Chapter One

David is 25 and going through life adrift, struggling to find his place and his voice as a writer. Night manager at small hotel. He knows there's something more out there, but will he find it?

 

CHAPTER ONE

"This can never end because it never began."

A handwritten note fell from inside a novel as I flipped the pages. I found the book stashed in a drawer, left there for the better part of the last six years. Christmas lights peeked in through the windows while the sound of pouring rain mixed with an old television set blaring out the news. Another nameless celebrity died, providing the news outlets with a welcome distraction from the usual holiday babble. After picking up the note from the floor, I closed the door. I sat and read it while I struggled to remember where I stood that fateful day when I received it.

Vanessa always had a way with words. She resented a term like poet, but had no problem proclaiming herself an artisan of words. A shy girl, she wrote me many letters during our brief time together. The one I found myself reading that Wednesday night was the last one, declaring romantically the unromantic end of our relationship.

My childhood home, located in a coastal town in Puerto Rico, was around 15 miles outside the capital city of San Juan. I'd only been there for half an hour, but I already wanted to leave. Ever since my parents divorced, the house sat vacant. Still, it remained full of memories. Vanessa's ghost haunted every book I pulled from the drawers. I went through each set of pages hoping to find another letter, but I didn't. The purpose of my visit had been to gather a few books, so after I put them all in my bag, I headed out. If I was to be up all night, I needed to get some rest.

A phone call had come in a few days prior, asking if I'd take the night shift at a small hotel in Old San Juan, the historic colonial part of the capital. I assumed they sought out young staff, because my being 25 was well received. They'd let one of their guys go and were desperate to replace him. Of course, I said.

They asked if I'd ever dealt with tourists. Sadly, yes. Would I be willing to work the occasional 4 PM to midnight? Yes again.

They hired me immediately.

With the hotel gig, I pictured myself at the front desk writing into the night. Maybe I could put together a column, or at least gather material. For as long as I could remember, all I wanted was to tell stories. As a kid, I'd write plays at school with more descriptions than any sentence could hold. A wild imagination, as one teacher put it. Recently, I'd worked on film sets but that all ended when I got fired. And that's when the hotel called.

Payment would be a small sum of cash under the table, every other Friday. I was to report to the lobby on Sunday at midnight to begin my training and first excursion into the service industry. "Wear something black," they said, more like a funeral invitation than an order.

I texted my closest friend, Sarah.

Got the gig.

Great, she replied. Now get me a job. I can't wait to quit the agency.

Wish me luck, I wrote back.

I don't have to, David. You'll do fine.

On Sunday night, I parked my car near the pier where a large cruise ship was docked. I walked among buildings erected in the far past, keepers of a rich history untouched by time. Holiday decorations invaded my sight at every corner, projecting colored lights into the sky. And even though the weekend fuss had died down, the city was very much alive. That much I knew.

I approached the hotel and it was dark inside. To my surprise, the power was out, a recurring problem I'd learn about later. In time I would find myself repeating the same overused, bullshit excuse: "The city is 500 years old, sir..." But I'm getting ahead of myself. That's the night I met Jones, an underfed medical student with peculiar eyeglasses and a knack for sleepless nights and all types of excesses.

Jones greeted me with a handshake and a smile. "You must be David. Don't mind the dark, the power should be back any minute. Besides, I like the look of the lobby with the candles."

"And we're dressed for the occasion," I said.

"Yes, we are," Jones said as he patted my arm and gave me a smile like we'd known each other for years. "Don't worry, we're gonna have some fun. Lines get blurred between work and play here at The Velvet Sails Hotel."

The lobby had Moroccan decoration and antique furniture. Right next to the front desk, stood a small table with a useless hourglass filled with clumped sand. The building was prone to a lot of echo, had no elevator and was five stories high. The courtyard had a glass roof so on dark nights like that one, moonlight would peer in. The glass gave the light a slight blue tinge.

Midway through the lobby, and hidden from the security cameras, sat two large sofas draped with actual velvet sails serving as a canopy. I asked Jones about the sails.

"To tell you the truth, there's no such thing as velvet sails," he said. "Real sails have strong fabric. This woven s**t wouldn't last out there in the ocean."

Even in the dark, I could appreciate the velvet's appeal. Its fresh smell was not overpowering, but just right.

"Besides," Jones said, "they have holes in them. Try putting that on a boat. This was a department store back in the early '90s. When the hotel's owner, a tasteless b*****d, bought the place with everything in it, he found stacks of this stuff. So, he got a seamstress to make sails out of it."

"I see," I said, "So this is essentially a lie on display?"

"Yes," he said. "Like most things in life. Take me, for example. Most guests think I want to be the general manager at a big hotel by the time I'm thirty. Truth is, as soon as I'm done with med school, I'll be out the door quicker than a backseat romp. Know what I mean, sweetheart?"

He patted my shoulder once more and gave me a wink. Only later did I learn that Jones called everyone sweetheart, regardless of gender.

"So yeah, it's all a lie. Sorry to take the wind out of your sails," he said with a smirk before erupting into laughter. "Don't mind me, I'm stoned. Come on, David. Enough f*****g around. Let me show you the kitchen."

And with that, the lights came back on in a moment of rare, but appreciated synchronicity.

Jones showed me how to set the Continental Breakfast, and there came a sound I would come to loathe; the hotel's doorbell. Jones buzzed the glass door open and in came an American in his late thirties with a backpack and a bike transport case. Jones called the man by his full name and told him we'd been expecting him. The man handed over his credit card, Jones excused himself to go into the office and gestured me to follow him.

"I'm a bit of a dick with the guests," he said. "It's just the way I am, and I don't apologize. But I always get the job done, so watch and learn."

We exited the office and Jones gave the guest a receipt to sign. "Okay, sir. You're with us for three nights. You'll be staying in room 3G. Would you like us to keep your bike in the office?"

He squinted and pouted his lips. "Uh, I'm not sure. Is it safe in there? I mean, it doesn't even have a door, just drapes."

Jones looked at me, then back at the guest.

The man put up both hands, like a warning. "Let me be clear, this is my baby. After my wife and kids, this is the love of my life."

"Jesus, man!" Jones said with wild eyes. "We'll take care of it, I promise. What do we look like? Amateurs?"

The guy only sighed.

"Tell you what, we'll keep it in the storage that's right on the stairway's landing. You can even watch us lock the door."

"Okay, I can live with that," he said. "Let's go, I gotta be up early."

Carrying that bulky case up one flight of stairs gave me my first taste of the humbling task I would perform countless times thereafter.

After we said good night to our biker-in-despair, Jones and I returned downstairs. Over the next few hours I nodded off in a chair while Jones watched some bizarre film starring Charlotte Gainsbourg. At one point, after a momentary nap, I asked Jones what time it was.

"Four AM, sweetheart. Get it together. Tomorrow night it's just you."

I continued to nod off for the rest of the shift till morning came.

That afternoon I woke up groggy and lightheaded. Back at the hotel that night, I found a short Italian with a scruffy beard sitting at the front desk. "You're the new guy. David, right?"

"I'm your man," I said.

"Jones told me about you. I'm Luciano," he said, extending his hand. "You can call me Lou."

"Pleasure."

"Believe me, the pleasure is all mine. I need to go check on my father."

He gathered his stuff, humming a song to himself. After opening the door, he turned around to face me. "Did Jones explain everything?"

"I think so, yeah," I said.

"Call me if you need anything," he said, "I stay up late. Ciao."

And with a big smile and a wave, Lou turned around and left.

Lucky for me, I didn't have any remaining check-ins. I was still getting my head around the idea of having to stay awake all night a few times a week, but I was pleased to have a job, despite the low pay.

After Lou left, I went online and read the news, pausing on occasion to let in drunk tourists stumbling back to bed. When my phone's alarm went off at 4:30 AM, I went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. All I wanted was to crawl under the velvet canopy and sleep till the end of my shift. But what happened next reenergized me more than any cup of coffee could have. Bear in mind, it was the holiday season. When I opened the tiny storage behind the kitchen and found it full of beer, it was like Christmas morning. Those cases were bright lights and my knees quivered with delight.

Jones had explained the basics concerning the security cameras and their blind spots. The night staff enjoyed certain advantages our daytime counterparts could not. With little consideration for my future employment, I threw the case of beer in the large garbage dispenser with wheels. I pushed that sucker straight to my car parked down the block and deposited the case in the trunk. Christmas would be merry indeed.

After the euphoria of my beer nicking wore off, I got down to the business of squeezing orange juice. Still not adjusted to the late hours, I played music on my phone to liven myself up. She must have been real quiet when she came in, but a female guest snuck up on me.

"Hello? Excuse me?" she asked.

I tend to get scared when people appear out of nowhere. But at 5 AM? This lady terrified me in a way that made me remember my religious upbringing.

"Oh, God! Jesus!" I howled as I dropped every goddamn fork and knife from my cold hands.

I turned around to face my assailant of terror, a shaky woman in her late thirties with one hand on her chest. She struggled to catch her breath.

"I'm so sorry!" she said. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just need to get to the airport."

"It's fine, it's fine," I said, trying in vain to hide my embarrassment. "I haven't seen anyone for hours!"

She forced a smile and asked me to call a cab. We walked back to the front and as I used the desk phone, she looked around the lobby. I presumed she was thinking of something to say to put any awkwardness behind us. "So, you've been working here long?"

"No," I said. I was having a hard time maintaining eye contact. "This is actually my second night on the job."

"Do you like it?"

"It's not so bad," I said. "I was a production assistant on films but that didn't go as planned, so here I am."

"Oh, I know how you feel," she said. "I wanted to be a journalist when I was younger because I loved the idea of storytelling with facts. But years went by and I ended up in Psychology. Somehow, I've let go of most of the expectations I had in college."

"Well, hanging on to any kind of expectation is hard," I said. My eyes fell upon the desk as I fidgeted with a pen. "Specially when most things never go according to plan."

She looked up and caught my gaze for a moment. She didn't know me, and she never would. "Anyway, 2009 is almost over," she said. "I'm sure next year will be better."

"Yeah, maybe," I said.

The cab turned up and she walked out of my life, five minutes after her dramatic entrance.

I didn’t want to dwell on the past or think of Vanessa. My only desire was to move forward. Without a doubt, I was in a hole, and to face night after night would be my purgatory. Perhaps the small hours could help me find some kind of redemption, some kind of truth worth writing. Time heals all wounds, but is there ever enough time? The sun was coming up so I stepped outside and bathed in the light, allowing my mind to wander into less depressing terrain. A new day had arrived.

Author's Note

Any suggestions on how to make this opening chapter more compelling, stronger? I ultimately want to make the reader turn those pages.