the habit of being

On the way to Atlanta we played the Cowboy Junkies/Marti Jones mixed tape. I’m pretty sure we listened to the whole thing twice. One and a half times at least.

“Ruby” by Marti Jones is the most beautiful song. Once I put the phone next to my speaker so James could hear it when he called me. I don’t normally do that kind of thing. I had a friend in middle school who did that all the time when I called her. Usually I’d wind up listening to tapes of her singing. Not that she’s not a good singer, but still, it annoyed me to no end. James said “Ruby” was pretty, I think.

The woman who checked us in to the Ritz Carlton, Buckhead had such an amazing voice. She was certainly not from around here. I’d have paid her to read me a good book.

When children of the North had the misfortune of being forced to move to Statesboro in their elementary school years, they were further tortured by their new little Southern schoolmates like me making them say words over and over again. Words like “ten” and “pecan.” It would just crack us up.

After we took our bags up to our room on the fifteenth floor, Mom tried to sneak into the maid’s closet to steal Ritz Carlton toiletries. She heard a noise and we went running down the hall to the elevators. I doubt the maid would have done anything to us if she’d caught us. For $200 a night we should get all the Ritz-y toothbrushes we want.

Back downstairs we took two devilishly comfortable chairs in the Lobby Lounge. Mom ordered a martini and I got some fresh fruit juice. I’m not sure what kind of fruit it was, probably a combination of flavors, but it sure was good. There were spiced-up green olives and many kinds of nuts and little cheesy crackers in a silver three-bowls-stuck-together-with-a-Ritz-lion-pick-up-thing on the table. If one spun the …thing clockwise nothing happened, but if one tried spinning it in the opposite direction a noise similar to that of fingernails scratching a chalkboard resulted. I asked if we could take the …thing, but Mom said they’d charge us for it. Damn. I took the plastic thing mom’s martini olives were speared on though. It’s still in my purse.

There were lots of women in that lobby with full-length fur coats on. People were smoking cigars and laughing. It was dimly lit. I saw the diamond solitaire necklace from that DeBeer’s commercial. I love that commercial. Dah-nana-nah, nah-nana-nah. The woman wearing it had a fur coat and a short black skirt covered with sequins and very blonde hair. I wonder if my step-father’s annual income would be enough to buy her outfit.

Something about that room made me very depressed. I was practically crying. Mom wanted to chat. I felt like I was ruining her trip. We decided to see a movie.

We’d gotten an Atlanta Journal from the concierge earlier. It took two whole pages to list all the movie theatres and their showtimes. The movie Mom wanted to see, “The End of the Affair”, wasn’t playing anywhere. It was 9:45. At Phipp’s Plaza, which is right across the street from the Ritz, “The Cider House Rules” was playing at 10:15 and “The Talented Mr. Ripley” was playing at 10:30. We’d see one of those.

I was wearing a short black skirt with nothing on my legs. It was freezing outside. My teeth were chattering very loudly within seconds of stepping out the door.

“The Cider House Rules” was sold out. “The Talented Mr. Ripley” was excellent. It was after 1 when we got back to our hotel room.

I was awakened the next morning by Mom saying we were going shopping in 45 minutes and I should get up and try one of the croissants. I dragged myself out of bed, downed a croissant in record time and got back in bed. Yawn. I soon dragged myself out of bed again and took a shower. The complimentary shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were all good. Mom called for our car.

The Lenox Square Mall is right across the street from the Ritz too, but not quite as close as Phipp’s. We got there around 9:30, I think. Shop, shop, shop. I think Mom spent the whole time we were there in Neiman Marcus. I went just about everywhere. I bought a couple CDs and a bracelet. I tried on the Perfect Shirt at Betsey Johnson. It was brown and plain. It looked great on me. It was $74. I didn’t buy it. Alas.

Mom insisted I was “very late” getting back to out meeting spot. Neither of us had watches.

We went back to the hotel, packed up our stuff, and checked out. I didn’t keep a key. I already have one. It was my second stay at the Ritz. We checked our bags and walked over to Phipp’s again. I was wearing a skirt and no tights again. It was cold again. My teeth chattered again.

I bought two pairs of tights at Sak’s Fifth Avenue.

We went to the 1:45 showing of “The Cider House Rules.” It was touching. I cried. Long movie. It was 4 by the time we got back over to the hotel to get our bags.

We were late getting back to Marshallville. When we got there, Ray and Wayne joined us for the ride home. I was stuck in the back seat with no way to stretch out my legs. My knees are bad. They make noises. No leg room is a horrible thing.