Page 27 of The Summer Show
ten
Hotel Ble wasn’t a hotel or blue. Resort was the more apt word, and the only thing blue about it was the lazy river swimming pool that threaded around and through the property. A bridge over the river allowed walkers to cross the pool, while swimmers swam and people drifting on inner tubes and floaties sipped fruity drinks without interruption.
Dressed for the job I had (librarian on vacation) and also the job I wanted (librarian on vacation) I smiled at the doorman and stepped through the door as he held it open.
Refrigerated air tackled me.
Bliss.
I raised my face to the vent and let the cool air wash over me, breathing life back into my wilted body. It was humbling to fly all this way to realize I was no better than lettuce.
Once my body regained some of its integrity, my brain came back online to remind me of my mission.
Ahem. Missions, plural.
Dazzled by the decor, I made for the reception counter. The main feature of the lobby was a glass sculpture on the ceiling reminiscent of the Chihuly flowers at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, but instead of a garden, this was an ocean of waves and marine life, including an octopus and a school of clownfish. In crisp blue uniforms, the resort’s staff were as pretty and cool as their environment. The guests in the lobby oozed money. Every ring twinkling in the chandeliers was worth more than my yearly salary. I tried to approach the reception counter—a wall of marble in soft grays—looking like I belonged, but there was too much sweat in my bra for that.
My sweat problem didn’t bother the woman behind the counter. She smiled at me as if I were holding a gold bar in each hand.
“Welcome to Hotel Ble, Miss Hart,” she said in lightly accented English. “We have been expecting you.”
Well. That was something I didn’t hear every day at a lavish resort where the rooms were upward of twenty-five hundred dollars per night. “You were expecting me?”
“The people from Greece’s Top Hoplite gave us a photo of you.”
“A photo? Really?”
She tapped a few keys on a spare and modern keyboard where the keys seemed to be floating in air, then swiveled the screen.
Someone had snapped my picture yesterday while I was trying to reclaim my pen. That someone was seated and their phone was clearly faulty, because from this angle I had an extra chin that I’d swear wasn’t mine and a wide open cavern complex of nostrils.
“I want to say that’s not me, but clearly it is.”
“Of course it is you!” She reached across the marble counter and gave my cheek a little pinch. “You are staying with my cousin Thanos, yes?”
“And Ana.”
A shadow moved across her face. “The war might be over, but it will never truly be over.”
The distinct feeling rolled over me that she wanted me to say something that indicated where my loyalties lay. This wasn’t a war I wanted to get involved in, much like the viral argument over whether or not that dress was blue and black or white and gold. To avoid the whole mess, I mustered up all my diplomacy skills and asked if Nick Merrick was staying here.
She lit up. “Of course he is here! All contestants of the show are able to stay here if they wish.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “That malakas is in room 314—a room that is too good for a Stamou. I would have put him in the janitor’s closet, but even our janitor’s closet is too good for him. It has gold faucets and marble sinks.” She paused to give me an expectant smile with a wicked glint in her eye. “Do you want me to make a key for his room?”
“Thank you, but no thank you.”
Her smile was downright mischievous. “I will make one anyway, and you can give it to a homeless person along with his room number.”
She zipped a keycard through the doodad and slid it across the counter to me.
Against my better judgement, and only out of concern that she would actually pass out the card to a random stranger who was living on the beach for the summer, I slid the plastic card off the cool marble and placed it in my pocket. From my bag, I retrieved Effie’s thank you card.
“Can you please give this to Effie Makri?”
“Of course! Good luck on the show, even though you will not win.”
“I might win.”
She laughed, but more like she was laughing next to me, not at me. “No.”