Douglas Evans - The Elevator Family

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To my mother and father

T he doors slid open. The four Wilsons stepped into the little room. They dropped their suitcases and backpacks on the floor.

Splendid! A gem of a place, said Walter Wilson. The kind woman at the front desk said the hotel is full, but here's this first-rate room. And it appears to be vacant. He pulled out his suspenders with his thumbs and snapped them on his broad chest. Only the best for this family. Nothing less will do.

Winona Wilson, Walter's wife, turned a complete circle. A full-length mirror, a telephone, wall-to-wall carpeting. And listen. Soft marimba music floated down from the ceiling. How lovely!

And look at all those buttons! said Winslow Wilson, age ten. He pressed one button marked Close, and the doors slid shut. Fantabulous!

The little room vibrated slightly. A highpitched hum came from overhead. We're moving, said Winslow's twin sister, Whitney. We're gliding upward. I wonder where we're going.

Walter crossed his fingers over his sizable belly. A mobile room with all these extras, he said. I say we take this fine room for our vacation. I say we move right in.

Hear! Hear! said the others.

The doors slid open. In the hallway stood an elderly couple holding suitcases. They remained still and mute while the four Wilsons waved to them.

Greetings, fellow travelers, Walter called out.

I'm so sorry, said Winona. We just decided to take this room.

But I think the room next door is vacant, said Winslow.

It was on the first floor, but it might have moved by now, said Whitney.

The doors shut and the room started to drop. It opened again in the hotel's vast marble lobby. In the doorway stood a teenage boy wearing a wrinkled red jacket and a white shirt buttoned too tightly around his neck. Behind him stood two trunks.

Splendid, young man, said Walter. I wondered where you went. Wheel those trunks right in here. We'll take this room for three nights if it's available.

The teenager pushed the trunks forward. His black bow tie bobbed up and down on his Adam's apple as he spoke. Sir? You want this room, sir? I don't understand, sir.

The room needs a few itemsbed linen and towels and whatnot, said Winona. But it's small and cozy, just the way we like it. We're a close-knit family.

This room's about the size of the van we drove to Alaska last summer, said Winslow. Two thousand miles one month together.

Whitney leaned against a trunk. And last Christmas we stayed in a small fishing hut on the ice in Minnesota, she said. I just hope Winslow keeps his socks clean this time.

The teenager raked his fingers through his hair. Well, I'm only a bellhop. I don't make the rules around here.

But tell us your name, young man, Walter said.

Gavin, sir.

Well, Gavin, said Walter, you've given us excellent service. Stop in anytime. Guests are always welcome in our home.

Gavin shrugged. Whatever, he said. I've seen stranger things in this hotel, that's for sure.

One more thing, Winona called as the bellhop started to leave. Could you tell us the number of our mobile room?

The teenager shrugged again. I'm not sure, ma'am.

Winslow pointed to the button panel next to the doors. Look at that tag, he said.

Our room doesn't have a number, said Whitney It has a name.

Otis!' the four Wilsons read together. The doors slid shut, and the little room started moving again.

T he little room traveled upward. It went down, and it shot up again.

First things first, said Winona. We must put Otis in order.

Walter rolled up his shirtsleeves and rubbed his palms together. Come on, everyone, he said. Help me with the trunks.

Together the Wilsons tipped the trunks on their sides and pushed them against the walls. The leather lids would serve as comfortable beds.

The doors opened on the tenth floor. The family looked down a hallway with red roses adorning the wallpaper.

How lovely, said Winona. At every stop our room gives us a different view.

By the doorway Winslow spotted a small round table. Ignoring the stare of the tall man in a tuxedo standing there, he grabbed the piece of furniture. He pulled it into the room before the doors closed again.

Otis rose to the fourteenth floor. There Whitney found two folding chairs. Just what we need, she said, and claimed them as well.

On the twenty-first floor Winona discovered a cart stacked with towels and sheets. I don't think the maid would mind if we made up our own beds today, she said. She grabbed some sheets, towels, and little bars of soap and raced back into the room before the doors slid shut.

As a final touch, Walter unzipped a suitcase and pulled out a framed sampler. Stitched by Whitney and Winslow before they could spell very well, the sampler displayed the words Home Sweat Home. With a thumbtack, Walter proudly hung it on the wall.

A family tradition, he announced. Home Sweat Home' hangs wherever the Wilsons stay. Only the best for our family. Nothing less will do.

By the time the doors opened on the top floor of the hotel, Otis looked homey and complete. Walter was leaning back in a chair, doing a crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Winona sat in the other chair, sketching the twins in her sketchbook, while Whitney and Winslow were sprawled on the trunk-beds, reading paperback books.

After the little room took several more trips up and down, Walter snapped his newspaper and said, Lunchtime. Let's call room service to deliver our meal.

Winona studied the button panel. The bottom button is marked L, she said. Perhaps that stands for lunch. She pressed the button with her thumb and the little room dropped.

The doors opened in the hotel lobby. Gavin stood in the doorway with a food trolley by his side.

Excellent service, young man, said Walter. Lunch is waiting for us, right on the button. Wheel that cart on in here. We will be eating lunch in our room today.

But, sir, I was taking this food up to the seventh floor, said the bellhop.