“It’s not Rome, but at least I get to wear a nice hat,” Monica laughed. She held its floofy rim down as a gust of fall wind threatened to pull it off her bobbed hair. “You know, baby, when I said I wanted to visit Manhattan someday, this isn’t quite what I meant.”
Anthony adjusted his own bowler, shielding his dark eyes from a warm stray beam of evening sunlight. “It’s an important time period,” he said. “The Roaring Twenties for twenty four hours. Flappers, speakeasies, all that jazz. Besides, the Statue of Liberty isn’t wading in seawater like it would be if we came here in our time.”
Anthony picked up the leather handle of the suitcase the Timeshares agent had provided for them. They had managed to buy one of the first unaccompanied tours. They wore period clothes for the trip back and an automatic recall trigger, but Timeshares had arranged for a native to provide a packed suitcase, an itinerary, and lodgings. The reduced traveling mass and short time length reduced the price enough to let regular people like them afford the trip.
“The hotel is only right across the street.” The traffic only justified checking once, but the back part of Anthony’s brain twitched until he checked for cars again. It just didn’t seem safe otherwise.
The hotel’s foyer spread out before them as Monica handed her fur coat to a doorman. Anthony pointed to the marble pillars along the walls of the room. “See? Who said I can’t get you Roman columns?” She giggled, and Anthony wrapped his arms around her, the soft cotton of her dress thin under his arms.