Mia strode confidently into the lobby of the Washington Square Hotel, the bellman dutifully pushing her trunks stacked on a dolly behind her. Her heels clicked on the polished marble floor. She wore white gloves and her large fur coat hid the fact that her dress was slightly loose after vomiting daily during the three-week voyage from Europe. Even now on solid ground, she didn't trust herself not to be sick. She inhaled deeply from her elegant cigarette holder and glided up to the front desk.

"Hello." She flashed the man standing behind the reception desk a charming grin. "I'd like to check in with my husband Julius Corry."

The man scrolled through the guestlist for a minute while Mia hid her trembling hands. "He didn't mention he was expecting you."

Mia smiled coyly this time, hiding her immense relief. After trying five hotels and three different names, she'd found him. Ha, he'd pay for this! She leaned over the desk and beckoned for the man to come closer. "It's a surprise. I have some good news for him."

Leaning over, his head cocked awkwardly at the impropriety of being invited to hear a personal secret, the hotel clerk regained the prim composure of a man who had spent his career in the lobby of a fancy hotel. "Of course," he said with a weak forced smile. He motioned to the bellman with a flick of his wrist. "Take Mrs. Corry's luggage to room 521."

Two hours later Mia stepped into the cab the doorman hailed dressed in striking evening attire. She hadn't come this far to wait for Julius to stumble home in the wee hours of the morning. But instead of the Waldorf-Astoria as she had initially told the doorman, Mia redirected the driver. Julius wouldn't be eating and she certainly didn't have the stomach for a meal. Delicately, given she had entered the God-forsaken wasteland of prohibition New York, she inquired about a classy establishment where one might find influential writers, artists, and a drink suiting her European sensibilities.

Five minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of Chumley's in the West Village and she insisted on going down the deserted alley alone to rap on the unmarked wooden door.

Bingo.

Luck again favored Mia's persistence. At a large crowded table flanked by flappers on either side, sat Julius a touch disheveled but at least he didn't appear high as a kite. He visibly paled as she approached the table. Her presence abruptly halted the group's animated conversation.

"Julius, darling. Aren't you going to introduce your fiancé to your American friends?" asked Mia holding up a cigarette immediately lit by one of several well-dressed gentlemen at the bar who tripped over each other in an effort to light it.

Julius pushed his way out from the booth and wearing a broad, handsome smile, kissed Mia on either cheek. "What are you doing here?" he hissed in her ear.

Mia laughed with exaggeration and gently put her hand around his neck as if he had just told her a naughty joke while her eyes shot daggers at the women still sitting around the table.

"If you really can't wait, we can go to town hall tomorrow!" she giggled.

He held her close in a rough feigned embrace. "As you know I'm already married," said quietly through gritted teeth against her cheek.

Mia smirked at his supposed quip but replied in a low deadly tone. "Well you can divorce her when you get back to Vienna, but we are marrying HERE. I'm already two months late!"

Julius gripped her hand so hard it hurt. Raising his other arm, he addressed the bar. "A round for everyone on me, for tomorrow I wed the most beautiful woman in the world." And to the encouraging roar of the crowd, he leaned her back and kissed her passionately.

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Author's Note:

This is a piece of creative non-fiction.

The Washington Square Hotel is a lovely hotel I recommend and have stayed at on Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village in New York City. It has served as a haven for artists, writers, and innovators for more than a century including Ernest Hemingway and Bob Dylan. I have no idea if my Mia stayed there or not, but she could have. I also do not know if she would have known of Chumley's but I will certainly check it out next time I go to NY!

Per my internt research:

Chumley's (86 Bedford St.)

This 1922-founded speakeasy catered to the literary crowd. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and Willa Cather imbibed here, among others. You can still visit Chumley's – it reopened after a nearly 10-year hiatus in 2016 – and the literary game is still strong. During the renovation, owners called upon a historian to curate book jackets and writer portraits to adorn the space. While the vibes are distinctly roaring '20s and the beverages are similarly inspired by the time period, sadly, the space is no longer accessible via the back alley door that Prohibition-era patrons often used. from: http://nymag.com/intelligencer/2017/11/new-yorks-most-infamous-speakeasies.html

Another interesting note is that Julius' brother was the bandy-legged Austrian that Hemingway had dinner with in the Green Hills of Africa.