My Mother The Entrepreneur 2/Queen of The Hotel
Lois and my mother were wise. They had no overhead expenses for their business except the cost of running the advertisement in the Pittsburgh Press. If you want to include the price of gasoline they used when they drove from place to place–and remember the price of gas then–that would be a little over the top.
All they needed was in their heads. I still think, on looking back, that it was wonderful on a number of levels.
So. My mother saved her share of the proceeds; she put it in a bank account and the amount kept rising. Then, in the second term of school, right after the Christmas vacation, my mother made an announcement. She had saved enough money to take all of us to Miami Beach. We would fly there–first time on an airplane for my sister and me–and then stay in one of those fancy, expensive hotels situated along the beach. When entering this place I was overwhelmed. We were staying here for a week? We had taken lots of vacations as a family but only to Lake Erie, and we stayed in an inexpensive motel.
Here comes what I call the “Bragging Part” of this story; but, hey, I’m almost 66 years old. Is there a better time to tell this tale?
This was spring break for many young students and it seemed as if everybody was on vacation. The hotel was crowded with families and these families had teenage sons. From the first all of these boys fell in love with me. I’m not exaggerating. I always say when I tell this story that every girl should have had a week like that, sometime in their lives.
Yes, I was pretty and no longer plagued by adolescent difficulties. I mixed easily with this crowd but the point is that there were no girls. It was me and a mob of young men. They fought each other to sit next to me during meals; they fought with each other to swim with me, jump into the swimming pool with me, go to dances with me.
My mother–God Bless Her–had bought me a spring vacation wardrobe, complete with a madras (!) two piece bathing suit. So I did what the British say: “I swanned around the hotel, making my way through the boys that clustered around me.” I was indeed the Queen of the Hotel. Nothing like this had ever happened to me, even in my dreams.
The very best part of this memoir isn’t the fact that I was so popular; it was the effect that this had on my parents.
My father, being removed from the female world, had not seen me in this way. Briefly he may have looked at what I was wearing, ready to go out on a date or said a vague “hello” when a boy came over to take me out someplace. Here I was, wearing pretty clothes–thanks again, Mom–fighting off boys. The truth is that both my parents fell in love with the situation and the image. I was allowed curfews I could only dream about, back in Pittsburgh. Actually I had no curfews at all and went my way, doing what I chose.
There was one boy from New Jersey, Tommie was his name. We really fell for each other but there was no pain, no loss, nothing traumatic or overwhelming. And it was just like a movie, walking on the sand at night, swimming together, going to listen to music at the next door hotel. My mother, along with my father, was in raptures. This was the kind of thing she prayed for, to have a daughter who was popular and well-dressed, didn’t have acne, always out on dates with nice boys. There’s a bittersweet feeling because as I matured I outgrew this image and became more serious. But, it was a moment in time to think about with pleasure and joy, just grateful that I had the experience.
There is a final note to include here re: my father. One morning, early, he opened the door of his room–my sister and I shared a separate room from my parents–and found Tommie sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up, head on his knees. He had been there God knows how long, waiting for me. My father leaned against the door frame and laughed joyfully. He was having so much fun.
lgmwriting 