@elainespaulding
He didnāt linger long after arriving at 20 East 78th Street. Zofia had been there, of course, informing him of his motherās whereabouts in her toneless Eastern European accent while inspecting the fifty-piece Haviland china (and the alternate Wedgwood set) for any minute imperfections. Heād found Andrew on the couch, sullen and sleep-deprived and no doubt still hungover, after a week of end-of-finals festivities at Taft. There were shadows beneath his brotherās eyes like three-day-old bruises. Kas had given him a congenial smack on the head in passingāĀ reciprocated with a scowl and a protest he didnāt wait around to hearā then left his bags still packed in his room and went back the way heād came through the foyer. There, he shrugged on a winter coat that lived permanently at this address, pocketed some gloves, and soon disappeared through the front door with a vague promise to be back in time for dinnerā though it didnāt seem like anyone would hold him accountable if he wasnāt.
It was the kind of cold, stillborn day most often found at the tail-end of December. Massive clouds took up all the space in the sky; glass high-rises stood dull and dark beneath them, occasionally brightened when the morning sun burst through. Piles of snow leftover from earlier in the week had already developed a gray crust from the exhaust of passing cars. Even so, he felt oddly nostalgic walking through this part of the city, looking up to where cranes bisected the sky in Midtown, passing through warm gusts of air rising from a subway grate. He took notice of the things that had changed, and the things that had stayed the same. Taking a town car wouldāve been quicker and warmer, but the walking felt necessary. No part of him had thought he might actually miss it here. Yesterday, in LA, the weather had been a balmy sixty-two degrees. Heād sat in the first class lounge, watching an invisible breeze stir the palm trees around LAX, and realizedā he was getting tired of it there. Things stayed too much the same. There was no change of seasons, only the wet half of the year and the dry one. He was still surfing every morning, still skating at the bowl in Venice Beach. Still wearing T-shirts in December. But here, when the temperature dropped into the low thirties and the wind howled through the canyon streets, there was no mistaking a New York winter for exactly what it was. At a crosswalk, Kas pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and searched his pockets for the gloves, their role as an afterthought now becoming a necessity. He didnāt mind the coldā but like a change of timezone, it did take some getting used to.
Beyond the revolving doors of the Plaza Hotel was a very different world from the one outside. A temperate jungle, with glittering crystal chandeliers and marble columns and huge, exotic plants fanning out over white-cloth tabletops. Light filtered down from a stained-glass skylight, shaded by a partial canopy of four potted palms. His gaze searched the room until he found Elaine, seated at the bar in a tall wicker chair, one leg crossed over the other. She looked like she belonged here, perfectly at home amidst this old-world elegance.Ā
The hostess let him through sans-reservationā his mother had hosted her fair share of events at the Plaza, so a last name was all it tookā but still, Kas felt the need to push down his hood, aware that a sweatshirt (no matter how expensive) was still a sweatshirt, and this place most definitely had a dress code. āHey! Sorry, didnāt mean to keep you waiting, but I didnāt want to take a car, soā¦ā He raked a hand through partially-squashed curls. A small smile took shape. āItās good to see you. Happy holidays.ā As she stood, Kas angled to give her a one-armed hug. It was a greeting he was used to giving without much thought. But the thought did occur to himā a second too lateā that maybe he shouldnāt, maybe Elaine would prefer that he didnāt. By then, he could only make up for it by pulling away, quickly, and returning his hands to the pockets of his coat. His gaze lifted to the menu with a great deal of interest.Ā āSo, coffee first?ā
The bar was equipped with elegant chrome machinery and a single, highly-competent barista, There was a special holiday menu: coffee, cocktails, coffee-cocktails, some garnished with sticks of cinnamon or delicate spirals of crystallized ginger. He ordered a flat white, nothing out of the ordinary. As Elaine placed her own order, he looked around at how theyād decorated the Palm Court for the season. Tasteful, but⦠a little weird, seeing hints of Christmas cheer in this luxurious tropical grove. There was a wreath above the entrance smothered in gold foil and silver baubles, and a giant Nutcracker stationed in the far corner which looked like it should be holding a machete, not a bayonet, to slash through all this vegetation. The clouds shifted; morning light poured down, dappling the mosaic floor with an array of colors. Though it was warm in here, and the ambiance complete with a piano rendition of Santa Baby floating in from the lobby, he was still thinking about the rest of the city outside. He couldnāt remember the last time heād seen what Fifth looked like during Christmastime. Glancing at Elaine, the thought passed over his expression almost visibly; Kas waited till sheād been given her coffee before he gestured towards the lobby by lifting his own. āActually, do you mind if we take these to go? I think Iāve finally been away long enough to get sentimental.ā His smile twisted, a bit sheepish, but he went on. āThe walk here was nice andā the sunās out, so maybe we can... walk?ā




















