Chapter 67: Runaway Vacation

Wednesday, December 29, 1982

Angie and Paige turned up on time, and not looking like they’d rushed through the shower, either.

“Hi!” Paige said. “How are the two lovebirds?”

“Good!” Jasmine said. “How are the other two lovebirds?”

Both Paige and Ang blushed a bit.

“Um ... good!” Paige said.

“Definitely good,” Ang said.

“Well ... good,” I said. All three of them gave me a slight glare, which I was fairly sure was playful.

Fairly.

“I vote going out for breakfast,” Ang said. “Anything.”

“Second!” Jasmine said.

“Let’s check with the concierge. They’ll have recommendations,” I said.

Everyone nodded, and we headed down. We were chatting with the concierge when we were interrupted by a white-haired woman who looked to be in her late sixties, accompanied by a man who was likely her husband.

“Young man! Young man!” she said, in that particular tone people use with teenagers, as if we were essentially tall toddlers.

“Yes, Ma’am?” I said.

Her gaze swept across the four of us.

“I have seen you before. Several times. Where are your parents? I would like to know!”

I glanced around the group. Obviously, I was going to answer truthfully, but I think we could all see it going sideways.

“In Houston, Ma’am? I would expect so, anyway.”

“In Houston?! Why aren’t they here?”

The odds of going sideways were rapidly escalating.

“My dad doesn’t have a holiday today, and my mom would be unlikely to be out of town with him working.”

She frowned. “And they just let you go all the way to San Antonio? On your own?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She focused on Jasmine. “And your parents, young lady?”

“Also in Houston, Ma’am.”

She harrumphed. “I don’t know that I believe any of this! What about yours?” she said, looking at Paige. “And yours?” with a look towards Angie.

“Houston as well, Ma’am,” Paige said. She was fighting not to laugh, which was good, but she was too obvious about it.

“And mine are, too,” Angie said. “They’re the same as his,” she said, nodding to me, “so, of course they are.”

“I want to speak to them! At once! I think you may be ... runaways, or something!”

The odds that runaways would hole up in a Hilton seemed incredibly unlikely, but ... perhaps.

“I can try to phone,” I said, “but I don’t know if Mom will be home.”

The others echoed that. Paige’s mom was a stay-at-home mom, like ours, but that didn’t mean she didn’t go out, and Camille was an interior designer and that definitely meant going out.

“Forget it! You’ll just dial some other number and claim they’re ‘not home.’” Yes, she made finger quotes.

Paige, bless her heart, decided to escalate the situation. I’m sure she just wasn’t thinking, but it was probably a tactical error.

“I’m not at all sure why this is any business of yours, Ma’am,” she said. “We’re not your family, and we’re not hurting anyone.”

“Well, I never!” the woman said, harrumphing again. “Sidney! Did you hear that? There are news reports all the time about runaways doing awful things, young lady, and I think that’s what you all are!”

“Ma’am,” I said, “We are not runaways. We have permission from our parents to be here, and we’ve done nothing against the law nor anything else.”

“We will just see about that!” she said.

I turned to the concierge, who was looking pretty unsure of things. Unusual for a concierge, but this can’t be a common situation. He handed me a piece of paper. “Here are some breakfast choices, Sir. Any of them are highly recommended. I noted my personal favorites.”

“Thank you,” I said. Then I turned to the woman. “Ma’am, I’m afraid we’re all hungry and want to go get some breakfast. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, but we do have to go. I will assure you again that we aren’t any sort of runaway or the like.”

She huffed a bit. “Fine! But this is not over!”

We headed for the garage. I looked back to see her in a heated conversation with the concierge. Most likely this really wasn’t over, but at least it was over for now. The concierge didn’t know our name, and I had to hope that the desk clerks would respect our privacy. That said, she could certainly cause trouble, if she was so inclined.

Everyone was quiet on the way to the car, but once we got in, Angie erupted. “The nerve of that woman!”

Jasmine joined in. “Seriously! She needs to butt out!”

Paige said, “It’s none of her business! We’re not doing anything wrong at all!”

Of course, I was the voice of reason, though that was muted by my own irritation. “I’m sure her heart is in the right place, but...”

The looks I got suggested three whaps might be incoming.

“Hey! I’m not defending her, just her heart. That was uncalled for, and she does need to butt out. Unfortunately, I’m not sure she will.”

Jas frowned. “And do what, then?”

“Keep an eye out for us. Maybe get the hotel to do so. We are... unusual ... guests. Don’t worry — if things get too crazy, all that’ll happen is that American Express will find us a place to stay and we’ll likely wind up getting some or all of it free. But it’s a hassle.”

“It sucks!” Paige said. “And not in the good way that I approve of, either!”

Angie giggled at that and gave Paige a slight whap. It was nice to know that they weren’t always aimed at guys.

I got us out of the garage and headed for the recommended diner on the concierge’s list. It turned out to be a classic: old, grungy, with great food (and lots of it!) and cheap prices. All four of us really enjoyed it, and it put the morning’s craziness behind us.

After breakfast, we headed back to the hotel, parked, and walked to the San Antonio Museum of Art, conveniently located along the Riverwalk. We all would’ve loved to ride their streetcar, but the timing just didn’t work for going there, with it only making two runs a day. We’d have to see if it would work the other way.

The Museum’s collection leaned towards Latin American and Asian art as well as an interesting contemporary collection, including works from several well-known Texas artists. It also had a very interesting Middle East antiquities collection. Of course, there was the usual European art as well, and earlier American art, but it was a more eclectic collection than I’d been expecting. I’d never made it here my first go-round.

Angie played tour guide and played it well, keeping us moving and making sure we all actually learned something. She also made sure we had fun doing it. I didn’t really see art as a professional focus for her, but perhaps in fifty years, or whenever we retired, she might become a docent or the like. It was clearly an interest, just not a likely vocation.

Paige and Angie nearly acted like a couple, which amused me. It was just muted enough that no one could reasonably take offense: no kissing, for instance, but plenty of holding hands. It was good to see her like this, and I hoped it’d last. It’s not that she hadn’t been happy around Gene, but this felt like ... more. Better.

We wrapped up our visit in the late afternoon, timing it so that we could ride the streetcar. An enjoyable ride later, we wound up near enough to the Hemisfair area to make the Tower of the Americas a pleasant stroll. I’d made reservations at the Chart House (of course!) and we had little trouble getting seated, though — unlike Dallas — I needed to slip the maitre d’ a couple of bills to ensure a great view. Angie caught it, and winked. The others didn’t (or pretended not to, but I didn’t think they had).

The view was well worth it, in my opinion. I’d still say that San Antonio itself is really not all that scenic, but it’s scenic enough to make the view from the Tower worth it.

Both Paige and Jasmine were slightly taken aback at the menu.

“This is ... pricey!” Paige said.

Jasmine nodded. “It is. I mean, it’s not a lot more than Brennerman’s, but...”

“Since we invited you on these dates,” I said, “it seems right that we pay for one of them.” We’d been doing most of the trip Dutch (though not the hotel rooms).

“We can’t...” Jas said.

“We shouldn’t...” Paige said.

“Nonsense!” Angie said. “I’ve got a really nice allowance and savings, thanks to Daddy Frank. We’re careful with our money most of the time, and we can easily afford this. And, we want to.”

“Well ... okay...” Paige said.

Jas smiled. “I’m easier to convince since we’ve been dating much longer.”

I glanced around and noticed one woman who might have been slightly nonplussed at the conversation. She didn’t look upset, exactly, but I was pretty sure she’d picked up on Ang and Paige dating. Not hard to figure out, with the context being two couples dating, and there being only one guy.

I gave her a little nod when she spotted me watching her, and she blushed and looked away. Curiosity, most likely, not more, or worse.

Paige and Jas took our comments to heart and ordered things that seemed reasonable. Not the cheapest thing on the menu, nor the most expensive. Neither of us ordered at those ends, either.

Jas did wistfully suggest that a bottle of wine would be perfect. I agreed wholeheartedly, but we all knew that would be a terrible idea. All I could do was promise we’d indulge soon enough. That turned out to be a thought worthy of a kiss.

We lingered just a bit over dessert (a shared piece of cheesecake and a shared brownie sundae) and then walked back to the hotel in the cool darkness. The streets were well lit, and I was pretty sure that the three ‘helpless’ girls with me were all armed for bear. That, and one of them, plus me, were no easy targets. I didn’t wish for trouble, but if trouble found us, we were prepared.

Of course, there are different kinds of trouble. As we neared the hotel, Paige said, “What do we do if that nasty old bitch is still around? Maybe we should go in a different door?”

Ang shook her head. “Nah. If we act sneaky it’ll look sneaky. That can’t help us.”

“Oh, fooey! Fine, that makes sense. I’ll give her a piece of my...”

“Nah,” I said. “Kill ‘em with kindness. The more reasonable we look, the less reasonable she looks.”

We headed into the lobby and didn’t see anything. I was beginning to think we’d lucked out when I heard, “There! There they are! Over there! You! Young man! Young ladies! Do not get in that elevator!”