Hotel Maurice

This is my imitation of Hemingway's writing style. Please, tell me what you think!

Hôtel Meurice

Two large, yellow machines made to cut down trees were in the park across from the hotel. The construction would begin as soon as barriers had been put up to ensure safety. It had stopped snowing for over an hour now. Inside of the hotel barroom, sat a woman. She looked back and forth from her wristwatch to the large windows that lined the front of the hotel.  She stared at the four workers in front of the hotel shoveling snow from the sidewalk. No one had expected snow. It hadn’t snowed there for a long time. Along the pathway, the American gentleman that she was there with spoke to one of the two bellhops standing at the grand entrance. He was taller than most men. He was slender, but still muscular. Very fit for someone in his mid-fifties. He was also noticeably handsome. His French was commendable, almost native and he spoke it with confidence. When he was through talking, he slipped the pudgy little bellhop €20 and made his way back towards the hotel.  She rose to her feet, trying to catch the American gentleman’s attention. Along the pathway, a tall, slender girl draped in a blood-red coat made her way under the hotel canopy to the grand entrance. Grinning at her, the American gentleman held open the door.  The hotel, which was always busy during this season, was understandably noisy, and so she focused intently on trying to read their lips as they spoke.

‘Madame,’ he said smiling at her. ‘what a beautiful red coat.’

‘Merci beaucoup,’ she looked up, doe-eyed. 

She was young, in her early twenties, the woman at the bar guessed to herself.

‘Merry Christmas,’ the American gentleman said, bowing to the young woman.

‘Joyeux Noël. Merry Christmas.’ She was blushing. Slowly, she walked off to the concierge desk located in the middle of the lobby, turning back to make eye-contact with the American gentleman as subtly as she could.

Across the lobby on the platform that supported the main bar of the hotel the woman stood, waiting for him to look away from the girl in the red coat. When he did, she raised her hand signaling for him to come over. His eyes caught her elegant figure wrapped in a form-fitting, knee-length ivory dress. He made his way across the white marble floors of the lobby into the bar. 

‘Darling, I thought you were waiting in the room.’

‘There’s no point. We only have 15 minutes until checkout,’ she said with a thick French accent.

‘Very well then.’ 

He looked across looked across the bar, signaling to the female bartender that they were ready to order.

‘Mademoiselle, Je veux un scotch.’

He turned to the woman. ‘Would you like anything to drink?’

‘Isn’t it a bit early for scotch?’ She asked.

It’s never too early for scotch,’ he answered. ‘Would you like anything?’

‘A cappuccino.’

‘Je veux un cappuccino,’ the woman said, said slightly raising her hand to the bartender.

‘Un scotch et un cappuccino,’ the bartender confirmed without glancing at the woman, her eyes fixated on the well-dressed American man.

He gave her a quick nod.

‘What time is your flight?’ The woman asked.

‘3 o’clock.’

‘What time should you be home?’

‘Around 11 o’clock tonight if all goes well.’

‘And if all doesn’t go well? You’ll stay here for Christmas.’

‘Why wouldn’t all go well?’

‘The weather reporter said there may be a…’ She paused to look down as she searched for the English word. ‘Tempête de neige,’ she said finally giving up.

‘A snowstorm,’ the American man said.

‘Yes, a snowstorm.’ She said.

‘Don’t even say that, I would never be forgiven if I didn’t make it back in time.’ 

‘We wouldn’t want anyone to be upset,’ the woman said.

‘Is that supposed to mean something more?’

‘Nothing more.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. It doesn’t matter anyway.’

‘What doesn’t matter?’

‘What I meant.’

‘Of course it does dear, why wouldn’t it?’

All that matters is not missing any flights, and getting back at the appointed time, and never missing any calls, and not upsetting anyone, right?’ 

‘You know that you matter to me more than anything.’

The bartender placed the cappuccino in front of the woman with a saucer underneath it. She placed the glass of scotch by the American man’s hand, on top of a white napkin with golden words that read in cursive: “Bienvenue au Hôtel Meurice!” He looked at the bartender who was still admiring him. 

‘Merci,’ the woman said as she waved her away.

The American man handed her €50 before she could walk away and offered her a charming wink before he turned his attention back to the woman. He took a sip of his drink. 

‘How many times do I have to tell you how much I love you,’ He asked.

‘I would rather you show it.’

‘Don’t I show it?’

‘Barely.’

‘I’m here aren’t I?’

‘Only for business.’

‘Why do you think I choose to do most of my business here?’

‘So why don’t you stay?’ She asked.

‘You know I can’t stay’

‘You mean you won’t stay’

‘I mean I can’t stay.’

The man waited for her to say something. 

‘Don’t look so sad, it breaks my heart,’ 

‘Your heart?’ the woman replied.

‘I need you to be patient. The time will come when I’m all yours. These transitions just take time.’

‘Not this much time.’ 

‘You know it’s not that simple, I have other priorities.’

‘I thought nothing mattered more than me.’

He opened his mouth to reply when the pudgy bellboy from the hotel entrance approached him. 

‘Monsieur your cab is here, he said.’

‘Thank you,’ he said with a bright smile as he slipped the bellboy another generous tip. 

‘Will you handle checkout for me while I speak to the cab driver?’ he asked her.

‘Yes.’

‘Meet me outside when you’re through.’

The woman began to make her way across the lobby. She stood at the desk waiting for service. On the counter, was a small stand of laminated flyers. She took one up to read the words printed on it: “GRAND OPENING: Hôtel Meurice Outlet Mall, COMING SOON!” 

‘Excuse me monsieur,’ she said to the man at the desk. ‘Where are they building this?’

‘They’re tearing down the trees in the park across the street to build it, Mademoiselle,’ he replied.

‘I see.’

When she was finished checking out, she walked to the front entrance of the hotel to meet the American man. She gazed up at the empty trees in the park across the street, noticing that the trees were vacant. It occurred to her that at times like this, during the winter, she would be some northern province like Normandy or Picardy and he would be a bird migrating to the south without a word, and returning whenever he saw fit. Or that if they were a beach, then she would be the shoreline and he would be the tide drifting back into the ocean, only to return again, but never for good. Catching sight of her, he walked over and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her in and taking her attention from the trees on the other side of the road. She looked at him, her head tilted.

‘The white doves that I love so much have already headed south.’ She said.

‘What white doves?’

‘The ones that are always in those trees across the street,’ she pointed to show him.

‘They’ll come back soon,’ He said. ‘They always do when the time is right.’

He leaned down to kiss her forehead.

‘I’ll see you after the holidays, darling,’ he whispered as he ducked into the cab, slamming the door behind him. The cab drove off.

She looked up to the trees once again. ‘They always do when the time is right,’ she repeated to herself. But what a shame when they return, there will be nothing here.’

Author's Note

What do you think of my story-telling? I know that it needs a lot of work and it's not my normal way of writing. Again, it's a Hemingway Imitation. Thanks.