By Scott Graber
It is Saturday and we’re in Florence, S.C., a/k/a Flotown. At this moment I’m in the lobby of the Hampton Inn just off Highway 52 as it makes its northerly advance on Darlington.
Yesterday, when we arrived and inspected our room, Susan and I noticed the window blinds did not close. This feature, not normally a deal breaker, seemed important because there was a security light (just outside the window) that bathed the backside of building. Without a completely closed blind, it was apparent that some of this security lighting would invade our room.
When we asked for another room we were told that we had booked through Expedia and they actually owned this particular room and the Hampton/Hilton was powerless to give us another. I then said that I was enrolled in their “Honors Program” and “surely as a “valued,” card-carrying Hilton Honors member you can give us another room.”
“No, your valued status doesn’t help.”
In the interest of candor, I will admit that eventually two, ladder-toting gentlemen appeared and the remote-controlled blinds were taken down, reassembled, and most of the outside lighting was blocked-out.
But I was, nonetheless, unsettled to learn of my lowered, diminished, loss of status. And so I lay restive and sleepless all the while trying to focus on happier times when an unsatisfactory room led to a better outcome.
In June of 1989, the actor William Hurt was involved in a trial where a woman, Sandra Jennings, claimed that she and Hurt had contracted a “common law marriage” in South Carolina. In that lawsuit, Jennings demanded half of everything Hurt had earned over 6½ years. Hurt — when making “The Big Chill” on the Point — had come to my law office on Carteret Street and signed a document that dealt with a forthcoming child. I was asked (by Jennings’ lawyer) to testify about that document and their signatures.
Susan and I flew up to New York City and installed in the Parker Meridien Hotel. In those days I was a swimmer, and that midtown hotel happened to have a pool on its roof. We were given a room and I had just changed into my Speedo when the manager arrived asking us to vacate the room.
He explained that under New York law we “owned” the room but a famous rock band wanted to “own” the entire floor and we might be happier if we decamped.
He then named the band and I remember saying, “This might be really, really memorable …”
“We will make your new quarters equally “memorable,” he said, and then offered us a larger room, on a higher floor, with a view of Central Park.
Once again, I hesitated thinking of the drinking; the all-night jamming; the destruction of furniture; the tell-all book that I would surely write; the stories I could tell my grandchildren.
“We would like to offer you the penthouse,” he said breaking into my reverie. “It comes with fresh flowers, complimentary champagne, and there is a baby grand piano at your disposal.”
Susan and I had never been anywhere near a Manhattan penthouse. And so, after some reflection, we accepted the substitution that came with wrap around, floor to ceiling windows and, yes, there was the iced-down Piper Heidsick, the caviar paste canapés, a baby grand.
And yet, even now, I wonder if we folded too soon.
Looking back I don’t remember that much about the trial itself. The Associated Press quoted me as testifying about the document;
“I remember being impressed by the detail and its length.”
Hurt was quoted as saying he did not remember signing any documents in South Carolina and that he never referred to his lover as his wife.
USC law professor Randall Chastain testified that Hurt and Jennings did not meet the State’s requirements for a common law marriage.
Eventually, the court agreed with Chastain.
After my testimony I appeared on the Maury Povich show; followed by dinner at Cafe des Artistes; and then late night laps atop the Parker Meridien that came with a monogrammed robe and vanilla scented towels. But as I swam, I wondered if I should have stayed with the band and “scored” laminated backstage passes?
Alright. OK. I know we would never have gotten the penthouse, the caviar or the baby grand at the Hampton on Highway 52 — and one wonders about the view of downtown Darlington.
Scott Graber is a lawyer, novelist, veteran columnist and longtime resident of Port Royal. He can be reached at cscottgraber@gmail.com.
