Page 60 of Street of Dreams
The 747 soared toward the Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport while the brilliant city lights shined from below. Mac looked out the window with a wide smile as he approached the Big Easy, known for its round-the-clock nightlife and vibrant live music. An excited laugh fell from his mouth as the plane bounced a few times and then sailed down the tarmac.
It was his first plane ride, and he felt like a kid at an amusement park. The first-class seat felt as if he were sitting in his recliner at home, while the peasants in the back sat in coach. During the two-and-a-half-hour flight, he touched every button on the video screen in front of him and ate airline food as if it were a restaurant-quality meal. He only wished there were someone sharing the flight with him, instead of annoying the person next to him with excited chitchat.
With his Gibson tucked safely in its case, he weaved through the crowded terminal and jogged down the escalator steps ready to fulfill his dreams. When he reached the bottom, he stopped to scan the row of uniformed drivers for his name on one of the signs they held. “Reid Mackenzie,” he read aloud, disbelief making it sound like a question.
The driver stepped forward, nodded a greeting, and accompanied Mac to baggage claim.
“I can get it,” he said, when the driver reached for his suitcase from the turnstile.
“It’s my job, sir,” the driver replied, then escorted Mac to a long black limousine.
Mac opened the sunroof and helped himself to a scotch, reveling in the car’s amenities. A few minutes later, the limo pulled up to the Ritz Carlton. “Holy shit,” he murmured.
The lobby was pure elegance, with marble floors and polished décor. A white-gloved bellman brought him to his room, which was a suite. A fucking suite! He immediately sat on the end of the bed and bounced up and down, laughing like an idiot.
The stone-faced bellman stood in the doorway with his hands folded in front of him, waiting for a tip.
“Sorry,” Mac said, sheepishly. “It’s my first time outside of Chicago.” He handed the man a five-dollar bill and hoped it was enough. After he locked the hotel room door, out of pure habit, he inspected the room more closely and found a bottle of champagne on ice at the bar accompanied by a platter of fruit and exotic cheeses. There was a notecard along with it that read,Welcome to the tour. See you tonight. The guys from The Third Rail – Johnny, Seth, Christian and Kevin.“Ooooh shit!” He lifted the bottle from the ice bucket. Cristal. This shit was surreal.
He took out his phone and immediately called Skylar on Facetime. “Look at my room!” He pressed the button that flipped the camera around and scanned his surroundings, showing her all of the luxurious details.
“Oh my God! I’d kill for that room!” She sounded as excited as he was. “Let me see the menu. We can order room service.”
It took a minute to find the menu because it was housed inside a black leather book, and he slowly scanned each page with the phone’s camera so Skylar could read it. “I’m ordering the pork chops,” he said. “What do you want?”
“Go back to the section with the burgers.”
“Burgers? This is the Ritz Carlton. You’re not eating a burger. Get a steak.”
“OK. I’ll have the porterhouse.”
“What about sides?” He scanned the accompaniments. “Garlic smashed potatoes look good.”
“You can’t have garlic. You’re meeting The Third Rail tonight.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll have the risotto.”
“Fancy,” she teased. “I guess you really did hit the big time.”
“Is it weird that I’ve never had risotto?” he pondered.
“It would be weird if youdidhave risotto. Get the asparagus with shaved truffles, too.”
“What the hell is a truffle?”
“A fancy mushroom, I think,” she replied. “I don’t know. Whenever they use it on the Food Network, they claim it elevates the dish.”
He flipped to the desserts. “We gotta get the red velvet cake.”
“Now you’re talking my language. And get a piece of the carrot too. We’ll share.”
“When don’t we?”
She laughed, long and giddy, and he joined her. They both knew he wasn’t ordering any of it, but pretending they were going to share an elaborate expensive meal made him enjoy this experience as if she were. “I wish you were here with me.”
“Me too.
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you, Sky.”
