Page 5 of My Lucky Star
But as I reached the door, she was gone. I didn’t even hear the sound of a car. How had she arrived and where had she gone? I closed the door, backing away into the room until my back hit the reception desk. Maybeshewas the ghost. A cold sensation crept up my spine, and I shook myself to dispel the creepy vibe. Standing in a deserted hotel reception didn’t help. It must have been late in the afternoon as the sun streamed in through the two small windows, exposing pillars of actively churning dust.
Chill, I told myself. Everything is fine.
Looking for a wi-fi password, I spotted something on the reception desk; a flyer featuring a heavily airbrushed shot of the hotel exterior. Price by negotiation. Was the building for sale? I pocketed the evidence. I’d definitely question Emir about his choice of accommodation.
I checked my phone again, but it kept complaining about not having a network connection.
I crossed the reception, which opened onto a musty sitting room with velvety, seashell-shaped chairs and heavy curtains in dirty shades of pink. What a time capsule.
On the other side of it, I spied a glimpse of stainless steel through an open doorway, and stepped into a commercial kitchen with a wide island. I rummaged through the fridge and found a couple of trays of something baked, possibly lasagna. There was also milk and juice, soft drinks, butter and cheese. After ten minutes of searching, I had to conclude the room wasn’t hiding even an ounce of whiskey.
I settled for a soft drink. I knew I needed sleep, but I felt too wired. With no alcohol available, there was only one way to settle my nerves –a workout. I didn’t have any exercise clothes, but since there was nobody around, it probably didn’t matter. I unbuttoned my shirt and flung it on top of the reception desk, eyeing the floor area. I could modify my usual routine to fit the space.
After a moment’s hesitation, I took off my pants. Suits had no give andthe pants would rip during the first squat. The irony of getting undressed in a hotel reception didn’t escape me. It was basically how I’d ended up here. But as long as I didn’t get photographed, nobody had a reason to get upset with me. That’s why I’d been sent so far away from the civilization, so I couldn’t possibly cause any more scandals.
A bit chilly in my boxer shorts, I hobbled upstairs to grab the wireless headphones out of my bag. With my phone connected to an offline playlist of rage-y old-school rock, I felt some energy return to my core.
On the way back down, I checked the other rooms –all either smaller or identical to mine – and concluded the reception was the only one with enough floor space for burpees and mountain climbers. I would work up a good sweat, shower, sleep, and then figure out the rest.
#
Chapter 3
Aria
“THIS COULD BE IT!”My boss, Janie, clapped her hands. “Why didn’t you take photos of the interior?”
“I couldn’t get in.”
Janie cocked her head. “If we had a few more pics, I could send this away right now and strike a deal by tomorrow! I told you about this Hollywood production, right? It’s medium budget but they’re hailing the director as the next Lars von Trier; ambitious and motivated. The story has some local connections, which could be really good for us.”
I took a deep breath to stop my heart rate from climbing. I couldn’t help the reaction every time I heard the word ‘Hollywood’, even if I wasn’t chasing that dream anymore. “I don’t even know if the hotel’s available for filming,” I said. “It’s for sale.”
Janie beamed, flicking her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder. “That’s perfect! If they’re selling, they’ll be receptive to other ways of making money off it. But first, we need to check the interior. The producers want authentic. Beds, chairs, bathrooms, mirrors... anything from the 1930s.” She stared at my poorly framed photo for so long that even our part-time assistant, Pete, emerged from his desk to look over her shoulder.
“I know that place,” he announced flatly. “It’s on Trade Me.”
