WEST TOWER ROOM 3503, Pt. 01
Alexis Esposito could see why they were losing business to this place. Putting her sunglasses back on to reduce the need to squint, she stared up at the massive structure in front of her. She had walked down the boardwalk (from the hotel-casino that she helped manage) on a reconnaissance trip to survey the newest competition.
In front of her was what had to be one of the most expensive properties ever built. The newspaper couldn't get the total sum out of anyone -- and the company itself was privately held, offshore, and didn't have a requirement for public financial statements. It remained a mystery. All Alexis knew was that the tower she was looking up at right now, which comprised less than a quarter of the property, had to have cost -- alone -- more than the $250,000,000 her ownership group had put into renovating their older casino down the boardwalk.
At least 50 stories tall, the entire ocean-facing tower was floor to ceiling glass. Her reflection stared back at her -- tall, for a woman at 5'8", with strawberry blonde hair achieved through rigorous salon appointments. Designer sun dress paired with designer flats and Armani sunglasses. Kate Spade purse. She looked the part of the clientele for this "Atlantisea Resorts" recon trip, but this was just her usual day. She didn't make it up the corporate ladder of a national hospitality company just to save the money -- she treated herself.
Not too many passerby gave her a second glace -- she was nearing thirty years of age, though she'd never admit it, and for the most part was pretty, but not a knockout. Her B-cup breasts were what they were; she entertained the thought of enhancement surgery after a promotion years back, but heard that caused back problems. Her ass, on the other hand, was perfectly heart-shaped and toned -- she'd never skip a day in the gym. If she wanted attention, she could've opted for jeans or yoga pants. She didn't, though -- so she went with the sun dress.
She walked up what appeared to be marble steps and approached what she considered the back entrance from the boardwalk. She pulled her sunglasses off to reveal her blue, almond shaped eyes as she entered. The back entrance opened up to two hallways leading to who knows where on her left and right, and directly in front of her were a few rows of slot machines and craps tables. Beyond that, more gambling, increasing in density as you looked along.
Her assumption that one of the hallways would quickly lead to the lobby was wrong. As she walked in what appeared to be an infinite circle, she passed numerous elevators to various towers -- South, East, and North, respectively -- each containing their own lobby bar and a few clubs/restaurants near the elevators.
This place must employ thousands of people. How on Earth can they afford all of this?
I wish I had this type of budget to work with.
Eventually, she reached the lobby. She mentally reminded herself to look for staff worth poaching -- an extra dollar or so an hour could steal a few friendly front desk agents to her property, she figured. The large horseshoe-shaped front desk appeared designed to accommodate a plethora of staff but only two were working -- waste of space, in her mind. The counters, floor, and chandeliers were all pristine and sparkling clean, though that was to be expected from a newly constructed building.
Alexis noticed that there were actually three -- maybe four -- staff members present. Off to the far right side, where the horseshoe desk opened up, a tall, thin man with slicked back jet-black hair appeared to be scolding an absurdly busty, barely dressed woman. He was in a black suit with a green tie, nothing designer that she recognized. The woman was basically in a bikini which looked absurdly out of place in a high-class lobby like this, though they were right off the beach.
Staff? Impossible. No way she works at the front desk looking like that. Daughter? No, he's too young. Wife? Maybe wife. Well, marry for looks and you get what you deserve.
She was stomping her foot while pouting as the man continued to lecture, causing her enormous breasts to jiggle in their bikini top. Just as Alexis was walking up to check-in -- the girl at desk had to be 19 at most -- the man shooed the woman away and walked behind the desk.
"Hi, ma'am -- welcome to the Atlantisea Resorts!" His voice was chipper but had the tell-tale signs of someone who says this 100+ times a day, all week long, week after week. His eyes, almost impossibly green, also didn't convey the cheerful tone he was hoping to convey. She wouldn't be stealing this supervisor or whatever he was. "Carla here is going to check you in. What brought you into town?"
Alexis put her driver's license and credit card on the counter for "Carla" to scoop up. The young girl smiled pleasantly but her boss's green eyes remained fixed on Alexis, even as the girl began to enter information into the system. "Oh, I've been coming to Atlantic City for years and figured it was time for me to see the latest and greatest for myself." Alexis flashed a little smile at the supervisor, which had no effect. Carla handed back her ID.
"Well Ms. Esposito, we're glad you chose us for your stay over the other options, particularly considering you've probably stayed with them in the past."
His eyes haven't left mine once, I could swear. How did he pick my name up off the computer screen?
"It's really my pleasure -- this is a lovely place you all work in here." She gestured around her theatrically.
"Thank you -- I appreciate that. And I'm sorry about that scene earlier -- it's notoriously difficult to find good help around here, you know." His smile seemed forced and more than a little sinister. Alexis was done with this creep.
"I" appreciate that? As in you alone built this? OK. Why did he say 'you know' in such a confident way? I'm overthinking this -- let's just take some photos of the place, see where we can improve, what pieces of their operation might not be so smooth, and get moving. Plus that bimbo he was scolding actually works here -- there's one area that's probably not performing well.
"I had Carla here put you in one of our better rooms in the West Tower -- higher floor and whatnot. If you're an Atlantic City regular we've seen people prefer higher floors. Given you've been here before it goes without saying to be careful outside the casino at night; this is still a city after all." He winked without any sense of playfulness.
Kind of a strange pitch at check-in to mention that you're in a dangerous city. He's right though. My parents started bringing me here 20 years ago and it's never been really safe.
She thanked him and walked away, flipping over her room key packet -- WT, 3503. Of course, the only elevator she hadn't passed was for the tower she wound up in. She figured she could just keep walking the circle that led her to the lobby, and she was right. Not long after, she was in her room.
Opening the door revealed floor to ceiling glass at the opposite side of the bedroom, with a view that was part-ocean, part-city. Not bad. The king size bed had better sheets than anything she'd ever seen at her property, and the bathroom was appointed with a walk-in shower, in addition to having a separate room for the toilet from the sink area. All in all, well-done. She had suggested walk-in showers in each room during their renovations, but it'd been shot down due to cost and the location of their pipes.
Anyway, it was time for some R&R before she checked out the floor area. After taking a few photos of the brands they used to furnish and appoint the room (potentially cheaper suppliers), she turned on the impressive 50-ish inch flatscreen which gave her an option to sign in to her various accounts on HBO, Netflix, etc. Another nice touch. She pulled out her seltzer from her handbag -- to be used as a mixer, and went to the minifridge in the cabinet.
Now this was just plain strange. Standard sodas and other items were present as usual but where the liquor would be there were only shot-sized black hearts with a small screw cap on top. Black usually denoted licorice, which threw her lime-seltzer-and-gin plans out the window. Still, it was so unusual it was worth trying.
House liquor. Wow. Maybe not made
in
house persay, but unlabeled and brought in from a vendor. Very classy, mysterious. We should imitate this for sure. Maybe even do a taste contest during the summer, get all the hotels involved, make it a tourism thing.
Unscrewing the cap, she did smell licorice, and it was quite a powerful scent. She briefly wondered why they would pick such an unusual flavor -- was it Sambuca or Vodka? That was quickly overthrown by the desire to get a little buzz working before scoping out the clubs and restaurants. She intended to enjoy her recon trip and treat it as a guest on vacation would.
The shot burned. Badly. It hit like licorice initially but the aftertaste was more like rubbing alcohol. She used to have a roommate in college who mentioned a room smelling like "formaldehyde" after it'd been cleaned. She thought of that roommate now and wondered if she knew what that chemical tasted like. Alexis was pretty sure she did.
She felt another, lower burning sensation, and it was in her sex. Alexis was a conservative, corporate type -- not one to masturbate and not promiscuous by any stretch. Her last boyfriend had been two years ago, and she'd made him wait 6 months for sex to tell if he was serious. Now, all of a sudden, she desperately wanted to finger herself.
OK, this is not normal behavior. What the fuck was wrong with that thing? Is it spiked? Should I call poison control? It didn't taste right. Just calm down, it probably went down the wrong pipe or whatever they say.
