A Day At The Hotel Passionella

Chapter One

Breakfast on the Terrace

It was breakfast time at the Hotel Passionella. Jenny and Lola, the Spanish lesbians, sat in the early morning sunshine enjoying their coffee and giggling over the antics of Leonard/Leonora, the bearded cross-dresser.

The Duchess sipped her third glass of Cava, and gazed out over the hotel gardens to the shimmering blue sea beyond. She was blissfully unaware of the seagull, hovering on the folded parasol, eyeing her bread roll. Swoop - crash - clatter announced its airborne assault. Demolishing the contents of the table it flew off to devour its prey to the amusement of the nearby guests and the bewilderment of the Duchess who rose gently and floated off to replenish her now emptied glass.

****

Leonard/Leonora sat quietly, his manicured and nail varnished hands in his lap. He wondered why everyone seemed to be looking at him. Hadn’t they ever seen a man dressed in women’s clothes before?

Fitzroy was doing battle with the toaster. ‘Better out than in,’ he said farting loudly to the horror and disbelief of his fellow breakfast gatherers.

Never one to be overly embarrassed Leonard/Leonora’s wife handed him a tissue saying quietly, ‘My Father always said that a fart was an invoice for a shit, but I think that one may have been a delivery note. You might have need of this!’ He laughed, thanked her politely for her concern, grabbed his toast and sauntered off to peruse the buffet counters.

Roxanne rejoined her husband Leonard /Leonora. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked her.

‘Hear it?’ she exclaimed. ‘I was engulfed in it, the filthy bastard.’

Roxanne’s life was far from humdrum. Having married a normal twenty-five year old heterosexual Leonard fifteen years ago, she had been recently surprised to find him rummaging through her knickers’ drawer while wearing stockings, suspenders and poorly applied makeup. He had thought she had left the house and was mortified to have to confess his secret to her. To his joyous surprise, she had merely said whatever and supported his odd behavior, helping him like he was the daughter she never had.

****

‘Señor Benito, Señor Benito,’ whimpered Roberto, the effeminate waiter, ‘them bloody Germans want smoked salmon. When I tell them there is none, all they do is stand there waving their arms like bloody seagulls shouting at me. What I do?’

‘Calm down Roberto,’ said Señor Benito. ‘I’ll sort it out.’

Señor Benito had been at the Hotel Passionella for longer than he, or anybody else could remember. Sending Roberto off to clear some tables on the terrace, he advanced on the ever growing group of disgruntled and truculent Germans.

‘Now my friends,’ he said jovially with arms outstretched as if he was going to give them all a big hug, ‘has the smoked salmon gone already? Dear me, it’s those damned Spanish golfers you know. They are up so early for their breakfasts, even before - how you say – a sparrow’s fart. Long before you are even thinking about commandeering all the sunbeds, they strip the buffet bare. Now if you select something else, I will go and see if Chef has any more smoked salmon. If he has, I will bring it to your table.’ The Germans, impressed that they had received the personal intervention and assured attention of Señor Benito, dispersed and invaded the various buffet bars.

‘Fucking pricks,’ muttered Señor Benito to himself, knowing fully well there was and never would be any smoked salmon. He would return to the Germans eventually and apologise profusely for there not being any more salmon today. He would then suggest that they come earlier tomorrow, and his has it gone already routine would be performed all over again.

****

Delores, known affectionately as Dimples - even though she never shows any affection to anyone, had been a waitress, or as she liked to think of herself, the head waitress, for almost as long as Señor Benito had been at the hotel. As she told anyone who will listen, ‘I was a child when I came to work here.’ A guest having heard her story once remarked that she was doing very well to still be working at such an advanced age. Delores laughed graciously and the next morning at breakfast dropped a flask of boiling coffee in his lap exclaiming, ‘Oh Señor, so sorry, but it’s these old hands you know!’

‘I’ve had enough!’ shouted Leonard/Leonora stamping his foot and kicking off one of his sling backs. ‘Why does everyone keep staring and smiling at me as if I’m some bloody freak?’

‘Well darling, your appearance is a little unusual. Perhaps if you shaved off your beard you would blend in more with your persona, so to speak.’

‘Shave off my beard… shave off my beard…! Are you mad? I need to keep some emblem of manhood.’

‘Balls and a dick not enough then?’ Roxanne wearily replied. She was tired of these constantly re-occurring concerns for his manhood.

‘Well I can hardly sit around with those out can I?’ he said. ‘If I shave off my beard, how will people know that I’m a man dressed as a woman?’

‘Oh, I think they probably will, and anyway, I thought you didn’t like people staring at you?’

‘That’s not the point!’ he said, near to tears. ‘Why’s life got to be so bloody complicated?’

‘Come now,’ said Roxanne kindly, she hated seeing her Leonard so confused, ‘drink your coffee and we can go have a lie down by the pool. You can wear your new swimsuit.’

‘Huh,’ harrumphed Leonard /Leonora, ‘I bet the bloody Germans will have taken all the sunbeds by the time we get there.’

‘Well get a move on then,’ she said leaving the table.

****

‘Tits like coconuts!’ exclaimed Fitzroy loudly. ‘Oh yes, tits like coconuts, but I’m not sure what canaries like.’ It was an unconscious gaff as he was discussing these ornithological issues with the now blushing, generously endowed Mademoiselle Fifi Lambsbottom. Fifi, the daughter of once landed gentry, still eluded to the aura of title and wealth even though it had been pissed up many country walls years earlier. She did, however, manage her small inheritance well allowing her a comfortable, yet to her aspired standards, meager lifestyle.

‘Know a lot about birds, do we erh Mr. erh?’

‘Fitzroy darling, just Fitzroy. What’s your name?’

‘You can call me Mademoiselle Lambsbottom,’ she replied tersely.

‘Not related to old Charlie Lambsbottom from Chippenham by any chance are you luv?’

Horrified she stuttered, ‘Well yes actually he was my fffather.’

‘Well I’m buggered,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Small world ain’t it; I’m your cousin.’

Fifi was horrified. How did this nasty little (well, rather big) man even think he was part of the Lambsbottom family? She knew most families had a black sheep but she had never heard of this blacker than black ram!

‘My father married your first cousin, Matilda,’ explained Fitzroy. ‘They begat me and then Mum ran off with a carpet salesman from Hull that she met on a family holiday in Cleethorpes. Dad took it very badly and hit the bottle. No one in the family wanted to help. I got into trouble and was taken into care so to speak.’

‘Oh what a sad story,’ Fifi said sarcastically.

‘Oh no it didn’t turn out too bad really. The old bugger drunk himself to death eventually and left me a few million quid and a shedload of stocks and shares. All’s well that ends well I say and fuck the family, well, present company excepted that is, although, I might be persuaded to make an exception.’

‘That’s quite enough, thank you,’ retorted Fifi. ‘If you’ll excuse me I will leave you now.’

‘Tat ta,’ said Fitzroy. ‘Can I buy you dinner this evening?’

‘Thank you, but no. I have a previous engagement.’

‘Please yourself,’ said Fitzroy now focusing his attention on the Siamese inelegantly licking the biggest pair of bollocks Fitzroy had ever seen on a cat. ‘I wish I could do that,’ said Fitzroy to a serious faced German on a nearby table.

If you ask him nicely he may let you was the curt reply.

‘Oh very amusing,’ replied Fitzroy. ‘Why don’t you go boil your head?’

‘You are a very rude person!’ countered the German. ‘I no longer wish to have intercourse with you.’

‘Well that’s a relief,’ said Fitzroy under his breath. ‘Bloody gay Germans… Whatever next?’

****

Roberto was embroiled in yet another argument. Two Spanish golfers full of their own importance wanted breakfast served to them NOW or they would be late to tee-off.

‘But we don’t serve breakfast he was telling them. It’s self-service. You know help yourself. You go and see what you want and take it yourself. I get you coffee or tea but not food.’

This just wasn’t getting through to the golfers who were becoming more and more irate. ‘Get me the manager, now!’ Miguel the golfer shouted, just as Señor Benito arrived on the scene.

‘What appears to be the problem Roberto?’ asked Señor Benito.

But before Roberto could answer, Miguel’s co-complainer Ferdinand stood up, pointed at Roberto and shouted, ‘This man will not get us our breakfasts!’

‘I’m very pleased to hear that,’ replied Señor Benito, ‘as it is a self-service restaurant. Therefore you serve yourselves.’

‘Do you know who we are?’ asked Miguel.

‘I most certainly do,’ said Señor Benito. ‘You are the two golfers that are late for their tee time, have now been disqualified from the tournament, and are therefore no longer guests at this hotel. I suggest that you go to your rooms, pack your bags, and check out. Good day.’

‘You can’t talk to us like that!’ said Ferdinand haughtily.

‘I believe I just did,’ said Señor Benito. ‘Now off you go before I call security. Come Roberto these gentlemen are leaving.’

Ferdinand and Miguel mustered as much style as they could and to the general amusement of the other guests flounced out of the restaurant.

****

‘Hey honey, WOW, WOW just look at the view; ain’t it wonderful?’ whined Gloria the American partner of Henry, the elderly, long-haired hippy.

‘Lovely darling, just stunning,’ replied Henry trying to distance himself unsuccessfully from her embarrassing loudness. ‘Where would you like to sit?’

‘Well if that man has finished,’ she said in her high decibel tones pointing at Fitzroy, ‘we will sit there.’

‘Sorry luv,’ said Fitzroy, ‘I ain’t goin’ just yet but feel free to join me.’

‘Oh why sure thing, did you hear that honey that nice c-o-c-k-e-r-n-e-y man said we could join him – isn’t that sweet?’

‘Yes dear,’ Henry grimaced. ‘Lovely, very kind.’

‘Fitzroy,’ he said standing while putting down his jam smothered piece of toast and holding out a sticky hand to Gloria, ‘pleased to meet you.’

‘Gloria,’ she said taking his hand and immediately wishing she hadn’t.

‘And is this your husband?’ asked Fitzroy.

‘Oh no,’ said Gloria turning and smiling at Henry. ‘We’re just good friends aren’t we honey?’

‘Yes, or you could say traveling companions. The name’s Henry,’ he said putting his hand on Fitzroy’s shoulder instead having seen Gloria attempting to remove the sticky jam from her hand. ‘Are you on your own?’

‘Well I was,’ said Fitzroy, ‘but I’ve just bumped into a long lost cousin, so I’m sort of hoping she might team up with me for some holiday fun.’

‘Wow, WOW!’ exclaimed Gloria annoyingly. ‘Did you hear that, honey, he’s just met a long lost cousin and he hopes to have fun with her, it’s a small world, ain’t it?’

‘Yes dear, I did hear him,’ replied Henry. ‘Shall we see what there is for breakfast?’

‘The toast and jam is very good,’ said Fitzroy.

‘Yes, so I see,’ said Henry trying not to look to stare at the sticky strawberry substance on Fitzroy’s nose, chin, shirt and hands. ‘Can I get you anything? Another serviette perhaps?’

‘No, ta’ replied Fitzroy beckoning one of the waiters. ‘I just need some more coffee that’ll do me. See you in a minute.’

Gloria and Henry headed off to the buffet. ‘Do we really have to have breakfast with that oik?’ asked Henry?

‘Gee, honey he seems really fun,’ said Gloria, ‘and he is on his own.’

‘Why am I not surprised at that?’ muttered Henry joining the queue for eggs.

****

Señor Benito sighed as he approached the Germans’ table, ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘so sorry but sadly Chef informs me there is no more salmon today, but if you arrive earlier tomorrow morning, then you may but lucky.’

‘Thank you for enquiring, perhaps you could reserve some for us?’ suggested Hans, the self-elected salmon spokesman for the group.

‘Oh sir,’ replied Senior Benito, ‘I could not possibly consider such a suggestion. Imagine the consequences of such an action. Everyone would expect me to do likewise for them and it would be impossible. So, no, you must be more punctual.’

‘OK then. We will operate a roster, as we do for sunbeds, and one of us will arrive early and secure a quantity of smoked salmon for us all to enjoy later,’ said Hans smugly to the yah yah, general agreement of his countrymen.

Oh my god thought Señor Benito as he returned to the kitchen in search of Dimples. There will be war - a salmon war that will make the cod war pail into insignificance.

‘Oh wow WOW,’ screeched Gloria to Henry as she returned to Fitzroy’s table, ‘I have a plate full of the most wonderful smoked salmon.’

‘No, no dear,’ replied Henry quietly to avoid embarrassing her, ‘that’s Parma ham.’

But, alas it was too late. Hans and the rest of his German cohorts erupted in anger and disbelief, cups and saucers flying everywhere as they left their tables en-mass and stampeded towards the buffet. They arrived just as Señor Benito returned from the kitchen with Dimples.

‘Where is it, where is it?’ they shouted, pushing everyone aside in their excitement.

‘Where’s what?’ asked Señor Benito.

‘The bloody smoked salmon!’ shouted Hans. ‘Yes, the bloody smoked salmon that the American woman has got. The bloody smoked salmon you just told us was not available - or was that just not available to us, eh eh?’ he continued prodding Señor Benito in the chest with a fat finger.

‘But, but I promise you there is no smoked salmon,’ he pleaded taking a backward step to avoid more prodding. ‘Who did you say had some?’

‘Come with me,’ demanded Hans heading out onto the terrace towards Fitzroy, Gloria and Henry. ‘There,’ said Hans pointing towards Gloria, ‘she has smoked salmon look, look!’

Señor Benito advanced towards Gloria, excused his intrusion and asked her where the smoked salmon was that he had been told she had.

‘Oh dear silly old me,’ said Gloria. ‘I was so excited I got it wrong; it was that ham thingy that looks like smoked salmon.’

‘Parma ham darling,’ interjected Henry. ‘She’s always getting it confused, bit embarrassing really, hope it’s not caused too much of a fuss.’

‘Oh dear lady an easy mistake,’ said a relieved Señor Benito turning back towards the embarrassed Hans and company. Silly cow, he thought. ‘Now my friends,’ he began, ‘please watch my lips, listen to what I am about to tell you, but most importantly hear what I am about to tell you. There is no smoked salmon, I repeat NO SMOKED SALMON!’ and with that he turned and marched back to the buffet with his head held high and to the applause of everyone except the Germans.

‘Nice one Gloria,’ said Fitzroy smiling at Henry. ‘Is she always this much fun?’

Henry smiled meekly mumbling something very rude under his breath.

‘Oh he says the nicest things, doesn’t he Henry?’ said Gloria. Rolling his eyes, Henry joined the queue for more eggs.

The Germans returned to their tables and Delores served them more coffee and peace returned once more to the breakfast terrace.

****

‘Maria madre de Dios,’ whispered Señor Benito looking at his watch, it was only 8.30am. There was another two hours before breakfast finished and he could escape for some solace in the arms of his beloved Hannah.

Gerald Montgomery sauntered onto the terrace. He was resplendent in his khaki shorts with his ivory white stick-like legs, protruding like - well sticks actually - adorned with short grey socks and