“You know what they say. If you have to ask . . .”

Ha ha ha ha ha.

“If you would prefer another room . . .”

Room? How can you call it a room? It’s the size of Rhode Island.

I couldn’t believe it. No way could I ever afford it. What a place. I noted the minimal, high-end furnishings in the roughly thousand-square-foot L-shaped room. The bed. The view. The bathroom. The bed. The white fluffy sofas. The white comforter and the big square white pillows on the bed. The bed, the bed, the bed.

“Here we have a complimentary fruit plate.”

“Yeah, whatever . . .”

“This folder outlines the many services you’ll find at your disposal—”

I noted the folder.

“This door here opens onto your own private wraparound terrace—”

“Lovely.”

“And this is my favorite feature.” Nils showed me a computerized screen next to the bed. He demonstrated how, with the simple touch of a button, the various lamps and recessed lighting fixtures could be dimmed and brightened to one’s liking, resulting in a myriad of looks.

“I have a question,” I said. “Where might I find the ice machine?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Ice. I like to get my own ice.”

Nils, the actor/model/bellman, seemed stumped.

“It would be next to the soda machine and the candy machine. Surely you have . . .”

“No, but we do have a well-stocked minibar.”

Nils used a small gold key to open the minibar, where an array of overpriced candies and nuts and cookies could be found. A price list in the tiniest type: Life Savers—$3.50—Snickers Bar—$6.00—Cheese Sticks—$12.00—Intimacy Kit—$20.00!

“No!” I said, waving him off. Then I proceeded to yank open every dresser drawer.

Nils again: “Is something wrong?”

“Well, Nils, I make it a point to always put the Gideon Bible next to my bed. I will be in great need of a Bible by the time I leave here. But I [drawer slam] can’t seem [drawer slam] to find [drawer slam] a Bible anywhere!”

“Shall I have one sent up?”

“Could you? Would you?”

“I’m sure it can be arranged.”

“You’re too kind.” I gave him an eleven-dollar tip. Why eleven dollars? I figured he’d had bigger tips and smaller tips but probably never an eleven-dollar tip.

Finally alone, I explored the room. In the marble bathroom, I noted the basket of high-end lotions and soaps. I opened the glass shower door. Staring up at the Frisbee-sized showerhead, I wondered if Anna was a late-night bath person or an early-morning shower person. I could be either. I could be both.

Using the touch pad next to the bed, I experimented with different configurations in a quest to find the most flattering light. Nils had said, “It takes some getting used to, but once you get the hang of it, there’s no going back.”

No going back.