The Wedding Night

The elevator silently and effortlessly came to a halt on the top floor; the Bellhop motioned as if waving a giant medieval sword, “To the right, down the end of the hall.”
Moments later, two enormous mahogany doors swung open, “Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Watonini, The Plaza’s finest.”

The entrance hall was larger than the living room in mine and Jennifer’s new apartment, and, it was decorated to the hilt. Five-foot wide crystal chandelier, Chippendale settee, golden brown marble floor and a spectacular bouquet of fresh Casablanca lilies on the circular Queen Anne table.

Jennifer sighed with delight, “Oh Tom, I adore you.”

As the couple was about to discover, they hadn’t seen anything yet!

The tour began modestly enough, “This is your living room, sir, over their, your dining room and kitchen, and a guest bathroom. A bit further down the hall, your library, the guest bedroom with adjoining bath.” Burton then proudly opened two ten-foot high-carved doors, “And, this is your master suite and private bath equipped with Jacuzzi, steam bath and sauna.”

The apartment, the home, the whatever, was a mini-replica of one of those Sixteenth Century French palace featured in Architectural Digest. Louie the Fourteenth furniture everywhere, plus four TV’s and five phones. Once the selected luggage is unpacked, Burton discretely vaporized.

“This place is drop-dead, crowed Jennifer, “you certainly know how to spoil a lady… I’m afraid to ask, but how much did all this cost?”

“Forget about the money, this is our Wedding Night;” said Tom, “ I wanted it be something we’d remember always.” Tom exuded such apparent confidence, such control of the situation; the pursuit of costs ended right there.

It was now about time to settle in for a “romantic” late night rendezvous. As they sat alone in the ballroom size living room, Jennifer’s nervousness increased visibly. Slowly, gently, Tom placed his my arm around her neck and shoulder, goose bumps bulged from Jennifer’s arms, legs and neck. “Hey honey,” he whispered, “why don’t we order a few drinks—I have to be honest with you, I’m a little nervous.”

“Me too.”

Relieved at the honesty, he asked, “So what would you like?”

She breathed a sigh of relief, like a convict on death row who had been granted an extension seconds before that fateful moment, “Extra dry Martini,” she blurted. “In fact, make it a double.”

“Sounds good to me, think I’ll order the same.”

With cat-like quickness Tom called room service, a guy on the other end of the line asked, “Very good Mr. Watonini, would you like them shaken or stirred? Actually, Tom had never had a Martini. Thank goodness he had seen all the James Bond movies.

“Generally, I prefer them shaken, but of course what I always love about coming to The Plaza is never having to be bothered with silly little decisions. You know precisely how to pamper your guests.”

The voice said, “I understand sir. Your drinks will be right up.”

Five minutes later, shoes removed, the stereo playing some sultry Barbara Streisand, there was a knock at the door. “Room service sir.” In strolled a beautiful silver-serving cart with a huge basket of fruits, cheeses, nuts, and, a full liter carafe of dry Martinis! The waiter smiled, “The food basket is compliments of The Plaza, our little gift to the newlyweds.”

“Why thank you.”

“Sir, Roger, whom I believe you know, made all the arrangements, he is the one who deserves the thanks.”

“Shall I pour the Martinis sir? They nodded yes. He slowly filled two enormous V-shaped basins sitting on top of thin foot long crystal stems.

Tom couldn’t help but notice, even with the two glasses completely filled, the carafe was only about a third empty. Holy cow, we have enough Martinis to service my Frat House for an evening!

The couple toasted their glasses then wolfed down two Tini’s like they were lemonade.

Jennifer’s face became totally relaxed, and the goose bumps that covered her body just moments before disappeared completely. Ho, ho, ho, thought Tom, won’t be long before we’re in that gorgeous king-size bed. He had been dreaming of this moment since his future bride announced one night in the heat of passion, no real sex until we are married. To put it mildly, he was aroused; actually he was horny as hell.

Unknowingly, he then made the fatal mistake. “Another Martini?”

“Sure why not,” she chuckled.

Second quickly down, a certain giddiness set in. “Well, looks like one more each and the carafe will be history. As he poured the third huge Martini, I commented, I read somewhere, “Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald used to drink enormous quantities of Martinis when they stayed at The Plaza. Then they’d walk across the street and dance around the great fountain. Scott thought it enhanced their love life.”

Feeling absolutely no pain, Tom continued, “How about we skip the fountain idea and head straight to bed?”

“Agreed,” she said.

They struggled to get out from the deep, plush couch. Jennifer stumbled backwards laughing.

Click on a heart to thank the author of this story!

Average rating / 5. Vote count:

No votes so far! Be the first to rate this post.

We are sorry that this post was not one of your favorites!

Help us understand why.

0 replies

Leave a Reply

Want to join the discussion?
Feel free to contribute!

Leave a Reply