Sourmouth Read Free

heavy, dark wood with decorative glass which gave entry to the
equally ornate foyer. Surrounded by deep browns and shining silvers, the couple
felt like they had stepped into a miniature history museum rather than a bed
and breakfast. Fancy vases stood on faux marble columns, oak and leather chairs
lined up against the walls in alternating sequences of different shades, needlessly
complex candle holders sprinkled about on the walls with unlit candles half
melted inside. While the exterior went for a humble design, the inside strove
for elegant.
    Violet felt particularly out of place with her
punk-rock styling as she stood almost helplessly waiting for something to
happen. While he might have felt almost as lost, Riley at least could have
passed as one of the townies. Just before either of them could attempt to call
out for some sort of service their silent request was answered.
    “Welcome!” bellowed a deep voice from somewhere up
above.
    Both of the Tylers were
surprised to find it coming from a portly woman in her 50s standing at the top
of the carpeted burgundy stairs just to the side of the entrance way.
    “How may I help you this fine day?”
    The woman was wearing what could only be described as
a flapper’s dress for the plus-sized woman. It was made of red satin with
dangling shiny silver tassels with black embroidered beads and fringe. In her
puffed up hair was a large white feather that seemed to dance as she made her
way slowly down the steps.
    With a beaming smile that gave away her amusement
Violet spoke first, “Hi there...we’re here to check in. We’ve got a reservation
for the week under the name of ‘Tyler’”.
    Upon hearing that informational tidbit the waitress’s
face contorted into a frown, her heavy makeup making her look a bit like a sad
clown, “I’m sorry, I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but I don’t believe
we have a reservation under that name. From what I’ve been told from our
regular front door concierge...we’re currently all booked up for the next three
days in the very least”.
    Violet’s own face quickly tried to mimic that of the
nameless jester before her, “What do you mean that you don’t have any more reservations?
Can you please go and check to make sure? Maybe somebody put it under ‘Riley’
or ‘Violet’?”
    The woman raised her hands up to her sides in either
exaggerated agitation or for balance as she swiftly waddled into a small side parlour . At a tall wooden podium she obtained a thin red
booklet that she opened up to the exact desired page with obvious expertise.
    Riley walked forward and hovered over the woman as she
scanned the pages filled with names and dates, “I made the reservation weeks
ago myself. I was told by the woman on the phone that it was confirmed”.
    The makeup drenched woman raised her right hand to her
temple and shook her head as if freeing herself of mental cobwebs, “I’m sorry,
but I’ve got no record of it. There must have been a mistake somewhere along
the lines. The booking must have gotten lost or cancelled since then. I’m
sorry, but there’s nothing I can do”.
    The couple stared at each other in disbelief,
subconsciously both shifting their luggage in their hands, as if to say “I want
to put this down now”.
    “This isn’t acceptable. We booked our room weeks ago.
We were told that all we had to do was show up and pay when we arrived,” Violet
bellowed.
    The shaken woman just shook her head nervously, “I am
truly sorry but by now someone is already checked into whatever room you
supposedly booked and there isn’t another available”.
    “It isn’t ‘supposedly’, it simply is. And instead of
telling us that you are sorry you should be kicking out whoever is laying in
our fucking bed,” Violet roared, shaking her bag as she talked.
    The woman vigorously shook her head again hard enough
that she risked pulling a muscle, coupled with the feather wiggling above the
choice of action made her look