse further out and blew air down her cleavage. Grant lingered behind until they got to the elevator, at which point he caught up quickly and sulked in the far corner. He had his hands in his pockets and glared angrily at the floor. He knew exactly what the bellhop was thinking. From now on, whenever they’d walk through the lobby, there’d be looks and remarks and his mother would smile stupidly and wiggle her ass.
“Yeah, it’s a hot Fourth,” the bellhop said, as she rubbed against him not altogether ingenuously in the crowded elevator. Grant squeezed his fingers tight against his palms. The elevator ride was gratefully short and they followed the boy to their suite.
“Just put those suitcases on the rack, sweetie,” she told him, pointing toward the open double closet to her left. It was a gigantic walk-in model, almost as large as the bedrooms in some of the newer high-rise luxury apartments in Manhattan. The bellhop moved slowly, enjoying the way she moved around to open the drapes and inspect the furnishings in her room and Grant’s. Her tight red skirt clearly outlined the well-shaped behind and the way she wiggled it left little to the imagination. Nonchalantly, she unbuttoned a button on her blouse.
“Don’t you just feel like walking barefoot on these rugs?” she said as she shook off her heels. The thick brown nylon pile carpet would be good for more than wading in without shoes, it occurred to her. Her eyes moved critically over the large antique end tables and dressers covered with Carrara marble. Whoever had decorated the room had exquisite taste, she was glad to see. The powers that be at the Plaza and Waldorf could certainly learn something from the Congress.
She walked around to the queen-size bed, wondering if she could possibly get away with stealing the elegant comforter for her bedroom at home. Her hands rubbed sensually over the rich brass headboard. Without giving it a thought, and much to Grant’s embarrassment, she began to bounce up and down on the mattress, letting her skirt rise well above her knees. “Not like those roadside motel numbers,” she said, giving it the Melinda Kaplan seal of approval. “Not that I really know,” she giggled. She fluttered her eyes coyly at the bellhop who she knew was enjoying every minute.
Her jumping had caused another button to become undone on her purple shantung blouse. With her bra nearly exposed, she went for her purse. She hesitated a moment, catching her own image in the wide mirror above the small vanity table to her right. “God, I really do need a shower!”
“Here you go,” she said, holding two dollars out with her hand while the other brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder.
If only they were alone. “Thank you,” he said, pocketing the bills, at which point she turned, unbuttoned what was left of her blouse, and headed for the bathroom. Before she could close the door, he saw the remaining clothes peel off her body and drop to the floor. When he stepped out in the hall, he leaned against the corridor and prayed his hard-on would disappear as fast as it came. Room 1465. He made a mental note. He’d have to figure out a way to get back at some point when that gawky kid was out of the way.
Grant didn’t move from the couch the whole time she showered. He stared up at the pale white ceiling and tried to understand why it annoyed him so that she was so damned attractive. Sometimes he wished she’d cut her face with glass and get a terrible scar. Even
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