Author's Note: This story is completely fictional and did not happen. All names of characters are fictional and were made up. Please do not copy and plagiarize my work.
This story was written for my friend Jack.
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Santa Monica, California
Lights flickered in the darkness. Street lights blinked above the visible cars coming and going through traffic. The lights were easier to see from a window on the upper floors of the building. Headlights of cars could be traced in patterns, leading across the dimly lit roads in the black of midnight. The guests and employees of the Half Note Hotel could tell their stories of what boring things they witnessed gazing out of windows. For one employee, that was the only way to get through the long, winding hours without a phone on hand. The world moved in motion outside the building, while life felt much the same for someone stuck working a job they loathed. That was how Curtis Washington felt almost every day for the past few months.
A job like this earned good money but still felt like a dead end in life. At twenty-five years of age and with no education, Curtis felt as if he were going nowhere. Working night shifts at the hotel had given him a comforting sense of familiarity. The first job he had out of high school had a similar schedule in the wee hours of the morning. Here he was, a young black man out of Los Angeles, earning a living with a decent job. Yet despite that small success, it did not fill the empty void he felt within. Curtis could not shake the feeling that he was stuck in his situation and going nowhere in life. Every morning, he left work and went home to the same lonely apartment. Alone in the dark, he would spend hours online playing games and looking at models on social media. With no friends in this town, all he could do was study the lives of the many guests who came and went through this first-class hotel.
The Half Note had once carried itself with prestige in the decades gone by. The history of the hotel was displayed across the lobby walls with framed photographs of a lost era. Jazz was the music of choice for the original owner, who modeled a lounge room for bands to entertain guests. Those were the days of old, with no one currently working in management who was there to witness the glory of this once proud establishment. New coats of paint had washed away that old era, leaving the building a relic of the past. Only the name had yet to be changed. Whatever history the hotel had back in the day, Curtis found little interest in the place. To him, this was just a job to pay bills and get by in life. It was mildly amusing to him that despite all the changes to the club, every employee had to follow a dress code as if time had stopped in the fifties.
A black jacket fit snugly over a buttoned-up white shirt. Curtis remembered the first time he looked in the mirror at himself in this outfit, thinking how goofy he looked. Black pants matched the jacket, and the choice of a bowtie was offered. Tattoos had to be covered at all times. This forced Curtis to keep his jacket on, hiding the dark ink of a half-sleeve that covered his left forearm. He maintained a slim figure, with some muscles built up in his arms from years of gymnastics in school. His head was shaved, with only a small layer of hair growing at the top. To complement the lack of hair, Curtis liked to sport a trimmed mustache. He did not have to worry about that violating the uniform policy at this job. Every evening he drove to work, always parking his white Toyota in the same place reserved for employees. No one at the hotel wanted to park near the shiny, silver Buick, always in the right corner.
That vehicle belonged to the chief supervisor at the hotel. A man who had earned a reputation by his nickname of 'Mean Joe'. Curtis did not know a single coworker, current or past, who had anything nice to say about Joe. The tall, obese white man was known for singling out employees when he felt something was 'half-assed', in his words. Within his first week at work, Curtis had caught the man's attention when he walked around without his jacket. The sight of his tattoos led to a verbal scolding. Joe had a way of speaking in a confrontational tone, giving off the vibe of a workplace bully. One coworker suggested that must have been the only reason the owner of the hotel kept the man around. No one liked him. If this had been at a gym, someone may have scrawled nasty messages about him in the bathroom stall.
The most tyrannical part of Joe's supervision was his rule against cellphones. All employees had to surrender their phones upon clocking in. The man went so far as to build a large, transparent box to place them in and lock with a key. That was his way of taunting the employees by making sure that they would not have a phone to kill time during the long hours of a standard shift. Every phone was lined up with a name under them for each employee. The key to the box was given to whoever was managing the current shift. For Curtis, that often meant Laura. She was an older woman who showed much more leniency towards the employees than Joe. The cellphones could be used during breaks, but she still had to lock them back up due to the security cameras fixated on the manager's office. All emergency phone calls from outside the building had to be made to the hotel with a three-digit extension to reach the manager.
Like any other day, Curtis parked away from the space reserved for his boss. Upon getting out of his car and entering the hotel, he looked around to see how empty the parking lot was. Some guests checked in and had taxis or Uber services escort them away after they completed their stay. A handful of cars usually occupied the parking lot, if not more than ten. That was a different story tonight. An entire row was filled with fancy BMWs and Cadillac Escalades. Beyond those vehicles was another row with more luxurious-looking cars sitting in spaces. First impressions told Curtis that someone important must have checked into the hotel tonight. That still did not explain the sheer number of similar cars all parked together in a line. He would find out soon who they belonged to without needing to second guess. The outside of the hotel building had once been painted a bright yellow color. The sun bleached that into a faded cream color.
Beyond the vintage-styled front door were dark interiors with retro lamp shades on the walls and a front desk made of dark mahogany wood. This was only a hint of what was to come for guests with the elegant style of vintage furniture that awaited them in their rooms. Dark red carpeting contrasted deeply with the beige wallpaper visible from all four sides. The aesthetic of the hotel changed greatly beyond the black doors reserved for employees only. Not much thought was put into the work space other than a fresh coat of white paint. The tiles below were gray squares with a faux marble pattern. It looked cheap, unlike everything else offered in the hotel. Maybe that was the management's way of cutting corners on costs. Whatever the case, Curtis did not care as he stepped through the door to clock in at work. Laura sat behind the desk. The light reflected across her pair of prescription glasses as she smiled.
"Evening, Curtis."
"Hi Laura. You been here a while?"
"You know it."
Her fingers flew across a white mechanical keyboard, clacking loudly as she typed. Her red hair was pinned in a high ponytail, revealing her face with minimal makeup and brown eyes.
"You're on room service today. I hope you're ready for a busy night."
Curtis chuckled.
"That wouldn't have anything to do with all those fancy cars parked outside, would it?"
Laura quirked her eyebrows as she gazed up at him.
"Actually, yes. We have an entourage renting all the suites on an entire floor. They're having some kind of party."
"Oh really?"
She nodded at him before speaking again.
"Yes, does the name Sydney Sweeney ring a bell for you?"
"I don't know. It sounds familiar, but I'm not sure where I've heard that name before."
Laura chuckled.
"That was the same reaction Marvin had. He didn't know who she was, either. Her security claims she is some big movie star, but I don't know who she is myself!"
Marvin was another staff member, roughly around the same age as Curtis.
"I'm not saying I don't know. I mean, I think I know that name, but I couldn't tell you from where."
Laura snapped her fingers with her right hand before holding her palm out.
"I need your phone, please."
"I almost forgot."
He reached into one of his pockets and snatched out his phone. Laura took it, rotating her swivel desk chair to turn her back to him. Curtis did not care to watch her unlock the box and place his phone inside. It was only policy at work. If not for the camera in the room, he was certain she would have let everyone keep their phones while on the clock. It would have been nice to type in the name Sydney Sweeney in a quick Google search before losing his phone. Something about that name was still ringing bells in Curtis' mind. He was certain that he had heard the name somewhere.
"All rooms are checked out on the fourteenth floor. I'm sure Miss. Sweeney or one of her people will be calling room service for more wine soon."
Curtis nodded at Laura's words. This was the first time the hotel had been busy with an entire floor rented out. He figured it would indeed be a busy night since someone of fame had checked in. Despite the uncertainty of knowing who she was, there was still reason to be excited. Any other night, this would be a boring time on the job, watching the hours go by. Curtis had a feeling he would not be wasting his time gazing out of windows tonight. Floor 14 was directly below the residential suites and the penthouse at the top. It made sense for someone with deep pockets and an entourage behind them to pick the highest floor possible for their party. With twelve total rooms to rent, Curtis was left wondering just how many people were occupying each and every room. Judging by the number of vehicles parked outside, this entourage could have been up to twenty people or less than a dozen. Sooner or later, he would find out.
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2 HOURS LATER
The elevators to the hotel were decorated in a vintage aesthetic of black and gold interiors. To the untrained eye, it looked like something out of a bygone era, excluding the advancement in modern technologies. A golden needle moved up and down depending on how far the ride would take a standing passenger. The same could not be said for the elevator maintained by staff. Curtis felt the heat of the night within hours of being on shift, sweating in the small white elevator as he stood with a cleaning cart. So far, no one had called room service, leaving him to go do cleaning while another staff member waited by the phone. At any moment, someone would have to be calling for an order on the fourteenth floor, or so he would have thought. The service rooms restricted to employees only left so much to be desired. From the outside looking in, one would be led to believe this was a luxurious hotel for everyone inside.
That was not the same for the working staff. Budget cuts or the sheer carelessness of employees were often to blame for why their environment was not as fancy. Curtis did not care about that tonight. After he stepped out of the service elevator, he made a quick walk to a white door that needed to be pushed over to wheel the cart out. The path led down a narrow hallway, revealing closed doors on both sides. The doors were painted black with gold knobs and a peephole directly above the engraved golden numbers. A large window was on the far side of the room, with no blinds to hide the darkness of the night outside. To the left of the window was another narrow hall, with the main elevator reserved for guests. Shifts like this were ideal for going into unused rooms and dusting them. Curtis pushed the cleaning cart across the dark red carpet floor, studying the wallpaper on the left side. As he stepped further down the hall, the sound of music could briefly be heard directly above him.
Bass beats were heard thumping, along with the laughter of voices. He was standing just one floor below where the party was active. Hopefully, no one would complain about the loudness. The booming bass beats showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. Curtis could hear them in a slow, heavy rhythm. He was still unsure of what kind of music the beats belonged to. Hip-hop was an easy guess, but for all he knew, it could be any kind of beats. The longer he listened, the more curious he became about scouting this party upstairs. He continued to push the cart, making the wheels squeak in an annoying screech across the carpet. After reaching the window, he turned to glance down the hall at the main elevator. He took a moment to gaze out the window like any other night, trying to fight the urge to act on his instincts.
