Page 2 of My Lucky Star
When I thought about my newfound realism, I had to admit Mom was right about Felix. He wasn’t a looker, but definitely husband material. Dependable, helpful, always around. Absolutely the kind of guy I should go for. See, I didn’t say ‘settle’. The trick to settling is that you should never call it that, because in the end, it’s realism. The necessary process of giving up flighty dreams and facing the real world, something I was definitely working on – even if I wasn’t ready for that next step. That lanky, baseball-cap wearing, carpet-cleaning step.
The phone line crackled. “Are you still on lunch break? I told Felix he might find you in town around this time, getting your kebab.”
As if on cue, I heard an engine and Felix’s trusty van pulled up behind me. Of course. Mom was working on all fronts. Lunch, dinner... what else had she planned? Moonlight walks?
“He’s here,” I muttered into the phone and ended the call, resigning myself to my fate.
Felix tumbled out of his van like an elk in loose denim, a faint chemical smell in his wake. “Hi there! How’re you doing?”
He was so skinny. The poor guy couldn’t stand solidly on two feet. He always swayed a little, like a young tree in a moderate breeze.
I cursed my mother’s meddling. Before all the dating hints, I’d thought of Felix as a friend and never judged him like this.
“I’m good.” I tried to smile, lifting my kebab. “I grabbed a quick lunch, but now I have to get back to the office.”
“Will you get fired if you sit down for one coffee? There’s a new place that opened and I swear they do triple shots without you asking. Gave me double vision.” He crossed his eyes for emphasis.
Felix knew I liked my coffee strong.
“Let’s go another time? I promise.” I tightened my fingers around the car door handle, desperate to get away.
His face lit up. “Great! I’ll text you.”
I gave him a quick smile, slid behind the wheel and pulled into the traffic, mindlessly following a silver taxi as it circled the Masonic Hotel.
Guilty and confused, I unwrapped the kebab with my teeth and filled my senses with its spicy flavor. Surely, being more realistic didn’t mean I had to date someone I didn’t find attractive? I was allowed to have some dreams, I told myself. Small, doable, passable dreams. Like finding a man with an ounce of charisma. Or failing that, some amazing movie locations.
I loved gorgeous buildings, imagining the secrets, drama and love affairs they’d witnessed over the years. Entering a house that wasn’t built for utmost functionality instantly elevated my spirit. The opulent, decorative, even the odd and visually disturbing, connected you to those who’d dared to live more courageously. Or rather, who could afford to live more courageously, chasing their dreams in a way that wasn’t accessible to me. The lucky ones.
I drove mindlessly around town, eating my kebab. I didn’t need to go back to the office, but I didn’t want to risk running into Felix again.
My mind still on dreamy architecture, I swerved onto the beach road, away from the town center. I wanted to see the old hotel. The pink Art Deco building was one of my favorite pieces of architecture in Napier, and according to Trade Me, currently for sale.
Not that I had money to buy a house, let alone a hotel. I could barely cover the rent of my one-room apartment above the laundromat, but I’d heard my boss Janie talking to an American film producer who was looking for an Art Deco hotel. It might be a long shot, but I hadn’t done any of these matchmaking deals yet and itched to get my hands dirty. If my favorite building got chosen because of me, I could say I’d brought business to my home town, to Kerim’s kebab shop and to countless others. I’d prove my worth at the film office.
I parked on the street outside the pale pink stucco facade, admiring the maroon detailing above the entrance. As I got out to investigate closer, I spotted a white van in the driveway. A stocky, greying man in a T-shirt and baseball cap stepped out of the side door with a cardboard box. I waved at him, stepping into his line of sight. “Hey! I’m looking for the owner—”
“I’m only here for maintenance,” the guy grumbled, pushing past me. “It’s for sale. Look it up on Trade Me.”
“Yes, I know.” I followed him to his dirty van. “I was hoping to find out what’s happening in the meantime. Is it still working as a hotel, are they renovating...?”
The man opened his side door and slid the cardboard box between toolboxes. “I’m just here to change the lightbulbs.” He turned around to face me, lips puckered.
I offered my full wattage smile. “I’m with the film office and this is such a beautiful location that I wanted to find out a bit more.”
He seemed to assess my trustworthiness, his expression thawing a bit. “My wife’s coming to prep the rooms later today. She’s been cleaning here for the past six months, and this is the first time they only want two rooms done. Sounds like the whole place is booked for a very small group.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I reckon it’s someone pretty... um, precious. They asked me to change all those fine led lights to these...” He opened the box and held out an empty packet, squinting at it, “‘rose-tinted’ ones.” His voice oozed contempt.
My curiosity climbed up several notches. “Is there anything else?”
“That’s all I know, and I’m in a bit of a hurry, so if you’ll excuse me...”
He disappeared around the vehicle, getting behind the wheel.
I waited for him to leave, then snapped a couple of photos of the exterior. A shiver of excitement ran up my spine. So, someone had booked out the entire hotel and requested new lightbulbs. Something was going on.
#
