The Fabulous Adonis Hour

Note: Wonderful Adonis, do not stab me if I misquote you. I am, in fact, a ninja.

In the early hours of the Seattle morning, I venture down the flight of stairs and immediately notice in place of the concierge before, there instead was a lanky black man with the most interesting puff of hair protruding off his curly hair. In a plain white shirt, fitted with a sleek leather belt and jeans, he turns around with the smoothness of a ballet dancer and flashes me a smile.

“Good evening,” He says with a light ring to his tone. Evening. Working late? “I am indeed.” I introduce myself. Amos from British Columbia, how do you do? “I do very well. Adonis.” Adonis? “Adonis, sweetie, yes.”

You’ll likely see me descending back and forth the stairs due to insomnia. “That I might. Are you staying at the hotel?” I am indeed, yes. “Let me know if you need anything.” Absolutely and the same to you, Adonis. That’s an interesting name. “Well,” He says, fingertips pressed over his chest, perhaps to keep his heart from skipping a beat; eyes fluttering slightly, met with a grin. “I’d like to think I’m interesting.”

You meet all sorts of interesting people at night. “That’s true.” He says softly, giggling. “What brings you to Seattle?” I explain my little quest, about the people I try to find, mostly to meet the other lifestyle groups and such. “That’s very interesting!” He remarks, the smile seemingly a permanent expression, the kind that makes you smile in return. What do you identify as, Adonis? “Baby, I identify as…simply Adonis, the fabulous Adonis hour.”

So what’s it like out here, fabulous Adonis? “Quiet for one,” Adonis trails off, glancing at his slender nails momentarily. “Though you meet insomniac Canadian gentlemen from the north.” Immediately he laughs, body twirling as he places his hands on the counter. “You never know who you’ll meet when you travel, right?” Right.Though I’d like to think of myself as a gentleman, who talks the talk and walks the walk. “Oh my,” Adonis ducks behind the counter, looking about shiftily. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

Where are you originally from? “Virginia.” Really? I may be passing by there after I hit the South. How safe is it for minorities in the South? “I wouldn’t know but I’ve never been a Southern kind of guy (gal? sic). What do you do for a living?” For now, I’m what you might call a bit of a vagrant though I do want to become a PI. “Oh my!” Adonis ducks behind the counter again. He takes the phone, pretending to dial a few numbers, “We have a gentleman from Canada who may be stalking our guests. Let’s see here…He’s staying in this room, his name is Amos and he’s up to no good!”

Heh, I’m always up to no good, Adonis. “Naughty, naughty!” He says hanging up the phone. Naughty is nice though. “With sugar and spice?” With sugar and spice, I agree. “So how long are you staying in Seattle for?” For as long as I feel like, maybe a week or so. Resources are limited. “Ah,” Adonis says with the same addictive grin. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you then.” He half-ducks behind the counter, snickering, “Can’t let your guard down around Canadians. They might annex us!”

I’m curious, Adonis, what’s the few on the LGBT community here? “Well,” He pauses for a moment, pressing his index against his cheek, appearing to be in thought. “There is the Center for Positive Sexuality.” What’s that? “Somewhere up the north of the city.” The Center for what? “Positive Sexuality, I think? I don’t really care much for the club scene.” Not your cup of tea I take it? “Not my blend of coffee.” Do excuse me, I must work on my vices, I gesture a smoke. What are the bylaws here? “28 feet away from the door.” 28 feet? That’s insane. “I know, I know.”

Next door to the hotel is a quiet saloon, open late, and after peering inside I enter. It’s a Monday night which meant the patrons were more or less one or two. They don’t have bourbon or whiskey in the saloon, only glasses of smokey wine and plum-flavored sherry. I chase the glass with the complimentary coke bottles, studying the numerous street stickers plastering the mirrors. Apparently the saloon owners have a good taste in tongue-in-cheek humor and lean somewhat towards the geek/counter culture.

Coincidentally I run into a fellow smoker outside the saloon, a Filipino man, who also works at the concierge of the hotel. After introductions, he provides more hearsay about my future destinations. “Stay out of LA. I lived there for about three years, the place has gone to shit. Even the locals hate it there.” What? Hollywood West? “No, everywhere. Lock your hotel doors if you’re planning to stay but I advise against it.”

What about the South? “What about it?” He asks rhetorically. “I had a friend who grew up there, Asian descent, and mind you this was back in the 70’s and 80’s. He moved out in the past decade but he said that in some areas, there’s still segregation.” That’s impossible, isn’t that against the law? “No, it is, I mean there’s some areas where if you so much as set foot in there, you’ll wind up getting beat.” Even a Canadian? “Well…” He chuckles. “I wouldn’t know but just be careful out there, man.”

I return to the hotel. Adonis briefly stalls in unlocking the front doors, smirking at me as I go by. “Did you enjoy the smoke?” I did. All quiet on the Western front? He nods, “All quiet until you came along.” Adonis lurches forward then retracts, grinning the whole time. “Goodnight.”


Next Update: Wherein yours truly comes close to trading sexual favors for a hotel package, Adonis not being to blame in this instance.

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