“We’ve come too far to blow it now. You’ve never been here before and never seen this man before.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath.
She stood on the bricked entryway while Mr. Sanderson went inside and J.T. helped load the luggage on a cart.
The old man nearly dropped two bags when he saw Aria.
She smacked gum out of the side of her mouth. “Seen a ghost, honey?” she asked the old man. He just stood and gaped so Aria leaned over and pulled her skirt halfway up her thigh and adjusted her nylons. The man was still staring. “Seen all you want?” she said rather nastily.
J.T. grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the hotel. “You’re going to lower America’s reputation into the gutter. Use a little subtlety.”
“Sure, ducky,” she answered. “Anything you say, sugar.”
J.T. gave her a warning look.
The inside of the hotel looked like a Russian czar’s hunting lodge: log ceiling, plaster walls, big pine furniture scattered about. Above the desk was a flag of Lanconia: a red ground with a stag, a goat, and a bunch of grapes on it.
“Quaint,” J.T. said under his breath. “Do they have bathrooms in this joint?”
“Remember America’s reputation,” she reminded him.
While J.T. signed the register, the hotel clerk looked up and did a double-take on Aria. He stared at her until she winked at him. He looked down at the book.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant Montgomery, I must get something,” the clerk said, and disappeared through a door behind the desk.
J.T. looked questioningly to Mr. Sanderson, who shrugged.
The clerk reappeared with what looked to be his entire family: a fat wife and two plump teenage girls. They all stood and stared at Aria.
Aria walked to the desk. “You got any postcards in this burg? Nobody back home will believe this place is for real.”
No one moved; they just stared at Aria.
She leaned across the desk and into the manager’s face. “What’s the matter with you people?” she asked belligerently. “How come ever’body’s starin’ at me? You people don’t like Americans? We’re not good enough for you? You think—”
J.T. caught her arm and pulled her back. “Kathy, be quiet.”
The manager began to recover himself. “Pardon our rudeness. We did not mean to stare. It’s just that you look like our crown princess.”
Aria’s jaw dropped down. “You hear that, honey?” she said, punching J.T. in the ribs. “They think I look like a princess.”
The manager’s fat wife reached under the desk and withdrew a postcard and held it at arm’s length to Aria.
She took it and studied the official photo
graph of Her Royal Highness, Princess Aria. Aria’s face showed her disappointment. “Nice rocks but I’ve seen better-lookin’ women. In fact Ellie down at the diner is better-lookin’, ain’t she, honey? Hey! Wait a minute! You sayin’ I look like this stuck-up blueblood? I’ll have you know I was Miss Submarine Romance of 1941. I was voted, by two hundred and sixteen sailors, mind you, the girl they most wanted to submerge with.” She looked up at J.T. “I don’t look like her, do I, honey? She looks like somethin’ out of a silent movie.”
He put his arm around her, took the postcard, and angrily slapped it on the desk as he glared at the clerk and his family. “My wife is much prettier than that woman. Come on, honey, we’ll go upstairs and you can rest and try to forget about this insult.” He led her away with her head buried in his chest.
When they reached the room, the three didn’t speak until the bellboy had left.
Mr. Sanderson looked at Aria in amazement.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Montgomery, you are the most obnoxious American I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
She snapped her gum, grinned, and winked at him at the same time. “Thanks, toots.”
Chapter Fourteen