Ankush Par Fareen.

She was quite fashionable, looked after herself, and had long blonde hair and decent looking figure, although she was probably a bit too thin if anything. It must have been the combination of alcohol and weed that turned the conversation sexual, and she was quizzing me about why I didn't have a serious girlfriend and wasn't I fed up of 'playing the field'. "Doesn't a nice looking young man like you want to settle down" etc. etc. Then she got a bit more full on and starting asking me about how many women I'd been with and what sort of experiences I had had. I told her about a few of them, including the one almost 2 years before with Tracey over the road, who was 17 years older than me (see 'The Older Women Experience' story for further details!). This one in particular seemed to pique her interest and she asked me if I had a thing for older women, and if a 17 year gap wasn't an issue for me, how much more of a gap would be too much? I now had the feeling this was going somewhere a bit. Waitresses in the restaurant agree to cover one another and post a watch. Bellman go about their tasks with alacrity, not even waiting for tips to get back down to the Lobby. Even a few Engineers hang up their gruffness and circle uneasily among the guests in the Grand Foyer. The Concierge, back at her post, the best seat in the house, checks her watch again. “Good thing it’s good weather,” she thinks, “or he might be even earlier than usual.” Every time the elevator dings, there’s a noticeable drop in the chatter. As a guest emerges toting a suitcase, a sigh floats across the great hall like birds released in a cathedral. “He’s getting old,” the Concierge thinks, “it never used to take this long. Well, maybe he stopped at Starbucks for a special treat.” An elevator clangs. The door opens. The tip of a black cane emerges and pulls its owner forward. The old timers know the Bell Captain had been right, it is him. The Concierge looks over her shoulder and sees eight pair of eyes.
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