Part One of a Three part series, released weekly.
After a lifetime of waiting, Sara was on her way to The Wayklin. She shuddered as she walked the streets toward it. The weather was toasty warm, but her nerves made her shiver. Ever since Sara was a kid, her dad and her said 'one day' when they walked past or rode the tram along in front of it.
The Wayklin was not just for the rich and famous, it was for royalty. A night in the smallest suite cost more than her dad earned in a month. The building oozed history and style. Warm, bright lights poured out through large arched baroque windows. The stonework was fashionably weathered. The bright red and gold uniforms of the porters gave welcome to the huge, domed, and marbled lobby. The enormous split staircase was the site of dozens of famous and glamorous photo shoots.
When her dad died, Sara vowed to uphold their dream; she would find a way to experience the whole hotel. She would take his memory and spirit in with her.
"Walk the halls, breathe in the bedrooms, stand on the balconies, look down on the boulevard below. The dining rooms. The gardens. The piano bar," Sara swirled in the mirror of her bedroom in complete excitement. She had found a way into the Wayklin.
Sara was about to start her new job as a housemaid.
It wasn't how her dad and Sara dreamed it would be, serving rather than being served.
"There is honor in it," her mother had said. She was not a dreamer. "Honest work, not leaching off the back of others."
At times like that it was better to say nothing. There was no arguing with her mother. The woman knew well about Sara and her dad's dream; she never quite approved, opulence was unnatural. Working at the hotel was a good compromise; she was more comfortable with Sara walking in the back door than the front.
Sara was assigned to work with an elderly lady called Donna-Marie. After a day Sara knew why. No one else wanted to be with her. Donna-Marie was a large woman with a bad back and the gait of a person with a stick up her ass. She moved slowly, barked orders, and complained bitterly about everything in the hotel. According to Donna-Marie, the big doors with stiff handles were the cause of her back. The posted beds made changing sheets neatly close to impossible. Why did the guests need to use the bath, the shower, and the spa if they only stayed one night? They should be forced to clean it themselves if they used more than any normal person needs in one day. She didn't mind taking the left-behind complimentary cookies and chocolates, though. And she was ever so polite if the guests were there. Sara shook her head; if only they knew what she had said about their toilet habits.
"Don't you like being here?" Sara asked on the third day. "You seem unhappy."
"Who would like mopping up after pretentious and pompous prats like stays here?"
"I like it here," Sara said defensively. "Just being in these rooms is a privilege."
Donna-Marie bellowed a laugh, the first time Sara had heard her do anything other than grumble.
"You are batty, girl. Why would you think it's anything other than shame in your face to be working in a place that makes sure you and your sort never get in?"
"My father...," Sara started, not rising to Donna-Marie's reaction. "He died. When I was little we'd always pretend we were coming to stay. It was a dream of ours, to come inside, to experience what it must be like."
"So you can stay here and the likes of me can wipe your ass and clean your shoes?" Donna-Marie scowled. Sara didn't get it, why was she so bitter?
"No!" Sara dismissed her. "It's the history, the smells, the sounds, the trimmings, the gorgeous furniture, the architecture, the uniforms, the smiles... I always thought the staff would adore being part of it. They must be so proud of their job."
"Only a batty young fool like you would think like that," Donna-Marie grumbled. "What are you, sixteen years old? Little princess dreams of being a princess."
"I'm twenty-two! You can't even work here until you're eighteen," Sara defended. Donna-Marie knew that, certainly.
"Well you don't look it, you look like you just hit puberty," Donna-Marie snarled. "Little thing like you can't even lift a mattress corner right. You should go down and work in the...."
Donna-Marie stopped mid-sentence. The guest was standing in the bedroom doorway. There was no telling when he had come into the suite or how much he had heard.
"Sorry sir," Donna-Marie said in an entirely different manner. Donna-Marie was polite, smiling, and happy. Her persona had turned on a dime. "We are just finishing up, we'll be out of your hair straight away. Is there anything particular we could help with, is the suite as you wish, sir?"
"Lovely, fine, thank you," the man said, not giving away any sense that he had eavesdropped. Sara and Donna-Marie finished the bed quickly, tidied up, and left.
The man's name was Godfrey, a god-awful name, so he always registered as he traveled as Byron, something far more romantic. It also shielded him from the attention that his real name brings. Being from old money, his family has long experience of people trying to part them from their wealth. Keeping his real name away from hotel registers had become a habit.
Late in the afternoon on day four of Sara's new job, he sat in his suite working at an oak desk. The room had a workspace in one corner of the huge, high-ceilinged living room. He stepped over to the doorbell ringing.
"May I turn the room down sir?" the housemaid asked.
"Yes, of course. Please."
'Byron' sat back at his desk with half an eye on the maid gliding around the room, moving things to their evening places. The coffee table fruits were replaced by chocolates, nuts, and mints. The teas went away, replaced by aperitifs and whiskies. The curtains were put in their place, and in the bedroom, she was likely putting away the bed covering and ornamental quilt.
"You were here yesterday," Byron said as the young lady came over to ask for anything else he needed. "With your... large colleague."
"Yes, sir," Sara smiled carefully.
"I heard you two talking, you know," he said gently.
"Yes, sir."
"You're not surprised?" he smiled. "You knew?"
Sara took a deep breath. "When I came to work today... my colleague... she had been reassigned to the laundry. I guessed as to why."
Byron nodded and smiled. "Hmmm. Do you think she will like her new duties?"
"No sir. But... I'm not sure she enjoys these, either."
"Look at you smiling," Byron grinned, "You are so beautiful like that. What's your name?"
"Sara," Sara said, holding her badge.
"Wow, you guys use your real name on the badges." He had to remind himself that not everyone was as careful using their name as him. "I can help you, you know?"
"What do you mean, sir?" Sara asked, confused.
"I can help you with your dream."
"My dream?"
"The one you told your colleague about. I heard you saying you dreamed of staying as a guest in this place...?"
"Oh, you heard that, too?"
"On Thursday I'm going to the Wayfarer, which is the original hotel in this group. It's older and even more special than here. I invite you to join me as my guest. My plus-one, so to speak."
Sara stood speechless. She was trying to comprehend the invite.
"My driver could pick you up Friday, you stay for three nights, then he can bring you home Monday. You can experience everything as a full guest."
"Stay at the Wayfarer? On the gulf, at the beach? With you?"
"Yes. I'll be your host. Your sponsor."
"Why?" Sara couldn't help but ask.
"It's your dream, isn't it? To be a guest, experience it all from the other side."
For a time Sara stood and said nothing. The excitement of the prospect tingled her nerves, she could feel goosebumps rise under her uniform. Could he mean it?
"What would I have to do... in return?" Sara brought herself to ask.
"You know the answer to that."
"Oh," Sara blushed, dreading that reply.
"Are you free? Can you get away from Friday to Monday? Do you have to work?"
Sara shook her head slowly. She wasn't officially meant to start until the seventeenth, she had come in a fortnight early to cover for a girl on leave. After one more day, she would be free for the following week.
"You mean... I'd need to...?" Sara asked.
"Yes. We'd be a couple for the weekend."
"Everything... you would need me to do everything?"
"You would be my girlfriend - only for a few days - so yes, you'd do everything a girlfriend would do. Shopping, restaurants, bars, beaches..."
"... and go to bed with you?"
"That too, of course."
"But you don't know me at all."
"Well, you're standing right here. I can tell you look good and you're a nice person. Spending a weekend with you would be a great privilege."
Sara shook her head. "But you don't know me."
"I know you enough," Byron assured her. "I heard you talking. I heard the yearning you have for your dream. I heard of your love for the history of these hotels. It's special, I agree, it's why I stay here, too. I can give you that dream. For the weekend, you can live as you wished. Anything you want."
"And if I do... in return, I would have to... sleep with you?"
"Yes. But it wouldn't be just that, you won't be tied to a bedpost, we'll do lots of different things."
"Oh," Sara sighed.
"Think about it. My card, that number to message me. If you say yes by Thursday, I will send my driver to pick you up."
"Your name is not here."
"I'm Byron. I'm leaving here Thursday for business, but I'll send the car for you."
"The beach is two hours away," Sara contemplated.
