Turning away from a picturesque view of the Ikea across the highway and leading everyone down the long hotel hallway, Papa announces that Barack Obama has stayed here before.
F: Barack Obama lives here?
P: No, silly, he stays here.
D: When he’s visiting.
F: This is Barack Obama’s hotel?
D: Well, he doesn’t own it. He has just stayed here before. Apparently.
F: Does Uncle Tim live here?
D (laughing): No, goose. He lives in Kansas City. Hotels are just places people stay while they are traveling.
F: Oh. (Pause.) This is a really nice hotel. It smells good.
A few minutes later, Papa goes back down to the lobby to try to find a swimming pool torpedo thought to be left behind (but in reality hiding in plain sight in Fisher’s pocket), while Uncle Tim changes into a swimsuit. Cory is first looking out then leaning back against the third-floor window, sizing up the place. Fisher contemplates the Wall Street Journal laid out in front of him.
D: Cory, give me a look that says, “I’m in the hotel where the President of the United States stays when he’s in town.”
She produces a look somewhere between evil and side-eye, which ends up spot on, as she spends the next couple of hours splashing water on one half of the well-to-do patrons of the Four Seasons trying to sun themselves poolside while annoying the other half with her constant calls to Fisher to “throw another torpedo down”. Papa calls out whole-heartedly to curb the splashing and half-heartedly to bring the volume down.
Sorry, Buffy. Apologies, Biff. There is no policy against kids, and that’s what kids do, even at the Four Seasons.