The American Bar in the Savoy Hotel
It is called the American Bar in the Savoy Hotel, in the Covenant Garden area of central London just off the Strand. Tonight, it was awash with indifferent lovers searching for another dramatic romantic interlude or perhaps just some empty sex on a Saturday night in mid-August.
The man stroked high on the thigh of his date or escort; one can never be certain when it comes to these types of complicated arrangements, as she continued to push her skirt down. I took this as not a good sign of things to come later in the deep edge of night.
She swallowed champagne by the glass, as he plowed into his third or fourth bottle of over-priced foreign beer. It was at this moment I realized everything at the American Bar in the Savoy comes with a high price, even when you are
more than willing to pay it.
Fascinated, I watched the scene play out as he leaned further in to her, almost eclipsing her profile. Youth was not going to be his constant companion on this evening or any in the future; his best days were adrift, lost in another moment in the conscious stream of time.
At the next table, the young suit pursued the lithe blonde seated across the table. Drinks ordered, then swapped, he didn’t like his. An early exchange of bartered goods since he had a wedding band and she was still looking. The night was early and exciting without paying the check.
A large rainbow gathering anointed another birthday for one of them; the ebb and flow of celebrating with best wishes and pictures to be passed around Monday morning. No doubt the tab was going to be high but it was a Saturday night and another year to be tacked on.
There was no shortage of lookers versus takers spread out unevenly in the crowded room, as the piano player stylishly swooned out Cole Porter songs from the great American songbook. The players and the played filled up the bar, wondering how to make this night different.
The quick sideways glance, hoping to make eye contact with an unknown partner, held for a moment or perhaps just not long enough. When I asked, no one could tell me why it is called the American Bar located in a London Hotel on the Strand but I was free to guess.
Copyright © Steve Zak | Year Posted 2018
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