I have flown the coop this weekend to shed my nursing tops and comfy jeans, and transform into a singing Diva, donning floor-length gowns, strappy heels and perhaps a touch of lipstick. Another “Wicked Divas” concert is on the docket.
It wasn’t until yesterday when I received an “Enjoy Mother’s Day!” text from a friend, that I realized I would be spending the special day without my husband and babies.
Feeling a smidge sorry for myself, I mechanically tossed the usual concert trip items into my suitcase.. minus the ambien. (Laughing at my poor decisions never gets old if you want to have a click).
Once in the car, I opened my printed itinerary to instruct the driver at which airline to drop me. Upon a closer look, I noticed that although Sunday’s performance is at 3 pm, I am not booked on a flight home until Monday. Annoyed, I made a mental note to contact my agent to see if this could be changed. There must, after all be a plethora of flight options late on a Sunday night out of Little Rock, Arkansas, no?
The 50 seater puddle jumper bumped through turbulent air pockets and made a jarring but successful landing. Within 20 minutes, my red rolling suitcase and I were gliding through muggy mist to the car that would bring me to my home away from home and a long-awaited good night’s sleep.
On our way to historic downtown Little Rock, I asked the driver if this hotel was a nice one. I often ask this, my impatience making the 10 or 20 minute wait to see for myself simply not an option.
I have stayed in hundreds of hotels across the United states throughout the past 13 years of my performing career. Some have been lovely, some just ok, some not suitable for mice. You just never know. The most luxurious accommodations were at the Bellagio Hotel in Las Vegas, also courtesy of Wicked.
Pulling up to the glass double doors at the hotel’s entrance, I was greeted by a bellman in a 3 piece suit and a top hat. Once inside, I felt like Little Orphan Annie laying eyes on Oliver Warbucks’ mansion for the first time.
Chandeliers flickered over pristine marble floors and red velvet couches flanked candle-lit tables scattering throughout the lobby and leading to a sprawling stone staircase that wrapped around both sides of the atrium. I half expected Cinderella to appear in glowing silhouette at the top.
I was personally escorted to my room and given a tour of the suite in which I would be staying. The four cherry posts of the king-sized bed stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, cornered satin sheets and a white down comforter. Squares of toffee lay atop the bedding.
On either side of a towering armoire stood two-floor to ceiling windows dressed in embroidered drapery.
The bathroom was large enough to be an extra bedroom itself. A jacuzzi tub sparkling in the center of the room bookended by two doors of frosted glass. One opened to a shower with enough space to do a vigorous yoga practice. The other, a separate toilet room fully equipped with a phone in case of a hankering for shrimp cocktail whilst relieving yourself on the porcelain throne.
The concierge gestured toward a glass of French Cabernet glowing red through the flame of a tea light resting on the table in the dimmed sitting area. She turned with a warm “Enjoy your stay, Ms. Rozek” and the door closed behind her with a click.
I stood in the center of the room, silent albeit the ache of a cello softly crying through the television speakers set on the classical music station. I turned in slow circles, panning my surroundings. I glanced from the bathtub, to the shower, to the wine, to the bed….at a loss for which luxury to partake of first.
No longer finding it necessary to make that call to my agent to rush home sooner, I settled in and accepted the unfortunate circumstance of being forced to stay an entire three nights in this shabby shack.
So, respectfully asking Señorita Guilt to check out, I am going to bask in the luxuriousness of this weekend for which I am actually being paid. Perhaps, although I miss my babies like crazy, spending Mother’s day, every so often, just like this was exactly what Mother Nature herself intended.
I would love for all of you to come join me at the Capital Hotel in Little Rock, Arkansas. But as that may not be possible, I invite you to enjoy 20 or 30 minutes in a bath or a quiet candle lit room. All to yourself. You deserve it.
Happy Mother’s Day.