The Upward Ripple

Nate smiled at him, his dimpled cheek showing off a softer side of him that his general demeanor didn’t. Spending his early years in London gave him a distinct English accent. He had tried getting rid of it, but it was not exactly easy especially since he kept on going back to London every chance he got.

“You are right. I am not.”

“Well, I know that you are no stranger to Pine Grove since you know about Agnes McCrery’s baking prowess,” the waitress went on as she placed the slice of cake in front of him.

He was smiling at her as he took a small bite of the cake.

“You are right.”

The waitress raised an eyebrow over the other.

“About you not being a stranger here?” she asked.

“Yeah, that and the fact that this cake is a close second to the sweet potato pie.” He took another bite. “This is really good.”

“I’ll let her know. She loves the fact that people around the world know about her work.”

“Wait.” Nate looked up at her. “She still bakes?”

The waitress nodded.

“Actually, she does. She got a bakery in town and spends most of her time there leaving me to run this place.”

“So, you are the person to see if I want the recipe to that delicious pie and maybe this cake?” Nate asked and the waitress shook her head.

“Well, if I told you that I would have to kill you.”

He raised an eyebrow over the other.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“All the recipes to McCrery’s baking success are a closely guarded secret. A family secret.”

Nate took a long sip of his coffee as he looked at her nametag. Alice, it said.

“So, would that make you Alice McCrery?” he asked, and she nodded. “Nice to meet you, Alice. I’m Nate.”

“Well, it is very lovely to meet you, Nate and welcome to Pine Grove.”

Nate forced a smile.

“Thanks.”

Alice walked away leaving him to finish up his coffee and cake. The truth was that he did not feel so welcome. Matter of fact, he was already thinking of how he could get out of the situation and just go away from there. Get out of Colorado and maybe make a new life for himself somewhere far away. He had tried out Atlanta, Minnesota and New York. Hell, he had even loved the fast life in Vegas, but he just couldn’t stomach a lifetime there. There was always something missing and he had never really known what it was. When he was done with his coffee, he put a twenty-dollar bill on the counter and grabbed his jacket. He put on his sunglasses and jacket before riding off to town. The Duncan Plaza was all the way in town and as he rode there, he could not help but wonder why he did not make that his first stop anyway. He could not tell why he had felt the need to visit The Spilt Bean before checking into his hotel. It was not like he had achieved much by doing so.

“But I did get some delicious cake,” he thought when he pulled into the Duncan Plaza’s parking lot.

He got off the bike and once again, took off his helmet. He stood in front of the ten-floor building and a smile played on his lips. He had given his father an idea to turn an old run-down building in town to a high-end hotel worthy of bringing in investors. The hotel’s plan was all Nate’s design. From the white and silver exterior to the eighty executive suites inside. He took off his sunglasses and made his way into the building. The interior had beautiful marble floors that matched the beautiful interior décor. It had been so long but in that hotel lobby, he suddenly felt as if time had stood completely still, waiting for his return. As he walked to the reception desk, he was once again made aware that he was unwanted in that place.

“Sir, I believe you are in the wrong establishment,” the man standing behind the desk said to him when he got there.

“Why? Isn’t this the Duncan Plaza?” Nate asked and the man nodded. “Well then, I am exactly where I need to be. Is the presidential suite available?”

The man looked at him, surprised.

“Sir?”

“The Duncan Plaza does have a presidential suite. Does it not?” Nate asked and the man nodded. “Well, is it vacant or do I need to speak to someone else?”

Before the man could answer, another man walked up and looked at Nate.

“Is everything alright, sir?” the second man asked.

“Yes, I am just trying to get a room, but your good man here seems unable to answer any of my questions.”

“Forgive him, sir. I am Albert Simms, the manager of the Duncan Plaza. How may I be of help?”

“I would like to know if the presidential suite is available.”

Albert looked disturbed.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, sir. May I suggest the Pine Grove motel? It is just a few blocks down….”

“Albert Simms, is it?” Nate asked, exhausted. The man nodded. “Why do you seem unsettled at the idea of letting me stay here?”

“It is just that…” Albert leaned in. “The Duncan Plaza is a five-star establishment and well, do not take this the wrong way but you are not the kind of clientele this place serves.”

Nate raised an eyebrow over the other.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He could feel his blood boiling. “Black people?”

Albert shook his head.

“No, sir…this has nothing to do with race. It is just that…. You present a certain….” His voice trailed off and Nate looked at his face contorted as he tried to get the right words without sounding like a complete racist fool.

“A certain… what, Mr. Simms? What exactly do I present?” Nate pressed.

“A certain… culture.”

Nate looked at the victory written all over the man’s face. He had managed to say something without sounding like the racist fool Nate knew he was.

“You do know that the Duncan Plaza is owned by people like me, right? People who present a certain culture as you put it.”

Albert nodded.

“I know and I understand….” He started but Nate no longer had the patience to hear anything he had to say.

“Look, perhaps I should have started with my name. I’m Nathaniel Duncan Junior.”

The color drained from Albert Simms face.

“Now, if the presidential suite is available, I would very much like to have a shower and get some rest.”

“Y… yes sir.”

“And have the room service bring me a fillet mignon with garlic herb butter and a side of massed potatoes in two hours,” Nate added as he grabbed his room key and made his way to the elevator. He did not care if Albert Simms had anything to say to him. He had stomached all he could from him for one day.