Love motels

Actually, I didn’t know what subject title to select for this theme: Cultures or Romance or Marketing. I read a story in the paper the other day about short-term rentals in Rio de Janeiro for, um, couples to couple, and was reminded of an episode in Rio of an evening.

The Little Theatre was having a party on the rooftop of a building overlooking the beach, and we were all enjoying Chopp beer with our potluck dinner. The day’s heat had cooled to a salubrious temperature and there was a happy feeling of completion. I had produced “Table Manners” by Alan Ayckbourn to a full house of the city’s English-speaking expatriates, and we had the next season ahead to plan for.

Then Margrit, our PR person, suddenly fainted, and no one knew what to do. One didn’t call 911 in Brazil, and all we knew to do was feel for her neck pulse and listen to her heartbeat. She was breathing and seemed quite stable, according to our unschooled opinion, so several of the men picked her up and carried her down to a room in the building. The property owner had rented us the rooftop for our party.

The room was startling. Mirrors lined the ceiling and the foot of the room. The bedcover was scarlet satin. But we settled Margrit in the bed and covered her in the scarlet spread. One of us volunteered to stay with her when she woke up, foreseeing her bewilderment on finding herself in that room.

When I think back to that episode I marvel at our insouciance. What if Margrit had had a serious attack of some kind? What if she was in serious danger of dying? We must have quaffed too much Chopp for we took her faint in pretty good cheer.

In any case, Margrit woke up, looked at her surroundings, and burst out laughing!


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