Room 709: The Scarlet Hotel, #3

Prologue

The Staff

Benny glanced over his shoulder, first one way, then the other. When he’d made sure the coast was clear, he made a grab for a French fry sitting in the basket, fresh out of the grease.

A hand came out of nowhere and slapped his fingers.

Ow! he yelped, drawing his hand back and cradling it to his chest. It shouldn’t have hurt, but that woman was strong! Where the hell did she come from? Why’d you do that?

Coral narrowed her gaze at him. Don’t give me any of that BS. I’ve got my eye on you, kid. She sidled back over to her dishwashing station. He wanted to believe she’d meant that in an "I’ve got your back" kind of way, but the glare she was offering him now said otherwise.

Benny huffed and plated the fries. Fine, fine, he muttered under his breath, making an exaggerated effort with getting the meal ready. This wasn’t even his job. He was supposed to be serving tables, not plating food, but it was all hands on deck this evening. There was some fancy shindig going on in the banquet hall, so all the chefs were busy preparing the fancy food, which left all the quick-and-easy lounge fare to Benny.

And I’m not even allowed to eat any of it… he grumbled, resentful.

I heard that, Coral said, raising her voice to be heard over the industrial dishwasher running through a load. If you don’t think you’re up to that task, I’m sure I can find something else more your speed… The threat was implied.

Benny shook his head vigorously. No, ma’am, I’m happy where I am.

He would never admit that he was terrified of Coral, but who wouldn’t be? She was the most intimidating person he’d ever known. Most people thought little old ladies were cute and helpless… and they would be dead wrong! First off, she wasn’t tiny. Yes, her gray hair was tightly curled and dyed pink, but you couldn’t let that deceive you—her biceps were bigger than Benny’s thighs, and every inch of skin exposed by her rolled-up sleeves was covered in tattoos. And also, she was far from helpless. Benny had once seen her singlehandedly escort an unruly guest out of the lounge—she may have even done it one-handed, to hear Benny tell the story.

She had a heart of gold, though. An hour later, after Benny had caught up with all the meal tickets brought in with the dinner rush, she slid a plate of fries his way. Here you are, hun. Take a load off.

Benny cracked a smile and blew out a breath, raising his lank hair off his sweaty forehead. Thanks, Coral. He dropped onto a stool and shoveled the food into his mouth. Mmm, so good.

Tastes better when it’s earned, Coral sassed, giving him a wink when he blushed, chagrined.

Benny was beyond exhausted. He wasn’t used to this pace. He didn’t know how the kitchen staff managed to take care of an entire dining room, when he was struggling with just a handful of tables in the lounge. And they didn’t even have the whole menu to choose from! It was just a few burgers and sandwiches, chicken fingers and fries.

And just when he was starting to relax, Monsieur Holland came in. He never came back to the kitchen! Benny froze, French fry poised halfway to his mouth. He looked back and forth between his boss and the food. He really wanted to eat it, but he was pretty sure this was breaking a rule. Was it stealing? He hadn’t paid for it. Could he be fired? He peeked over at Coral. She’d told him to eat it—would she back him up if it came down to it?

Monsieur Holland came to a stop directly in front of where Benny was sitting. He didn’t look angry… but Benny put the fry down on the plate to be on the safe side. Yes, sir? he asked, standing from his stool to look the older man in the eye—or as close to it as he could get. His boss stood a good four inches above him, his blond hair perfectly styled.

Holland’s icy blue eyes roamed over Benny’s appearance, assessing. Oh gods, here we go again, Benny thought. His boss was always giving him a hard time. He didn’t like the length of Benny’s hair or the fact that there weren’t pleats ironed into his pants. Once he’d handed him a breath mint and asked him to be more vigilant with his dental hygiene.

While Benny braced himself for a barrage of criticism, what he hadn’t been expecting was a nod. You’ll have to do, Holland said. Come with me.

Uh, what…? Monsieur Holland was already marching away, and Benny was left staring after him, dumbstruck.

Coral hissed at him, Don’t just stand there, go! Follow him!

Um, right. Okay. Benny jogged to catch up with Holland’s longer stride. Excuse me, sir. What is it you need me for? He was nearly out of breath; he wasn’t exactly the most fit person, and this darting back and forth all night had left him worn down.

They left the kitchen and went down the hall toward the changeroom. Still Holland didn’t answer him. Not until they were standing in front of a locker, where a crisp uniform was hanging on a hanger, did Holland finally turn around and address Benny. Anna’s son has the chicken pox.

Benny absorbed that information, nodding, but he still couldn’t connect the dots. And you need me to…

Fill in for her shift, obviously, Holland said. His jaw bunched as if he was gritting his teeth, and Benny had to admit it was kind of obvious now that he thought about it.

Okay, he said, darting a glance over the hanging uniform. Uh, what’s wrong with my— He started to indicate his own uniform, which was stained with sweat and grease, but his boss promptly cut him off.

No. Absolutely not. You won’t be serving in the lounge. Anna was scheduled for the banquet this evening, and it is incredibly important that you look your best. You will not speak to anyone unless spoken to. You will pour the champagne, distribute the canapes, and when dinner is served, you will carry the food to the guests. He glanced up at Benny’s slightly floppy hair. Too late for a haircut, unfortunately, but you should have time for a quick shower.

Benny felt like he should be asking all kinds of questions, since this event was apparently important and he didn’t want to screw it up, but he couldn’t come up with any. So as Monsieur Holland stalked out of the changeroom, Benny just stood there gaping after him. He assumed he wasn’t meant to follow this time. He was probably expected to get ready… and probably quickly.

Since he didn’t have any shower supplies, it was really more of a rinse-off than anything. But in the end, the lack of soap or shampoo saved time, and he was dressed and ready in under fifteen minutes. He hurried out of the changeroom in his borrowed uniform, combing his fingers through his damp hair, when he nearly ran straight into Monsieur Holland who was waiting in the hall like a creep. Dude! Benny shrieked, startled, before he realized who he was talking to. I mean, I’m ready, sir.

Hmm. Quite. You’re a tad damp…

I didn’t have a towel, Benny offered with a shrug. When Holland marched off toward the banquet hall, Benny assumed he’d passed muster. Either that or his boss was just desperate enough to let it slide.

When they pushed through the swinging doors into the banquet hall, Benny felt his eyes get round. He’d been in here before, but not when it was all decked out like this. The floors had been polished to a high gloss, the high ceiling brightly lit above chandeliers. There were massive vases of flowers and candelabras, and dozens of tables spread throughout with pristine tablecloths, gleaming silverware, and champagne flutes just waiting to be filled. Wow, what’s the occasion?

Every year, the Wilson Advertising Group holds a gala for their investors and clients. They spare no expense.

Yeah, I can tell, Benny whispered under his breath, taking it all in. You’d think it was a royal wedding. All this to attract investors? Must be nice to have that kind of cash to throw around. Benny had never had money to spare, and the concept was as foreign as France. He couldn’t even spare the money for a more frequent haircut.

They stopped in front of a table along the wall. Do you know how to pour champagne?

Benny smiled awkwardly and said, Of course, sir, lying smoothly.

Monsieur Holland didn’t even blink before sliding around behind the table and demonstrating, first with how to open the bottle without launching a cork across the room, and then how to properly pour so the glass wouldn’t overflow with bubbles.

Benny watched carefully, and then when Holland stepped aside, he took a turn pouring a glass under supervision. Very good, Holland said. Now just repeat another hundred times or so and it’ll be a good start to the evening. He indicated where the clean glasses were resting in their crates.

The guests were already beginning to arrive. Monsieur Holland gave Benny a brief fatherly pat on the shoulder. You’ll be fine. I… I do appreciate you stepping in, Benedict. It was clear he wasn’t accustomed to giving compliments, so Benny appreciated the effort all the more.

Holland nodded once more then made his way over to greet an older gentleman in a tuxedo who had just arrived. They shook hands and made their way over to the grand entrance to make more introductions.

Benny eyed the glasses. It wasn’t like stealing a French fry… but maybe when he was through with the evening, they might let him have a taste…

1

Levi

I glared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. Gods, this is going to suck.

Ziggy scoffed behind me, his voice muffled inside the mini fridge. Are you kidding me? If you think this is boring, then you’re not doing it right. He emerged from the cooler with his hands full of mini bottles of alcohol.

Aw, c’mon, Zig. My dad got me this hotel room to get changed, not to get drunk. I’d come straight from work, and he wanted to parade me around in front of his rich friends and colleagues. Couldn’t impress anyone in my work uniform or reeking like pizza—even if my dad said it was a "strong, working man’s paycheck."

Ziggy just stood there, looking down at the bottles with a forlorn expression. Would it help if we mixed it with a seven-dollar can of Coke?

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Yeah, it would, I finally relented. This night was going to be ridiculously stiff, so maybe some alcohol would help loosen things up. Dad hated Ziggy anyway, so what did it matter if I blamed him for the missing booze? Though I would have to explain how my friend had followed me from work for moral support—or boredom. Yeah, it was probably that second one.

I plopped down on the edge of the king-size bed and gave a little bounce. Not bad. From my perch, I watched Ziggy pour an entire mini bottle of rum into a glass before adding just a splash of cola, then passing it my way.

So, why does your dad make you come to these things, anyway? You obviously despise it.

The fumes coming off the drink were enough to make my eyes water, but I threw some back with a grimace. It hit my stomach like a fist to the gut. Ugh, that’s awful. My dad wants his investors to see him as a wholesome family man, which means me and Pops get to smile and nod and shake some hands all night. Small price to pay, I guess…

Except I wasn’t even sure what that price was getting me anymore. It was helping my dad line his pockets, and with that money, he was going to pay my way through Harvard… yippee…

Bottoms up, my dude, Ziggy said, clinking his glass against mine in a toast. Here’s hoping someone fills your bottom while it’s up there. He gave me a wink and a lewd gesture with his fingers.

I groaned. Yeah, right. I’m going to die a virgin. I flopped back on the bed, nearly spilling my drink all over my tux. Showing up smelling like rum certainly wouldn’t portray the best family-man image for my father.

Aww, no, I promise you’re not. You want me to pop your cherry for you? I might not have a knot, but I can stretch things out a little for the next guy.

I lifted my head off the bed to give him an incredulous look. Why am I friends with you again?

Must be for my brains, he said far too seriously, before going to sit in the chair and missing completely, ending up on his ass on the floor. Good thing the carpets were so plush. What the fuck! Why’d you move the chair?

I didn’t bother to answer. Ziggy and I had been friends since kindergarten. I’d taken the red fingerpaint, so he punched me in the nose. In return I’d kicked him in the shin. The rest was history. Our entire friendship was built on tough love and hard truths. Like, I knew he’d