Alpine for You Read Free Page A

and hangers that served as a closet, the narrow desk and chair that sat below the shelf where the television perched. Bare walls. Brown carpet. White drapes. No chocolate mints. “We’re paying three thousand dollars apiece for this room?”
    “I’ve stayed in worse,” Nana commiserated. “I’ve lived in worse. At least we got a bathroom with runnin’ water…or was that only with the super deluxe rooms?” We exchanged horrified looks. Nana headed for the bathroom. I headed for the window. A spectacular view of Lake Lucerne and Mount Pilatus would go a long way to help me feel that our six thousand dollars hadn’t been completely wasted. I threw open the drapes.
    Yellow brick straight ahead and to either side. A service area and waste disposal unit below. Tiers of windows all around. I peered at the window across the way to find the drapery open and a man standing in the window recess. He was buck naked and had flattened against the window-pane the most hideously wrinkled body part I’d ever seen. Mr. Nunzio, no doubt. I winced at the sight. Just my luck. I was being mooned by an eighty-year-old.
    “Good water pressure,” Nana announced from the bathroom, “but I’m not sure about the shower. There’s no safety strips in the tub, and the showerhead is in a strange place. And it has a weird dingus on it.”
    “Don’t touch the dingus!” I snapped the drapes shut. Nana would go into cardiac arrest if she looked out the window. “We’ll figure it out later.”
    She rejoined me in the bedroom. “I’m relieved the bathroom’s so nice. But there’s no washcloths. How do Europeans wash themselves without washcloths?”
    “I guess they use their hands.” I stood guard by the drapes, ready to concoct the mother of all excuses should Nana want to see the view.
    “By the way,” Nana said, “there’s an elderly gentleman moonin’ us from across the way so we’d best keep the drapes drawn for a while.”
    “How did you know that?”
    “There’s a window in the bathroom, dear. I got a clear shot of him. I don’t know about men these days. Your grampa never woulda stuck his naked bum in a window for all the world to see. But let me tell you, he coulda. He had a fine bum, as hard and round as a rump roast, though gravity got to it in later years and it got pretty dimpled.” She heaved a nostalgic sigh. “He photocopied it for me once. I wish I could remember what I done with it so’s I could show it to you.”
    I winced again. This was much more than I ever needed to know about Grampa Sippel. “So do you want to keep the room, or should we request a new one?”
    “Whatever you want to do, dear. But we’re Midwesterners, and Midwesterners usually don’t complain.”
    Right. But I’d lived in New York City for four years, which explained my occasional willingness to bellyache. I picked up the phone and punched a button.
    “Front desk,” said a curt male voice.
    “This is Emily Andrew in thirty-three-ten. There’s been a terrible mistake. We’re in the wrong place. We paid for a deluxe room and you’ve given us a standard. When would it be convenient for you to move us to the right room?”
    A pause. A clatter of computer keys. “Room thirty-three-ten is a deluxe room.”
    I eyed the narrow beds, the bare walls, the eleven-inch television screen. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    “I’m Swiss, Madame. I never kid. Is there anything else?”
    “How much would it cost us to upgrade to a super deluxe room?”
    “There are no super deluxe rooms available at this time.”
    “Then place my name on a waiting list, and when one comes available, call me.” I hung up the phone and shook my head. “I don’t know, Nana. It doesn’t sound too promising. We could be stuck here for a while.”
    “That’d be fine with me, dear. The room’s not so bad once the shock wears off. It has a cozy feel to it. Kinda puts me in mind of your grampa’s little ice shanty.” She looked left and right. “Only