When I began thinking about a topic for today’s post, it quickly became obvious that my choices from the news were all unacceptably depressing: Iran’s none-too-subtle hint at having the leaders of Israel and the U.S. removed from office before they will even discuss a settlement; Russia’s continued missile attacks on Ukraine and drone incursions into NATO countries; Alex Ovechkin’s slap in the face of his U.S. hosts as he stood behind Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov in support of Russian aggression; Russia’s threats against Poland, Lithuania, and others; Donald Trump’s premature celebration of his alleged takeover of Greenland; and so on, and on, and on.

You get the picture. It was all just too demoralizing. Which is why I decided instead to continue my “Life With Walter” series, and lift my spirits — and hopefully yours — with a little humor. So today it’s off to Rome, and the hotel booking that went horribly wrong.

Walter was in the habit of arranging his personal travel by himself; only his business travel was handled by our travel agent. And most of that involved complex reservations to locations like China and the Soviet Union — places where his corporate clients were hoping to do business before their competitors got a foot in the door. Difficult places.

So when a negotiation was scheduled to be held in Rome, both the travel agent and I were in unfamiliar territory. And, unlike his other trips when he traveled solo, he was being accompanied on this one by one of the younger attorneys in the firm, who happened to be female; and Walter being an older gentleman — and the time being the early 1980s — he wanted to be sure that she would have every comfort on her first overseas business trip.

When I asked the agent to arrange an itinerary to Rome, flying business class, with two separate rooms in a first-class hotel, she was somewhat stymied; this was not one of his usual business destinations, and she didn’t know his preferences. Flights were no problem, but did he have a specific hotel in mind?

I had already asked him about that, as I was not familiar with Rome’s accommodations. And he had waved a hand in the air, mumbled some generic name — I think it was “The Palace,” but I’m not sure today — and left it at that.

So that’s what I told the agent.

A few minutes later, she called back with some unsettling news: there were no fewer than five “Palace” hotels in Rome. Did I have any idea which one he meant?

Uh . . . no. I did not, and Walter was out of the office. So I did what I always did: made an executive decision. I told her to book the most expensive “Palace” in Rome.

A few days later, Walter and the young associate, we’ll call her Pat, took off for their Roman adventure. That being a time before cell phones, when overseas calls were sometimes difficult and always outrageously expensive, I didn’t expect to hear from him for a while. I tracked their flight to make sure it had landed safely, and settled down to catch up on a backlog of paper work during what I anticipated would be a quiet time . . .

. . . until the phone rang, and it was Walter, calling from Rome. Oddly, he sounded a little too cheerful.

The conversation went something like this:

Walter: “How’s everything going?”

Me (sensing trouble): “Uh . . . fine. How are you?”

Walter (chuckling): “Oh, fine. But I have a question. What hotel did you book us into?”

Me (immediately on guard): “The travel agent booked you into The Palace, just as you asked.”

Walter (now with Pat laughing in the background): “Did she say which Palace Hotel?”

Me: “Well, she said there were several, so I told her to choose the most expensive one. I hope it’s not too pricey.”

Walter: “Oh, no, the price is no problem . . . [pregnant pause] . . . but the place is a g**damned whorehouse!”

Me (listening to Walter and Pat now laughing uproariously in unison): “Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . WHAT??!!!”

Yes, I had booked my boss, and a lovely young associate, into what was apparently the most expensive bordello in Rome.

Oh, yes, I did.

As I’ve indicated before, one of the best parts of those ten years with Walter was our shared, somewhat warped, sense of humor. Many’s the time that was all that stood between me and the unemployment line.

This was one of those times. After a good two minutes of a very expensive transatlantic belly laugh, I was finally able to compose myself long enough to ask him what they were doing about a place to stay. He said that, despite Pat’s having received a couple of fairly tempting offers in the lobby of the house of ill repute, he had spoken with the manager, who immediately understood the problem and helped them arrange reservations at the correct hotel, where they were now safely ensconced. Apparently, it was not the first time this had happened.

Needless to say, it took a while for me — and the travel agent — to live that one down. But it was all in a day’s work in Walter’s world.

God, how I miss those days!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/19/26