Best of Intentions, Chapter 1

New York City, 1939

Three middle-aged men are sitting at a table in the bar of the Commodore Hotel on 42nd Street near Lexington Avenue drinking beer and arguing about baseball and politics.  Ben Johnson, divorced, tall and slender, is a high school history teacher.  He’s there with his two life-long friends, Bob and Billy, blue collar workers, on a road trip from their hometown of Oswego, New York, to see their beloved New York Yankees play baseball.  Ben’s clothes, including his tie and jacket, need pressing.  He also needs a shave and a haircut. 

“Hitler’s just nuts,” said Bob.

“Anybody with lots of guns got to be taken serious,” retorted Billy.

“And what are we supposed to do, send more boys there to die like before?  Fuck ‘em all, I say.”

Ben finally chimed in with, “That’s what they do in Europe.  Every so often they have a war...instead of playin’ ball.”

“That reminds me.  Can you believe what Feller did to the Yanks today?” said Billy.

Bob responded, “I’m sick of Feller.  Who’s pitchin’ tomorrow?”

This was the end of the day for Ben.  “I’m tired.  Night, fellas.” 

Ben slowly got up from his chair, turned and headed for the exit, ignored by his friends who continued their arguments about baseball and politics.  It was several minutes before they even realized Ben was gone.

Ben slowly crossed the hotel lobby, slouching, hands in his pockets, head down, almost instinctively knowing where the elevator banks were.  Once there, he entered the only one whose door was open and waiting for hotel guests wanting to go up to their rooms.

“Floor, please?” said the elevator operator.

“Twelve.”

The two of them, Ben and the elevator operator, remained silent and motionless for some time, with the operator in front on the left side, while Ben stood directly behind him, leaning against the side wall, as he was not quite steady from the beer he had consumed in the bar.  The elevator operator was obliged to either wait five minutes or until he had five passengers, which ever came first at that hour of the night.

At the same moment, a taxi pulled up in front of the hotel with two passengers inside.  Rita and her brother, Miguel, exited from the taxi.  Rita is beautiful, forty-ish, a widow, an entrepreneur, and a Mexican.  Her brother is younger, single, handsome, and a lawyer.  They have arrived from an evening at the opera and are dressed elegantly as befitting the occasion.

Miguel asks the taxi driver to wait a minute as he turns to his sister.

“Go straight to bed and I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”

“Miguel, when am I going to meet your lady friend?”

He hesitates, while looking down at his shoes, unable to look his sister in the eye.

“Maybe some day.  I have to go.  Sleep well, my darling.”

Miguel jumps back into the taxi which speeds off into the night before Rita can utter another word.  She takes a deep breath, turns and walks past the doorman and enters the hotel lobby.  Regally she walks toward the elevator bank, drawing stares from both the men and women who are there at this late hour.  Rita doesn’t seem to notice the attention she is receiving.  Finally, she enters the same elevator as Ben, and then gracefully turns around facing front.  Both Ben and the elevator operator study her intently.

“Twelve, please.”

After completing his wait of five minutes, the elevator operator closes the door and the elevator slowly rises.  Ben, standing slightly behind Rita on her left, can’t keep his eyes off her.  It’s like he’s never seen a woman as beautiful or as different as she is, especially her dark skin and hair.  Finally, the elevator arrives at the twelfth floor.  The door opens and Rita steps off.  She turns right and walks slowly in the direction of her room.  A second later, Ben disembarks from the elevator as well and he, too, turns right, and is a little behind her.  He moves quickly in order to catch up.

“I hope you don’t think I’m following you.”

Rita, turning slightly towards Ben while still walking, said, “No, I’m sure you’re not following me.”

Ben is a little unsure of himself, but is determined to talk to this incredible-looking woman.

“I don’t mean to startle you, but I’ve never seen such a beautiful dress.  I’m sure you weren’t at Yankee Stadium today.”

They are now walking side by side.

“That’s quite all right.  No, I wasn’t watching the Yankees today.  I was at the opera.  Do you like the opera?”

“I heard one on the radio once.  Beautiful music!  Do you like baseball?”

“You know, I’ve been to New York many times, but I’ve never actually been to a game.  It must be exciting.  Did the Yankees win today?”

“No, but there’s always a game or two tomorrow.  That’s one of the beauties of baseball.  What opera did you see tonight?”

“La Boheme.  Do you know it?  I’m sure you’d like it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I would.  Maybe next time we come to New York, my friends and I should go.”

“Yes, you should.  And the next time my brother and I come to New York, I’ll insist he take me to Yankee Stadium.  Is it a deal?”

“A deal.”

Rita has arrived at the door to her hotel room, while Ben has been accompanying her without any thought to where is his room.

“Well, here I am.  It was nice talking to you, Mister...”

“Johnson, Ben Johnson.  The pleasure was all mine, Miss ah...”

“My name is Senora Ramirez, Rita Chavez Ramirez.  Good night.”

“Good night.”

She put her key in the door lock and opens the door.  She steps into the open doorway and turns to look back at Ben.  She studies him for a brief moment with a calm expression and then gives him a warm and friendly smile.  Finally, she closes the door behind her.  Ben stares at it for a second or two.  Then he realizes he needs to find his own room.  After some minutes of confusion, he retraces his steps, now standing erect, and finally finds it. He puts his key in the door lock and smiles.

“Rita Chavez Ramirez.  Wow!” he whispers to himself.  He opens the door and steps in for the night.