Chapter 2

The Braxton Grand Hotel was a splendid example of Art Deco architecture, with its concrete base and bold geometry while its insides were decorated with all the dressings one might expect if the intention were to impress wealthy white people. The walls were adorned with sculpted stuccoes and filigree's covered with gold leaf while the floors were made of the combination of marble slabs and tiled mosaics. The lobby reeked of stale cigars smoked decades ago but had yet to fully fade. Couches, tables, and other sundry pieces of furniture furnished the interior while other ascent pieces such as paintings, statues, and fountains brought out that level of opulence that only human suffering can conjure.

There were also lots of socialites and wait staff occupying the hall but the latter half were virtually invisible.

As soon as Cecelia entered the hotel lobby, she involuntarily and audibly gagged as she choked on the pungent stench of the wealthy.

“Ugh! Holy crap, it smells like ass in here,” Cecelia discreetly expressed.

“I know. Breathe through your nose; you’ll get used to it,” Adrian quietly advised.

“What is that? I’ve never smelled anything like it before and I’ve been to New York,” Cecelia remarked.

“That, is the scent of incontinence being masked by the tincture of beavers, nicotine, and denial,” Adrian replied. “Just… stay away from the rich old people and the wandering coke heads. The Justice Department will never acknowledge it but those two groups share a lot in common.”

“But isn’t that like everyone here?” asked Cecelia.

“Yeah, you’re catching on,” Adrian replied.

Continuing onward, the well-dressed pair made their way to the check-in desk where upon arrival, a young receptionist greeted them with a practiced smile.

“Hello,” Devon said with seasoned professionalism. “May I have your name?”

“Adrian Valentine and this is Amelia Summers,” Adrian replied.

Devon typed something into the computer in front of him and then nodded his head. Then, he reached into a drawer and retrieved two labeled brown envelopes, which he offered respectively to Adrian and Cecelia.

“Here are your badges and room keys. You guys are seated at table 49; seating should have already begun. Have a wonderful evening,” said Devon.

“Thank you,” said Adrian before the pair turned around, consulted some signage, and then proceeded towards the ballroom.

According to the signage, the ballroom was located some distance away from the reception area, all the way on the other side of the hotel. For a grown man of Adrian’s stature, it would have taken no more than a minute to traverse the distance but he was at the moment, burdened with 105 pounds of human clumsiness roughly shaped in the form of a cute girl. As Cecelia continued to tightly hang off his arm for dear life, Adrian quietly resigned himself to the possibility of forming blood clots and developing an aneurysm as he slowly trudged forward with Cecelia by his side.

The pair had barely made it out of the reception area when Cecelia felt an unusual loosening sensation by her left shin and heel. As a matter of habit, she immediately paused mid-step, looked down, and confirmed what she had already suspected: one of her laces had become undone. Great. Just what she needed, another inconvenience in her life.

Cecelia audibly exhaled in frustration and then muttered, “Ah, nuts.”

“What’s wrong?” Adrian asked.

“One of my shoe laces are untied,” Cecelia replied. Then, she thrust her envelope and purse into Adrian’s chest and said, “Hold this for me?”

Adrian gave Cecelia a quick look over and then unexpectedly pushed back. “Nah, I’ll do it,” he said before handing his envelope over to her instead.

Once Cecelia had taken hold of the envelope, Adrian took a knee, and then gracefully tied the end of her laces together again into a neat ribbon. Perhaps it was the close proximity or the inherent vulnerability involved but the act of a man tying a woman’s shoes for her can be surprisingly intimate. The problem however, is that not everyone interprets things the same way. When Adrian was done, he stood up straight, dusted himself off, and then reclaimed the envelope containing his badge and room card while Cecelia spent the same moment trying her hardest to keep it together.

“Thanks,” Cecelia managed to mutter as she tried to play things cool.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Adrian said nonchalantly before offering her his arm. Cecelia took it and then the two continued on.

Like a new pair of shoes, it takes time for one to acclimate to the company of others. The ease of which varies from person to person but the ability to form and maintain relationships with others is probably one of the most important skills a person can have. After all, humans are social creatures and a life without companionship isn’t really a life, maybe half-lived at best.

The hallway leading to the ballroom shared much of the same architectural aesthetics as the reception area with the notable exception of the left-most wall being constructed of paneled glass which separated the hotel from the garden. In a few months, the view would have been spectacular but for now, it was only barren trees and blotchy bushes.

As the pair traversed the hallway, Cecelia quietly looked up and stole a glance at Adrian, who seemed to be completely preoccupied with arriving at the destination. Well, he might be a tad condescending but he doesn’t seem like a bad person. Today was the first time that Cecelia’s ever met Adrian and while she knew that he was her sister’s friend, she didn’t know much more about him beyond that.

“Hey,” Cecelia said all of a sudden whilst tugging his arm.

“Hmm?” Adrian uttered as he turned to face Cecelia.

“So how do you know my sister?” Cecelia asked.

“We met a few years back during a photo shoot in Dubai and we bonded over our mutual hatred of the desert heat, sand, and Dubai,” Adrian replied.

Cecelia raised an eyebrow and then asked, “Should you really be saying that?”

Nonchalantly, Adrian gave a shrug and then asked back, “Why not? You a narc?”

“Kinda. I am a mandated reporter,” Cecelia confessed.

“Oh yeah! Amelia mentioned that you’re a kindergarten teacher,” Adrian recalled.

“Substitute, but yes,” said Cecelia.

“Oh my God!” Adrian exclaimed. “That makes it even worse!”

Cecelia sighed and then said, “Thank you for acknowledging my pain.”

“What do you make like two dollars above minimum wage? How are you still alive?” Adrian asked.

“I sell a lot of plasma,” Cecelia replied.

“Well that explains a lot,” Adrian muttered.

“Yeah, I’m basically anemic so be nice to me, okay?” Cecelia remarked, to which Adrian agreed with a halfhearted nod.

Up ahead, the hallway ended and gave way to a modest atrium. Throughout the atrium, various paintings, planters, and other pieces of décor were scattered about. Restrooms flanked the right-hand side of the atrium while a set of glass doors led the garden on the left. In the front and center of the atrium, two pairs of heavy-set doors led directly to the ballroom. The entrance of the ballroom was blocked off by brass stanchions and guarded by a combination of bouncers and badge-checking doorman. While the atrium wasn’t particularly busy or teeming with traffic, a handful of socialites nonetheless lingered about.

“Oh boy. I’m starting to get really nervous,” Cecelia expressed while tightening her hold over her companion’s arm. “What if I say something stupid? What if I blow my cover?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” Adrian reassured. “Look, it’s easy. All you have to do is smile and nod along whenever someone comes up and says something to you. It’s small talk. Chances are, they’ll just say hi and then that’ll be it. Just be polite, stay away from your phone, eat your chicken, and this will all be over before you know it.”

“But what if they want to talk-talk?” Cecelia asked. “What if they go off script?”

“Then I’ll cover for you,” Adrian promised.

“What if they want to talk about politics?” Cecelia asked. Then in a deliberately hushed tone, she whispered, “What if they want to talk about Israel?”

Adrian raised an eyebrow and said, “Good Lord. Are you always this neurotic?”

“I’m just trying to fit in. The parties I go to usually involve a lot more pizza and children’s card games,” Cecelia expressed with visible apprehension.

Adrian sighed and said, “All right. Fair enough.”

“So?” Cecelia pestered. “What do I do?”

“It’s simple – don’t engage,” Adrian explained. “People who ask those sorts of questions are doing it to get a rise out of you. There is nothing more dangerous for a public figure than expressing an opinion because being right doesn’t matter – the instant you take a position, the other side will hate you for it, no matter what. That’s why you should never express an opinion. Between friends and family is okay but never out here. Never. If someone drops a bomb on you like that, if it comes down to it, just stay quiet and look at me. I’ll make an excuse for us and we’ll both leave.”

“Yeah?” said Cecelia.

“Yeah,” said Adrian.

“Okay,” Cecelia expressed with a smile as she brightened up considerably.

Adrian opened his mouth to say something else but then he thought better of it when he realized that they had reached the immediate vicinity of the ballroom entrance.

“All right, get your ID badge out,” Adrian ordered.

At Adrian’s prompt, Cecelia decoupled her arm from his and did as she was bid. With one hand, she held her envelope and withdrew its contents with the other.

“Hmm? What is this for?” Cecelia asked as she held out a pair of hotel cards.

With a nonchalant expression, Adrian looked over and remarked, “Oh that? Officially, it’s free accommodation for the people who don’t live here but really, it’s there for people who want to sneak off and hook up. Yes, events like these are all creepy sex things. Don’t use it, don’t lose it, and don’t order room service because that shit costs extra.”

“Huh. This kind of reminds me of overnight field trips in high school,” Cecelia opined.

“That… is remarkably accurate,” Adrian admitted.

When the pair reached the ballroom entrance, the attending doorman said, “Badges please.”

The pair did as they were told and showed their ID badges to him, after which the doorman briefly glanced over them. At the conclusion of his inspection, the doorman said, “Thanks,” and then waved them through without any further hassle.

And so, the curtain finally rose.