Driving to the location of the castle took far less time than I had anticipated. Carrying only my book bag and computer bag (I would go back to my car to pick up my overnight bag) I walked towards the door where the doorman eagerly opened up the door for me. I couldn’t help the smile that came over my face. I know in NYC doormen are common – but in Los Angeles, or at least where I hang out, doormen are as common as carpoolers. I walked through the door, laughing at the automatic doors that slid open grandly. If you listened closely you could hear Bach’s Fugue playing in the background. Teasing. But it was dramatic. To the front desk I announced who I was – a few clicks of the computer and the studious, business face turned into a welcoming host. “Miss CeCe” he said smiling, and “Welcome…” With the key in my hand I walked to the elevators, growing a bit dizzy from the carpet pattern, slight cigar smoke drifting through the halls from the patio across from the bar, and pure excitement.

“Are you going up?” A kind older gentleman asked me from a elevator.

“Sure!” I said – lightly jogging to the doors, my computer bag thumping gently against my thighs.

“Floor?”

“Um – 5th, please.”

He pushed the button next to his 4 and the doors gently closed. I didn’t know what kind of room would greet me when I stepped off the elevator. Holding my card that would be the key I walked towards my room and stuck the card in the little slot. A red light blinked back at me and I jiggled the handle of the door. Turning the card over I tried again. Several times I wiggled and jiggled that card in the slot before finally glancing again at the door number. Walking down the corridor I tried again. Green light. Entrance was granted. Hopefully I didn’t freak out the person in the other room too badly. I hurried through the door of my room just in case.

To the left was the closet doors – a safe (If I had brought any porn or toys with me I would have stored it there. No one wants the maid to see their stash!)- hangers, coffee maker, iron board, ice thingee, cups, shelves. A bathroom, with a mirrored door capturing my amazement, was across from the closet. In it, a good size tub and a nice shower and the best part? Immaculate. The living area housed a Huge King Size Bed – with pillows galore, overstuffed chair in the corner – a big desk – a ginormous (that’s gigantic and enormous combined) television on top of a chest of drawers (2 bottled waters on top. $3.50 ea. Are you fuckin serious?!)Floor to ceiling drapes – one layer sheer, second layer heavy upholstery that can block out a fire storm. Behind the drapes? Sliding glass doors leading to a balcony over looking outside eating area, pool, and hot tub.

I dropped my bags (carefully) on the floor and ran and flung myself on the king size bed. “1 FULL NIGHT WITH ROOM SERVICE!!!”, I screamed into the pillow, hands and feet kicking, swimming, joyful. Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling, then took in the paintings on the wall, then noticed a package on the desk. Walking towards it cautiously, I noticed that it was addressed to me with the address of the hotel. “Eddie?” I’m sure he wasn’t in the room…but how did he plan all this? I opened up the package, read the note, leaned against the desk and looked at the gifts piled in the palm of my hand. This had to be a dream. If so, the ring of the phone didn’t wake me from it.

My phone call with Edward was filled with giggles and sighs and too many thank yous. “You don’t need to thank me.” He said with a smile in his voice. But I did. Because I have never had such an experience. Ever. And while I’ve had some really awesome gifts, this present was — unexpectedly sweet and romantic.

For a little more than 24 hours I lived in a clutter free, stress proofed, climate controlled, paradise. Everything was paid for, Eddie had told me, just tip well. I gave the waiter a 200% tip, partially because I didn’t have anything smaller, and partially because I didn’t notice the bill that clearly had a spot to put in the tip. Tips and room service would all be covered, billed to the room, picked up by him.

“Did I do something right?”

“What?” I asked the waiter.

“Did I do something right?” he repeated, holding up the bill I had given him.

“I guess we both did.” I told him, assuring him that the tip was, in fact, for him.

Word traveled fast. By that evening I was Miss CeCe. As in, Miss CeCe is everything ok?, Miss CeCe is there anything else we can get you?, Miss CeCe would you like this billed to your room? Miss CeCe…

I could write about this high for the rest of my life, and still I would miss some intricate detail, some look, some touch…one of my senses would be jealous of the other. I’m going to miss something. I’ve worked on this post now for 2 weeks, turning it over again and again in my mind, and I can still see the look on the waiter’s face when I gave him that tip. I still taste the french toast the next morning, and my legs still remember how they stretched across the king size bed with no puppy, lap top, or text books getting in the way of my stretch. My body still tingles from the bubble bath I took while speaking to him later that evening, I can still hear the complete joy in his voice knowing I was having a great time and the surprise the next morning when he completed the check out on line. “You practiced restraint” He had said. 1 movie, 2 meals, a few drinks for a girlfriend who came to visit, Internet Access…It seemed a lot on top of the gift, the room, the peace. You know, I might not have fully understood why he did it, had it not been for the waiter and the look of surprise on his face. “Did I do something right?” he had asked me when I gave him the 20 dollar bill for the 10 dollar cheeseburger with too little ketchup.

Seeing the joy on someone’s face from an act of pure generosity is amazing. Understanding that more than once I have been the one in the position of the waiter — that is, providing a service for someone and hoping that it is significant and pleasing. More times than not I am given 200 percent more than what I have given. But I have never been in the position of being able to be as generous as I was that day. I will not forget that feeling and because of it, I will more than likely find a way to have it happen again albeit on a smaller scale, like on the phone with you.

So there it is. My high. Floating down a little bit the past few weeks, but still there, happily floating along and thankful for the ones who see the right I do. Often.