Heartbreak Hotel

Get Up, Breakup, Makeup

The waitress had left his room not too long ago, and Axl reveled in the short time she had been with him. Her name had been - what had it been again - Jeanne, or something. He thought it was Jeanne, should have asked her, but that would have been rude. Whatever, he had enjoyed the time he had spent with her in his arms in his room. She had been nice, friendly and they had had a delightful conversation. He snickered. It had not been all talking.

He laid across the couch, his feet kicked up; before him, a bottle of wine rested on the table. He had taken a few hefty swigs from it, but he had replaced the cork and now skimmed over the newspaper. It was the usual rubbish, and he threw it back down onto the table, where it lied flat and lifeless. He was not drunk, but he had a buzz, all the while. Perhaps, it was from the lovemaking. Whatever it was, it was nice - very much so like adrenaline. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He needed a drink, not necessarily alcohol, but something. He picked up his room key and left.

Downstairs in the cafe, the owner did not give him a dirty look. Axl glanced at him. He knew the owner's name was Jim, but he didn't call him that out of spite.

"A bottle of the usual?" Jim asked him.

"Nah, just one of your best waters."

"I'm sorry Mr. Rose, but we don't have water."

Axl knew this. He looked at Jim. "Iced tea?" He phrased it like a question, but it was not truly one. He knew they had tea; had seen the advertisement sandwiched between the crap in the newspaper. The real manner was if Jim was going to get him the tea.

"Yes, we do have the best of iced tea." Jim smiled.

Axl tilted his head at him. His head was filled with the thought of Is he mocking me? He shook his head, muttered some form of thanks, and watched as Jim walked to the kitchen to get his tea. While he waited, he could not help but notice that a dark-haired man sat at a table nearby, his eyes focused on something else. Axl followed his gaze and saw a pretty waitress with a black beehive. He glanced at the dark-haired stranger again to see he was focused on his sandwich. Don't act like you weren't watching her - she's the best looking waitress here.

Jim returned with his tea. As Axl sipped from it, he rested his eyes on the dark-haired man. The stranger was handsome, and, as he stole a look at the waitress, he was mildly surprised to not see her returning his glance. If he was a woman, he would have looked, he thought with a small smile. He paid for his tea and was headed out of the cafe when he heard someone say quite loudly:

"Alright, listen, I was gonna be sane about this, but you are making this more difficult than it has to be."

Axl slowed his walk. He did not want to be in a fight in this particular moment, but his curiosity had been perked and he was eager to hear what the second person had to say.

"No, there is nothing to be sane about. You're making this difficult. Just go ahead and say it!" The second voice, a female, sounded on the verge of tears.

"Fine. I'll go see Vanessa then. It was nice knowing you, Priscilla."

As soon as the final word left the man's mouth, Axl was shoved violently almost to the side. He sent the pusher a dirty look until he saw it was the pretty waitress. Even with a glimpse of her face, he could see the tears present. He felt a slight burst of sympathy, but didn't say anything to her. He watched as she hurried down the hall and unlocked a door before she stepped inside and vanished from view. She left his thoughts soon after, and Axl returned to his room to put on a Sinatra record.

In the cafe, Elvis was caught between a decision: he had been served by this beautiful waitress - Priscilla - and had watched her leave the cafe in tears. He had thought the man who had addressed her was definitely not a gentlemen, to put it politely. His mind made up, he threw down some bills onto the counter and left in the waitress' wake. It was only in the hallway did he realize he did not have a single clue where she went. He could have tried his luck, knocking on each door and waiting for the answer he knew he would not find. His mind wandering, he began to pace the hallway, eyes drifting over each door. He didn't hear anyone crying in any of the rooms, but he did not expect to.

Why would someone make a beautiful woman like her cry? Why why why? Even as it appears that she did have it coming - and knew of it - it gives no man the right to - to do what he did. It's...heartbreaking, like this whole hotel.

Elvis grimaced and stopped in his pacing. This hotel and its atmosphere disgusted him, and he was glad that it was a temporary stop. At least that Tom fellow seemed nice, and his cigarettes had not been all bad, either. He ran a hand over the top of his hair. His eyes flickered from the door of one room to the next; there was no way to tell what room she was in. And, he had to think, that even if he did know her room number, how would he know for sure that she would let him in?

He was almost ready to head back to swing by Tom's room for a cigarette then go to his own room when Elvis turned to see a man hurrying down the hall. He was mildly familiar with his long red hair and bandanna tied on top of it. His eyes were narrowed in the slightest. He gave off an aroma of seriousness and determination, and he almost walked straight past Elvis until he realized who it was.

"Your -" the man stopped halfway in his sentence and started again. "Priscilla is in that room." He pointed to the room that was five doors down from where Elvis stood.

Elvis smiled a bit. "Thank you, but how do you know that?"

"I saw her," the man said simply. "Now, I've got to get my sunglasses, please and thank you." He spoke as if he did not actually feel gratitude, but Elvis was grateful for the man's words, nevertheless, and watched him enter the cafe.

It did not make the action any easier. Elvis walked up to the door he had been directed to. He hesitated, staring at the very wood that composed of the door standing between him and the waitress. He thought of turning around and walking away, but his gut clenched in something of the opposite. He knew he would have to knock, so he did.

He did not get an immediate answer, and he stood there in the silence of the hallway. If he had started walking, his feet would echo in spite of the silence he stood in. His own thoughts seemed loud with their obscure wanderings down paths of doubt and confusion that branched off into a near-like regret feeling that seeped into his bones. Elvis tapped his foot absentmindedly, and he was mildly surprised to not hear his footsteps echo, yet thankful all the same. He waited for a while longer with a worried mind until, finally, when he was about to just turn around and walk away, the door opened.

His first thought was that she was still beautiful, even with the smeared makeup surrounding her eyes. Her lips trembled when she saw him, and he had the fleeting thought that she was going to slam the door in his face. But she did not.

"You're that musician, aren't you?" Her words came out shaky, but her eyes met his.

"Yes, and I was wondering if you were alright."

Both of them blushed a bit at his words.

"I'm sorry -" Elvis continued. "That may not have been the most polite thing to say..."

"No," she told him. "It's fine, I have been better, honestly."

Elvis nodded, though there was really no reason to. It was a bit difficult to think around her, in a good sense. "Ain't that the truth."

"Yes, it is." She looked down at the floor shyly.

"Could I get you anything - a glass of tea or something?"

She looked back up at his face. Her eyes widened a bit. "No, you don't have to get me anything. I am fine, but thank you."

"I'm sorry if I make you nervous, that is not my intention. I just saw...what happened, and wanted to make sure everything is alright," Elvis rambled.

"Things have been better."

Elvis tilted his head slightly at her. "I think I can help with that."

The waitress hesitated before she nodded. "Maybe so."

"The name's Elvis Presley." Elvis smiled.

"Priscilla Beaulieu." They shook hands. She stepped aside and let him enter the room. She had the vague thought that everything would be a little bit better, which she supposed was better than none.

Only time would tell what exactly would be truly better, for each of them.